euphorion: being studies of the antique and the mediÆval in the renaissance by vernon lee _author of "studies of the th century in italy," "belcaro" etc._ vol. i. walter pater, in appreciation of that which, in expounding the beautiful things of the past, he has added to the beautiful things of the present. table of contents. introduction the sacrifice the italy of the elizabethan dramatists the out-door poetry symmetria prisca introduction. _faustus is therefore a parable of the impotent yearnings of the middle ages--its passionate aspiration, its conscience-stricken desire, its fettered curiosity amid the tramping limits of imperfect knowledge and irrational dogmatism. the indestructible beauty of greek art,--whereof helen was an emblem, became, through the discovery of classic poetry and sculpture, the possession of the modern world. mediævalism took this helen to wife, and their offspring, the euphorion of goethe's drama, is the spirit of the modern world._--j.a. symonds, "renaissance in italy," vol. ii. p. . euphorion is the name given by goethe to the marvellous child born of the mystic marriage of faust and helena. who faust is, and who helena, we all know. faust, of whom no man can remember the youth or childhood, seems to have come into the world by some evil spell, already old and with the faintness of body and of mind which are the heritage of age; and every additional year of mysterious study and abortive effort has made him more vacillating of step and uncertain of sight, but only more hungry of soul. postponed and repressed by reclusion from the world, and desperate tension over insoluble problems; diverted into the channels of mere thought and vision; there boils within him the energy, the passion, of retarded youth: its appetites and curiosities, which, cramped by the intolerant will, and foiled by many a sudden palsy of limb and mind, torment him with mad visions of unreal worlds, mock him with dreams of superhuman powers, from which he awakes in impotent and apathetic anguish. but these often-withstood and often-baffled cravings are not those merely of scholar or wizard, they are those of soldier and poet and monk, of the mere man: lawless desires which he seeks to divert, but fails, from the things of the flesh and of the world to the things of the reason; supersensuous desires for the beautiful and intangible, which he strives to crush, but in vain, with the cynical scepticism of science, which derides the things it cannot grasp. in this strange faustus, made up of so many and conflicting instincts; in this old man with ever-budding and ever-nipped feelings of youthfulness, muddling the hard-won secrets of nature in search after impossibilities; in him so all-sided, and yet so wilfully narrowed, so restlessly active, yet so often palsied and apathetic; in this faustus, who has laboured so much and succeeded in so little, feeling himself at the end, when he has summed up all his studies, as foolish as before--which of us has not learned to recognize the impersonated middle ages? and helena, we know her also, she is the spirit of antiquity. personified, but we dare scarcely say, embodied; for she is a ghost raised by the spells of faustus, a simulacrum of a thing long dead; yet with such continuing semblance of life, nay, with all life's real powers, that she seems the real, vital, living one, and faustus yonder, thing as he is of the present, little better than a spectre. yet helena has been ages before faust ever was; nay, by an awful mystery like those which involve the birth of pagan gods, she whom he has evoked to be the mother of his only son has given, centuries before, somewhat of her life to make this self-same faust. a strange mystery of fate's necromancy this, and with strange anomalies. for opposite this living, decrepit faust, helena, the long dead, is young; and she is all that which faust is not. knowing much less than he, who has plunged his thoughts like his scalpel into all the mysteries of life and death, she yet knows much more, can tell him of the objects and aims of men and things; nay, with little more than the unconscious faithfulness to instinct of the clean-limbed, placid brute, she can give peace to his tormented conscience; and, while he has suffered and struggled and lashed himself for every seeming baseness of desire, and loathed himself for every imagined microscopic soiling, she has walked through good and evil, letting the vileness of sin trickle off her unhidden soul, so quietly and majestically that all thought of evil vanishes; and the self-tormenting wretch, with macerated flesh hidden beneath the heavy garments of mysticism and philosophy, suddenly feels, in the presence of her unabashed nakedness, that he, like herself, is chaste. such are the parents, faustus and helena; we know them; but who is this son euphorion? to me it seems as if there could be but one answer--the renaissance. goethe indeed has told us (though, with his rejuvenation of faustus, unknown to the old german legend and to our marlowe, in how bungling a manner!) the tale of that mystic marriage; but goethe could not tell us rightly, even had he attempted, the real name of its offspring. for even so short a time ago, the middle ages were only beginning to be more than a mere historical expression, antiquity was being only then critically discovered; and the renaissance, but vaguely seen and quite unformulated by the first men, gibbon and roscoe, who perceived it at all, was still virtually unknown. to goethe, therefore, it might easily have seemed as if the antique helena had only just been evoked, and as if of her union with the worn-out century of his birth, a real euphorion, the age in which ourselves are living, might have been born. but, at the distance of additional time, and from the undreamed-of height upon which recent historical science has enabled us to stand, we can easily see that in this he would have been mistaken. not only is our modern culture no child of faustus and helena, but it is the complex descendant, strangely featured by atavism from various sides, of many and various civilizations; and the eighteenth century, so far from being a faustus evoking as his bride the long dead helen of antiquity, was in itself a curiously varied grandchild or great-grandchild of such a marriage, its every moral feature, its every intellectual movement proclaiming how much of its being was inherited from antiquity. no allegory, i well know, and least of all no historical allegory, can ever be strained to fit quite tight--the lives of individuals and those of centuries, their modes of intermixture, genesis, and inheritance are far different; but if an allegory is to possess any meaning at all, we must surely apply it wherever it will fit most easily and completely; and the beautiful allegory prepared by the tradition of the sixteenth century for the elaborating genius of goethe, can have a real meaning only if we explain faust as representing the middle ages, helena as antiquity, and euphorion as that child of the middle ages, taking life and reality from them, but born of and curiously nurtured by the spirit of antiquity, to which significant accident has given the name of renaissance. after euphorion i have therefore christened this book; and this not from any irrational conceit of knowing more (when i am fully aware that i know infinitely less) than other writers about the life and character of this wonderful child of helena and faustus, but merely because it is more particularly as the offspring of this miraculous marriage, and with reference to the harmonies and anomalies which therefrom resulted, that euphorion has exercised my thoughts. the renaissance has interested and interests me, not merely for what it is, but even more for what it sprang from, and for the manner in which the many things inherited from both middle ages and renaissance, the tendencies and necessities inherent in every special civilization, acted and reacted upon each other, united in concord or antagonism; forming, like the gases of the chemist, new things, sometimes like and sometimes unlike themselves and each other; producing now some unknown substance of excellence and utility, at other times some baneful element, known but too well elsewhere, but unexpected here. but not the watching of the often tragic meeting of these great fatalities of inherited spirit and habit only: for equally fascinating almost has been the watching of the elaboration by this double-natured period of things of little weight, mere trifles of artistic material bequeathed to it by one or by the other of its spiritual parents. the charm for me--a charm sometimes pleasurable, but sometimes also painful, like the imperious necessity which we sometimes feel to see again and examine, seemingly uselessly, some horrible evil--the charm, i mean the involuntary compulsion of attention, has often been as great in following the vicissitudes of a mere artistic item, like the carolingian stories or the bucolic element, as it has been in looking on at the dissolution of moral and social elements. and in this, that i have tried to understand only where my curiosity was awakened, tried to reconstruct only where my fancy was taken; in short, studied of this renaissance civilization only as much or as little as i cared, depends all the incompleteness and irrelevancy and unsatisfactoriness of this book, and depends also whatever addition to knowledge or pleasure it may afford; were i desirous of giving a complete, clear notion of the very complex civilization of the renaissance, a kind of encyclopædic atlas of that period, where (by a double power which history alone possesses) you could see at once the whole extent and shape of this historical territory, and at the same time, with all its bosses of mountain and furrows of valley, the exact composition of all its various earths and waters, the exact actual colour and shape of all its different vegetations, not to speak of its big towns and dotting villages;--were i desirous of doing this, i should not merely be attempting a work completely beyond my faculties, but a work moreover already carried out with all the perfection due to specially adapted gifts, to infinite patience and ingenuity, occasionally amounting almost to genius. such is not at all within my wishes, as it assuredly would be totally without my powers. but besides such marvels of historic mapping as i have described, where every one can find at a glance whatever he may be looking for, and get the whole topography, geological and botanical, of an historic tract at his fingers' ends, there are yet other kinds of work which may be done. for a period in history is like a more or less extended real landscape: it has, if you will, actual, chemically defined colours in this and that, if you consider this and that separate and unaffected by any kind of visual medium; and measurable distances also between this point and the other, if you look down upon it as from a balloon. but, like a real landscape, it may also be seen from different points of view, and under different lights; then, according as you stand, the features of the scene will group themselves--this ridge will disappear behind that, this valley will open out before you, that other will be closed. similarly, according to the light wherein the landscape is seen, the relative scale of colours and tints of objects, due to pervading light and to distances--what painters call the values--will alter: the scene will possess one or two predominant effects, it will produce also one or, at most, two or three (in which case co-ordinated) impressions. the art which deals with impressions, which tries to seize the real relative values of colours and tints at a given moment, is what you call new-fangled: its doctrines and works are still subject to the reproach of charlatanry. yet it is the only truly realistic art, and it only, by giving you a thing as it appears at a given moment, gives it you as it really ever is; all the rest is the result of cunning abstraction, and representing the scene as it is always, represents it (by striking an average) as it never is at all. i do not pretend that in questions of history we can proceed upon the principles of modern landscape painting: we do not know what were the elevations which made perspective, what were the effects of light which created scales of tints, in that far distant country of the past; and it is safer certainly, and doubtless much more useful, to strike an average, and represent the past as seen neither from here nor from there, neither in this light nor that, and let each man imagine his historical perspective and colour value to the best of his powers. yet it is nevertheless certain that the past, to the people who were in it, was not a miraculous map or other marvellous diagram constructed on the principle of getting at the actual qualities of things by analysis; that it must have been, to its inhabitants, but a series of constantly varied perspectives and constantly varied schemes of colour, according to the position of each individual, and the light in which that individual viewed it. to attempt to reconstruct those various perspective-making heights, to rearrange those various value-determining lights, would be to the last degree disastrous; we should have valleys where there existed mountains, and brilliant warm schemes of colour where there may have been all harmonies of pale and neutral tints. still the perspective and colour valuation of individual minds there must have been; and since it is not given to us to reproduce those of the near spectator in a region which we can never enter, we may yet sometimes console ourselves for the too melancholy abstractness and averageness of scientific representations, by painting that distant historic country as distant indeed, but as its far-off hill ranges and shimmering plains really appear in their combination of form and colour, from the height of an individual interest of our own, and beneath the light of our individual character. we see only very little at a time, and that little is not what it appeared to the men of the past; but we see at least, if not the same things, yet in the same manner in which they saw, as we see from the standpoints of personal interest and in the light of personal temper. scientifically we doubtless lose; but is the past to be treated only scientifically? and can it not give us, and do we not owe it, something more than a mere understanding of why and how? is it a thing so utterly dead as to be fit only for the scalpel and the microscope? surely not so. the past can give us, and should give us, not merely ideas, but emotions: healthy pleasure which may make us more light of spirit, and pain which may make us more earnest of mind; the one, it seems to me, as necessary for our individual worthiness as is the other. for to each of us, as we watch the past, as we lie passive and let it slowly circulate around us, there must come sights which, in their reality or in their train of associations, and to the mind of each differently, must gladden as with a sense of beauty, or put us all into a sullen moral ache. i should hate to be misunderstood in this more, perhaps, than in anything else in the world. i speak not of any dramatic emotion, of such egotistic, half-artistic pleasure as some may get from the alternation of cheerfulness and terror, from the excitement caused by evil from which we are as safely separated as are those who look on from the enfuriate bulls in an arena. to such, history, and the history especially of the renaissance, has been made to pander up but too much. the pain i speak of is the pain which must come to every morally sentient creature with the contemplation of some one of the horrible tangles of evil, of the still fouler intermeshing of evil with good, which history brings up ever and anon. evil which is past, it is true, but of which the worst evil almost of all, the fact of its having been, can never be past, must ever remain present; and our trouble and indignation at which is holy, our pain is healthy: holy and healthy, because every vibration of such pain as that makes our moral fibre more sensitive; because every immunity from such sensation deadens our higher nature: holy and healthy also because, just as no image of pleasurable things can pass before us without gathering about it other images of some beauty which have long lain by in each individual mind, so also no thought of great injustice of man or of accident, of signal whitewashing of evil or befouling of good, but must, in striking into our soul, put in motion there the salutary thought of some injustice or lying legitimation or insidious pollution, smaller indeed perhaps, but perhaps also nearer to ourselves. be not therefore too hard upon me if in what i have written of the renaissance, there is too little attempt to make matters scientifically complete, and too much giving way to personal and perhaps sometimes irrelevant impressions of pleasure and of pain; if i have followed up those pleasurable and painful impressions rather more than sought to discover the exact geography of the historical tract which gave them. consider, moreover, that this very cause of deficiency may have been also the cause of my having succeeded in achieving anything at all. personal impression has led me, perhaps, sometimes away from the direct road; but had it not beckoned me to follow, i should most likely have simply not stirred. pleasant impression and painful, as i have said; and sometimes the painful has been more efficacious than the other. i do not know whether the interest which i have always taken in the old squabble of real and ideal has enabled me to make at all clearer the different characteristics of painting and sculpture in renaissance portraiture, the relation of the art of raphael to the art of velasquez and the art of whistler. i can scarcely judge whether the pleasure which i owe to the crowding together, the moving about in my fancy, of the heroes and wizards and hippogriffs of the old tales of oberon and ogier; the association with the knights and ladies of boiardo and ariosto, of this or that figure out of a fresco of pinturicchio, or a picture by dosso, has made it easier or more difficult for me to sum up the history of mediæval romance in renaissance italy; nor whether the recollection of certain tuscan farms, the well-known scent of the sun-dried fennel and mint under the vine-trellis, the droning song of the contadino ploughing or pruning unseen in the valley, the snatches of peasants' rhymes, the outlines of peasants' faces--things all these of this our own time, of yesterday or to-day; whether all this, running in my mind like so many scribbly illustrations and annotations along the margin of lorenzo dei medici's poems, has made my studies of rustic poetry more clear or more confused. but this much i know as a certainty, that never should i have tried to unravel the causes of the renaissance's horrible anomaly of improvement and degradation, had not that anomaly returned and returned to make me wretched with its loathsome mixture of good and evil; its detestable alternative of endurance of vile solidarities in the souls of our intellectual forefathers, or of unjust turning away from the men and the times whose moral degradation paid the price of our moral dignity. i also have the further certainty of its having been this long-endured moral sickening at the sight of this moral anomaly, which enabled me to realize the feelings of such of our nobler elizabethan playwrights as sought to epitomize in single tales of horror the strange impressions left by the accomplished and infamous italy of their day; and which made it possible for me to express perhaps some of the trouble which filled the mind of webster and of tourneur merely by expressing the trouble which filled my own. the following studies are not samples, fragments at which one tries one's hand, of some large and methodical scheme of work. they are mere impressions developed by means of study: not merely currents of thought and feeling which i have singled out from the multifold life of the renaissance; but currents of thought and feeling in myself, which have found and swept along with them certain items of renaissance lore. for the renaissance has been to me, in the small measure in which it has been anything, not so much a series of studies as a series of impressions. i have not mastered the history and literature of the renaissance (first-hand or second-hand, perfectly or imperfectly), abstract and exact, and then sought out the places and things which could make that abstraction somewhat more concrete in my mind; i have seen the concrete things, and what i might call the concrete realities of thought and feeling left behind by the renaissance, and then tried to obtain from books some notion of the original shape and manner of wearing these relics, rags and tatters of a past civilization. for italy, beggared and maimed (by her own unthrift, by the rapacity of others, by the order of fate) at the beginning of the sixteenth century, was never able to weave for herself a new, a modern civilization, as did the nations who had shattered her looms on which such woofs are made, and carried off her earnings with which such things may be bought; and she had, accordingly, to go through life in the old garments, still half mediæval in shape, which had been fashioned for her during the renaissance: apparel of the best that could then be made, beautiful and strong in many ways, so beautiful and strong indeed as to impose on people for a good long time, and make french, and germans, and spaniards, and english believe (comparing these brilliant tissues with the homespun they were providing for themselves) that it must be all brand new, and of the very latest fashion. but the garments left to italy by those latest middle ages which we call renaissance, were not eternal: wear and tear, new occupations, and the rough usage of other nations, rent them most sorely; their utter neglect by the long seventeenth century, their hasty patchings up (with bits of odd stuff and all manner of coloured thread and string, so that a harlequin's jacket could not look queerer) by the happy-go-lucky practicalness of the eighteenth century and the revolution, reduced them thoroughly to rags; and with these rags of renaissance civilization, italy may still be seen to drape herself. not perhaps in the great centres, where the garments of modern civilization, economical, unpicturesque, intended to be worn but a short time, have been imported from other countries; but yet in many places. yes, you may still see those rags of the renaissance as plainly as you see the tattered linen fluttering from the twisted iron hooks (made for the display of precious brocades and carpets on pageant days) which still remain in the stained whitewash, the seams of battered bricks of the solid old escutcheoned palaces; see them sometimes displayed like the worm-eaten squares of discoloured embroidery which the curiosity dealers take out of their musty oak presses; and sometimes dragging about mere useless and befouled odds and ends, like the torn shreds which lie among the decaying kitchen refuse, the broken tiles and plaster, the nameless filth and ooze which attracts the flies under every black archway, in every steep bricked lane descending precipitously between the high old houses. old palaces, almost strongholds, and which are still inhabited by those too poor to pull them down and build some plastered bandbox instead; poems and prose tales written or told five hundred years ago, edited and re-edited by printers to whom there come no modern poems or prose tales worth editing instead; half-pagan, mediæval priest lore, believed in by men and women who have not been given anything to believe instead; easy-going, all-permitting fifteenth century scepticism, not yet replaced by the scientific and socialistic disbelief which is puritanic and iconoclastic; sly and savage habits of vengeance still doing service among the lower classes instead of the orderly chicanery of modern justice;--these are the things, and a hundred others besides, concrete and spiritual, things too magnificent, too sordid, too irregular, too nauseous, too beautiful, and, above all, too utterly unpractical and old-fashioned for our times, which i call the rags of the renaissance, and with which italy still ekes out her scanty apparel of modern thoughts and things. it is living among such things, turn by turn delighted by their beauty and offended by their foulness, that one acquires the habit of spending a part only of one's intellectual and moral life in the present, and the rest in the past. impressions are not derived from description, and thoughts are not suggested by books. the juxtaposition of concrete objects invites the making of a theory as the jutting out of two branches invites the spinning of a spider's web. you find everywhere your facts without opening a book. the explanation which i have tried to give of the exact manner in which mediæval art was influenced by the remains of antiquity, came like a flash during a rainy morning in the pisan campo santo; the working out and testing of that explanation in its details was a matter of going from one church or gallery to the other, a reference or two to vasari for some date or fact being the only necessary reading; and should any one at this moment ask me for substantiation of that theory, instead of opening books i would take that person to this sienese cathedral, and there bid him compare the griffins and arabesques, the delicate figure and foliage ornaments carved in wood and marble by the latter middle ages, with the griffins and arabesques, the boldly bossed horsemen, the exquisite fruit garlands of a certain antique altar stone which the builders of the church used as a base to a pillar, and which must have been a never-ceasing-object of study to every draughtsman and stoneworker in siena. nor are such everywhere-scattered facts ready for working into theoretic shape, the most which italy still affords to make the study of the renaissance an almost involuntary habit. in certain places where only decay has altered things from what they were four centuries ago, perugia, orvieto, s. gimignano, in the older quarters of florence, venice, and verona, but nowhere i think so much as in this city of siena (as purely mediæval as the suits of rusted armour which its townsfolk patch up and bury themselves in during their august pageants), we are subjected to receive impressions of the past so startlingly lifelike as to get quite interwoven with our impressions of the present; and from that moment the past must share, in a measure, some of the everyday thoughts which we give to the present. in such a city as this, the sudden withdrawal, by sacristan or beggar-crone, of the curtain from before an altar-piece is many a time much more than the mere displaying of a picture: it is the sudden bringing us face to face with the real life of the renaissance. we have ourselves, perhaps not an hour before, sauntered through squares and dawdled beneath porticos like those which we see filled with the red-robed and plumed citizens and patricians, the jews and ruffians whom pinturicchio's parti-coloured men-at-arms are dispersing to make room for the followers of Æneas sylvius; or clambered up rough lanes, hedged in between oak woods and oliveyards, which we might almost swear were the very ones through which are winding sodoma's cavalcades of gallantly dressed gentlemen, with their hawks and hounds, and negro jesters and apes and beautiful pages, cantering along on shortnecked little horses with silver bits and scarlet trappings, on the pretence of being the kings from the east, carrying gold and myrrh to the infant christ. it seems as if all were astoundingly real, as if, by some magic, we were actually going to mix in the life of the past. but it is in reality but a mere delusion, a deceit like those dioramas which we have all been into as children, and where, by paying your shilling, you were suddenly introduced into an oasis of the desert, or into a recent battle-field: things which surprised us, real palm trunks and arabian water jars, or real fascines and cannon balls, lying about for us to touch; roads opening on all sides into this simulated desert, through this simulated battle-field. so also with these seeming realities of renaissance life. we can touch the things scattered on the foreground, can handle the weapons, the furniture, the books and musical instruments; we can see, or think we see, most plainly the streets and paths, the faces and movements of that renaissance world; but when we try to penetrate into it, we shall find that there is but a slip of solid ground beneath us, that all around us is but canvas and painted wall, perspectived and lit up by our fancy; and that when we try to approach to touch one of those seemingly so real men and women, our eyes find only daubs of paint, our hands meet only flat and chilly stucco. turn we to our books, and seek therein the spell whereby to make this simulacrum real; and i think the plaster will still remain plaster, the stones still remain stone. out of the renaissance, out of the middle ages, we must never hope to evoke any spectres which can talk with us and we with them; nothing of the kind of those dim but familiar ghosts, often grotesque rather than heroic, who come to us from out of the books, the daubed portraits of times nearer our own, and sit opposite us, making us laugh, and also cry, with humdrum stories and humdrum woes so very like our own. no; such ghosts the renaissance has not left behind it. from out of it there come to us no familiars. they are all faces--those which meet us in the pages of chronicles and in the frames of pictures: they are painted records of the past--we may understand them by scanning well their features, but they cannot understand, they cannot perceive us. such, when all is said, are my impressions of the renaissance. the moral atmosphere of those days is as impossible for us to breathe as would be the physical atmosphere of the moon: could we, for a moment, penetrate into it, we should die of asphyxia. say what we may against both protestant reformation and catholic reaction, these two began to make an atmosphere (pure or foul) different from that of the middle ages and the renaissance, an atmosphere in which lived creatures like ourselves, into which ourselves might penetrate. a crotchet this, perhaps, of my own; but it is my feeling, nevertheless. the renaissance is, i say again, no period out of which we must try and evoke ghostly companions. let us not waste our strength in seeking to do so; but be satisfied if it teaches us strange truths, scientific and practical; if its brilliant and solemn personalities, its bright and majestic art can give us pleasure; if its evils and wrongs, its inevitable degradation, can move us to pity and to indignation. siena, _september_, . the sacrifice. ihr führt ins leben uns hinein; ihr lässt den armen schuldig werden; dann übergiebt ihr ihm der pein, denn alle schuld rächt sich auf erden. at the end of the fifteenth century, italy was the centre of european civilization: while the other nations were still plunged in a feudal barbarism which seems almost as far removed from all our sympathies as is the condition of some american or polynesian savages, the italians appear to us as possessing habits of thought, a mode of life, political, social, and literary institutions, not unlike those of to-day; as men whom we can thoroughly understand, whose ideas and aims, whose general views, resemble our own in that main, indefinable characteristic of being modern. they had shaken off the morbid monastic ways of feeling, they had thrown aside the crooked scholastic modes of thinking, they had trampled under foot the feudal institutions of the middle ages; no symbolical mists made them see things vague, strange, and distorted; their intellectual atmosphere was as clear as our own, and, if they saw less than we do, what they did see appeared to them in its true shape and proportions. almost for the first time since the ruin of antique civilization, they could show well-organized, well-defined states; artistically disciplined armies; rationally devised laws; scientifically conducted agriculture; and widely extended, intelligently undertaken commerce. for the first time, also, they showed regularly built, healthy, and commodious towns; well-drained fields; and, more important than all, hundreds of miles of country owned not by feudal lords, but by citizens; cultivated not by serfs, but by free peasants. while in the rest of europe men were floundering among the stagnant ideas and crumbling institutions of the effete middle ages, with but a vague half-consciousness of their own nature, the italians walked calmly through a life as well arranged as their great towns, bold, inquisitive, and sceptical: modern administrators, modern soldiers, modern politicians, modern financiers, scholars, and thinkers. towards the end of the fifteenth century, italy seemed to have obtained the philosophic, literary, and artistic inheritance of greece; the administrative, legal, and military inheritance of rome, increased threefold by her own strong, original, essentially modern activities. yet, at that very time, and almost in proportion as all these advantages developed, the moral vitality of the italians was rapidly decreasing, and a horrible moral gangrene beginning to spread: liberty was extinguished; public good faith seemed to be dying out; even private morality flickered ominously; every free state became subject to a despot, always unscrupulous and often infamous; warfare became a mere pretext for the rapine and extortions of mercenaries; diplomacy grew to be a mere swindle; the humanists inoculated literature with the filthiest refuse cast up by antiquity; nay, even civic and family ties were loosened; assassinations and fratricides began to abound, and all law, human and divine, to be set at defiance. the nations who came into contact with the italians opened their eyes with astonishment, with mingled admiration and terror; and we, people of the nineteenth century, are filled with the same feeling, only much stronger and more defined, as we watch the strange ebullition of the renaissance, seething with good and evil, as we contemplate the enigmatic picture drawn by the puzzled historian, the picture of a people moving on towards civilization and towards chaos. our first feeling is perplexity; our second feeling, anger; we do not at first know whether we ought to believe in such an anomaly; when once we do believe in it, we are indignant at its existence. we accuse these italians of the renaissance of having wilfully and shamefully perverted their own powers, of having wantonly corrupted their own civilization, of having cynically destroyed their own national existence, of having boldly called down the vengeance of heaven; we lament and we accuse, naturally enough, but perhaps not justly. let us ask ourselves what the renaissance really was, and what was its use; how it was produced, and how it necessarily ended. let us try to understand its inherent nature, and the nature of what surrounded it, which, taken together, constitute its inevitable fate; let us seek the explanation of that strange, anomalous civilization, of that life in death, and death in life. the renaissance, inasmuch as it is something which we can define, and not a mere vague name for a certain epoch, is not a period, but a condition; and if we apply the word to any period in particular, it is because in it that condition was peculiarly marked. the renaissance may be defined as being that phase in mediæval history in which the double influence, feudal and ecclesiastic, which had gradually crushed the spontaneous life of the early mediæval revival, and reduced all to a dead, sterile mass, was neutralized by the existence of democratic and secular communities; that phase in which, while there existed not yet any large nations, or any definite national feeling, there existed free towns and civic democracies. in this sense the renaissance began to exist with the earliest mediæval revival, but its peculiar mission could be carried out only when that general revival had come to an end. in this sense, also, the renaissance did not exist all over italy, and it existed outside italy; but in italy it was far more universal than elsewhere: there it was the rule, elsewhere the exception. there was no renaissance in savoy, nor in naples, nor even in rome; but north of the alps there was renaissance only in individual towns like nürnberg, augsburg, bruges, ghent, &c. in the north the renaissance is dotted about amidst the stagnant middle ages; in italy the middle ages intersect and interrupt the renaissance here and there: the consequence was that in the north the renaissance was crushed by the middle ages, whereas in italy the middle ages were crushed by the renaissance. wherever there was a free town, without direct dependence on feudal or ecclesiastical institutions, governed by its own citizens, subsisting by its own industry and commerce; wherever the burghers built walls, slung chains across their streets, and raised their own cathedral; wherever, be it in germany, in flanders, or in england, there was a suspension of the deadly influences of the later middle ages; there, to greater or less extent, was the renaissance. but in the north this rudimentary renaissance was never suffered to spread beyond the walls of single towns; it was hemmed in on all sides by feudal and ecclesiastical institutions, which restrained it within definite limits. the free towns of germany were mostly dependent upon their bishops or archbishops; the more politically important cities of flanders were under the suzerainty of a feudal family; they were subject to constant vexations from their suzerains, and their very existence was endangered by an attempt at independence; liege was well-nigh destroyed by the supporters of her bishop, and ghent was ruined by the revenge of the duke of burgundy. in these northern cities, therefore, the commonwealth was restricted to a sort of mercantile corporation--powerful within the town, but powerless without it; while outside the town reigned feudalism, with its robber nobles, free companies, and bands of outlawed peasants, from whom the merchant princes of bruges and nürnberg could scarcely protect their wares. to this political feebleness and narrowness corresponded an intellectual weakness and pettiness: the burghers were mere self-ruling tradesfolk; their interests did not extend far beyond their shops and their houses; literature was cramped in guilds, and reflection and imagination were confined within the narrow limits of town life. everything was on a small scale; the renaissance was moderate and inefficient, running no great dangers and achieving no great conquests. there was not enough action to produce reaction; and, while the italian free states were ground down by foreign tyrannies, the german and flemish cities insensibly merged into the vast empire of the house of austria. while also the italians of the sixteenth century rushed into moral and religious confusion, which only jesuitism could discipline, the germans of the same time quietly and comfortably adopted the reformation. the main cause of this difference, the main explanation of the fact that while in the north the renaissance was cramped and enfeebled, in italy it carried everything before it, lies in the circumstance that feudalism never took deep root in italy. the conquered latin race was enfeebled, it is true, but it was far more civilized than the conquering teutonic peoples; the barbarians came down, not on to a previous layer of barbarians, but on to a deep layer of civilized men; the nomads of the north found in italy a people weakened and corrupt, but with a long and inextinguishable habit of independence, of order, of industry. the country had been cultivated for centuries, the barbarians could not turn it into a desert; the inhabitants had been organized as citizens for a thousand years, the barbarians could not reorganize them feudally. the barbarians who settled in italy, especially the latest of them, the lombards, were not only in a minority, but at an immense disadvantage. they founded kingdoms and dukedoms, where german was spoken and german laws were enacted; but whenever they tried to communicate with their italian subjects, they found themselves forced to adopt the latin language, manners, and laws; their domination became real only in proportion as it ceased to be teutonic, and the barbarian element was swallowed up by what remained of roman civilization. little by little these lombard monarchies, without roots in the soil, and surrounded by hostile influences, died out, and there remained of the invaders only a certain number of nobles, those whose descendants were to bear the originally german names of gherardesca, rolandinghi, soffredinghi, lambertazzi, guidi, and whose suzerains were the bavarian and swabian dukes and marquises of tuscan. meanwhile the latin element revived; towns were rebuilt; a new latin language was formed; and the burghers of these young communities gradually wrested franchises and privileges from the weak teutonic rulers, who required italian agriculture, industry, and commerce, without which they and their feudal retainers would have starved. feudalism became speedily limited to the hilly country; the plain became the property of the cities which it surrounded; the nobles turned into mere robber chieftains, then into mercenary soldiers, and finally, as the towns gained importance, they gradually descended into the cities and begged admission into the guilds of artizans and tradesfolk. thus they grew into citizens and italians; but for a long time they kept hankering after feudalism, and looking towards the german emperors who claimed the inheritance of the lombard kings. the struggle between guelphs and ghibellines, between the german feudal element and the latin civic one, ended in the complete annihilation of the former in all the north and centre of italy. the nobles sank definitely into merchants, and those who persisted in keeping their castles were speedily ousted by the commissaries of the free towns. such is the history of feudalism in italy--the history of barbarian minority engulphed in latin civilization; of teutonic counts and dukes turned into robber nobles, hunted into the hills by the townsfolk, and finally seeking admission into the guilds of wool-spinners or money-changers; and in it is the main explanation of the fact that the italian republics, instead of remaining restricted within their city walls like those of the north, spread over whole provinces, and became real politically organized states. and in such states having a free political, military, and commercial life, uncramped by ecclesiastic or feudal influence, in them alone could the great revival of human intelligence and character thoroughly succeed. the commune was the only species of free government possible during the middle ages, the only form which could resist that utterly prostrating action of later mediævalism. feudalism stamped out civilization; monasticism warped it; in the open country it was burnt, trampled on, and uprooted; in the cloister it withered and shrank and perished; only within the walls of a city, protected from the storm without, and yet in the fresh atmosphere of life, could it develope, flourish, and bear fruit. but this system of the free town contained in itself, as does every other institution, the seed of death--contained it in that expanding element which developes, ripens, rots, and finally dissolves all living organisms. a little town is formed in the midst of some feudal state, as pisa, florence, lucca, and bologna were formed in the dominions of the lords of tuscany; the _elders_ govern it; it is protected from without; it obtains privileges from its suzerain, always glad to oppose anything to his vassals, and who, unlike them, is too far removed in the feudal scale to injure the commune, which is under his supreme jurisdiction but not in his land. the town can thus develope regularly, governing itself, taxing itself, defending itself against encroaching neighbours; it gradually extends beyond its own walls, liberates its peasantry, extends its commerce, extinguishes feudalism, beats back its suzerain or buys privileges from him; in short, lives the vigorous young life of the early italian commonwealths. but now the danger begins. the original system of government, where every head of a family is a power in the state, where every man helps to govern, without representation or substitution, could exist only as long as the commune remained small enough for the individual to be in proportion with it; as long as the state remained small enough for all its citizens to assemble in the market-place and vote, for every man to know every detail of the administration, every inch of the land. when the limits were extended, the burgher had to deal with towns and villages and men and things which he did not know, and which he probably hated, as every small community hated its neighbour; witness the horrible war, lasting centuries, between the two little towns of dinant and bouvines on the meuse. still more was this the case with an important city: the subjugated town was hated all the more for being a rival centre; the burghers of florence, inspired only by their narrow town interest, treated pisa according to its dictates, that is, tried to stamp it out. thence the victorious communes came to be surrounded by conquered communes, which they dared not trust with any degree of power; and which, instead of being so many allies in case of invasion, were merely focuses of revolt, or at best inert impediments. similarly, when the communes enlarged, and found it indispensable to delegate special men, who could attend to political matters more thoroughly than the other citizens, they were constantly falling under the tyranny of their _captains of the people_, of their _gonfalonieri_, and of all other heads of the state; or else, as in florence, they were frightened by this continual danger into a system of perpetual interference with the executive, which was thus rendered well-nigh helpless. to this rule venice forms the only exception, on account of her exceptional position and history: the earliest burghers turning into an intensely conservative and civic aristocracy, while everywhere else the feudal nobles turned into petty burghers, entirely subversive of communal interests. venice had the yet greater safeguard of being protected both from her victorious enemies and her own victorious generals; who, however powerful on the mainland, could not seriously endanger the city itself, which thus remained a centre of reorganization in time of disaster. in this venice was entirely unique, as she was unique in the duration of her institutions and independence. in the other towns of italy, where there existed no naturally governing family or class, where every citizen had an equal share in government, and there existed no distinction save that of wealth and influence, there was a constant tendency to the illegitimate preponderance of every man or every family that rose above the average; and in a democratic, mercantile state, not a day passed without some such elevation. in a systematic, consolidated state, where the power is in the hands of a hereditary sovereign or aristocracy, a rich merchant remains a rich merchant, a victorious general remains a victorious general, an eloquent orator remains an eloquent orator; but in a shapeless, flunctuating democracy like those of italy, the man who has influence over his fellow-citizens, whether by his money, his soldiers, or his eloquence, necessarily becomes the head of the state; everything is free and unoccupied, only a little superior strength is required to push into it. cosimo de' medici has many clients, many correspondents, many debtors; he can bind people by pecuniary obligations: he becomes prince. sforza has a victorious army, whom he can either hound on to the city or restrain into a protection of its interests: he becomes prince. savonarola has eloquence that makes the virtuous start up and the wicked tremble: he becomes prince. the history of the italian commonwealths shows us but one thing: the people, the only legal possessors of political power, giving it over to their bankers (medici, pepoli); to their generals (della torre, visconti, scaligeri); to their monkish reformers (fra bussolaro, fra giovanni da vincenza, savonarola). here then we have the occasional but inevitable usurpers, who either momentarily or finally disorganize the state. but this is not all. in such a state every family hate, every mercantile hostility, means a corresponding political division. the guilds are sure to be rivals, the larger wishing to exclude the smaller from government: the lower working classes (the _ciompi_ of florence) wish to upset the guilds completely; the once feudal nobles wish to get back military power; the burghers wish entirely to extirpate the feudal nobles; the older families wish to limit the government, the newer prefer democracy and cæsarism. add to this the complications of private interests, the personal jealousies and aversions, the private warfare, inevitable in a town where legal justice is not always to be had, while forcible retaliation is always within reach; and the result is constant party spirit, insults, scuffles, conspiracies: the feudal nobles build towers in the streets, the burghers pull them down; the lower artizans set fire to the warehouses of the guilds, the magistrates take part in the contest; blood is spilt, magistrates are beheaded or thrown out of windows, a foreign state is entreated to interfere, and a number of citizens are banished by the victorious party. this latter result creates a new and terrible danger for the state, in the persons of so many exiles, ready to do anything, to join with any one, in order to return to the city and drive out their enemies in their turn. the end of such constant upheavings is that the whole population is disarmed, no party suffering its rival to have any means of offence or defence. moreover, as industry and commerce develope, the citizens become unwilling to fight, while on the other hand the invention of firearms, subverting the whole system of warfare, renders special military training more and more necessary. in the days of the lombard league, of campaldino and montaperti, the citizens could fight, hand to hand, round their _carroccio_ or banner, without much discipline being required; but when it came to fortifying towns against cannon, to drilling bodies of heavily armed cavalry, acting by the mere dexterity of their movements; when war became a science and an art, then the citizen had necessarily to be left out, and adventurers and poor nobles had to form armies of mercenaries, making warfare their sole profession. this system of mercenary troops, so bitterly inveighed against by machiavelli (who, of course, entirely overlooked its inevitable origin and viewed it as a voluntarily incurred pest), added yet another and, perhaps, the very worst danger to civil liberty. it gave enormous, irresistible power to adventurers unscrupulous by nature and lawless by education, the sole object of whose career it became to obtain possession of states; by no means a difficult enterprise, considering that they and their fellows were the sole possessors of military force in the country. at the same time, this system of mercenaries perfected the condition of utter defencelessness in which the gradual subjection of rival cities, the violent party spirit, and the general disarming of the burghers, had placed the great italian cities. for these troops, being wholly indifferent as to the cause for which they were fighting, turned war into the merest game of dodges--half-a-dozen men being killed at a great battle like that of anghiari--and they at the same time protracted campaigns beyond every limit, without any decisive action taking place. the result of all these inevitable causes of ruin, was that most of the commonwealths fell into the hands of despots; while those that did not were paralyzed by interior factions, by a number of rebellious subject towns, and by generals who, even if they did not absolutely betray their employers, never efficiently served them. such a condition of civic disorder lasted throughout the middle ages, until the end of the fifteenth century, without any further evils arising from it. the italians made endless wars with each other, conquered each other, changed their government without end, fell into the power of tyrants; but throughout these changes their civilization developed unimpeded; because, although one of the centres of national life might be momentarily crushed, the others remained in activity, and infused vitality even into the feeble one, which would otherwise have perished. all these ups and downs seemed but to stir the life in the country: and no vital danger appeared to threaten it; nor did any, so long as the surrounding countries--france, germany, and spain--remained mere vast feudal nebulae, formless, weightless, immovable. the italians feared nothing from them; they would call down the king of france or the emperor of germany without a moment's hesitation, because they knew that the king could not bring france, nor the emperor bring germany, but only a few miserable, hungry retainers with him; but florence would watch the growth of the petty state of the scaligers, and venice look with terror at the duke of milan, because they knew that _there_ there was concentrated life, and an organization which could be wielded as' perfectly as a sword by the head of the state. in the last decade of the fifteenth century the italians called in the french to put down their private enemies: lodovico of milan called down charles viii. to rid him of his nephew and of the venetians; the venetians to rid them of lodovico: the medici to establish them firmly in florence; the party of freedom to drive out the medici. each state intended to use the french to serve their purpose, and then to send back charles viii. with a little money and a great deal of derision, as they had done with kings and emperors of earlier days. but italian politicians suddenly discovered that they had made a fatal mistake; that they had reckoned in ignorance, and that instead of an army they had called down a nation: for during the interval since their last appeal to foreign interference, that great movement had taken place which had consolidated the heterogeneous feudal nebulae into homogeneous and compact kingdoms. single small states, relying upon mercenary troops, could not for a moment resist the shock of such an agglomeration of soldiery as that of the french, and of their successors the spaniards and germans. sismondi asks indignantly, why did the italians not form a federation as soon as the strangers appeared? he might as well ask, why did the commonwealths not turn into a modern monarchy? the habit of security from abroad and of jealousy within; the essential nature of a number of rival trading centres, made such a thing not only impossible of execution, but for a while impossible of conception; confederacies had become possible only when burlamacchi was decapitated by the imperialists; popular resistance had become a reality only when feruccio was massacred by the spaniards; a change of national institutions was feasible only when all national institutions had been destroyed; when the italians, having recognized the irresistible force of their adversaries, had ceased to form independent states and larger and smaller guilds; when all the characteristics of italian civilization had been destroyed; when, in short, it was too late to do anything save theorize with machiavelli and guicciardini as to what ought to have been done. we must not hastily accuse the volition of the italians of the renaissance; they may have been egotistic and timid, but had they been (as some most certainly were) heroic and self-sacrificing to the utmost degree, they could not have averted the catastrophe. the nature of their civilization prevented not only their averting the peril, but even their conceiving its existence; the very nature of their political forms necessitated such a dissolution of them. the commune grows from within; it is a little speck which gradually extends its circumference, and the further this may be from the original centre, the less do its parts coalesce. the modern monarchy grows from external pressure, and towards the centre; it is a huge mass consolidating into a hard, distinct shape. thence it follows that the more the commonwealth developes, the weaker it grows, because its tendency is to spread and fall to pieces; whereas the more the monarchy developes, the stronger it becomes, because it fills up towards the centre, and becomes more vigorously knit together. the city ceases to be a city when extended over hundreds of miles; the nation becomes all the more a nation for being compressed towards a central point. the entire political collapse of italy in the sixteenth century was not only inevitable, from the essential nature of the civilization of the renaissance, but it was also indispensable in order that this civilization might fulfil its mission. civilization cannot spread so long as it is contained within a national mould, and only a vanquished nation can civilize its victors. the greece of pericles could not hellenize rome, but the greece of the weak successors of alexander could; the rome of cæsar did not romanize the teutonic races as did the rome of theodosius; no amount of colonizing among the vanquished can ever produce the effect of a victorious army, of a whole nation, suddenly finding itself in the midst of the superior civilization of a conquered people. michelet may well call the campaign of charles viii. the discovery of italy. his imaginative mind seized at once the vast importance of this descent of the french into italy, which other historians have been too prone to view in the same light as any other invasion. it is from this moment that dates the _modernisation_, if we may so express ourselves, of the north. the barbarous soldiers of gaston de foix, of frundsberg, and of gonsalvo, were the unconscious bearers of the seeds of the ages of elizabeth, of louis xiv., and of goethe. these stupid and rapacious ruffians, while they wantonly destroyed the works of italian civilization, rendered possible the existence of a montaigne, a shakespeare, and a cervantes. italy was as a vast store-house, sheltered from all the dangers of mediæval destruction; in which, while all other nations were blindly and fiercely working out their national existence, the inheritance of antiquity and the produce of the earliest modern civilization had been peaceably garnered up. when the store-house was full, its gates had to be torn open and its riches plundered and disseminated by the intellectual starvelings of the north; thus only could the rest of mankind feed on these riches, regain and develope their mental life. what were those intellectual riches of the renaissance? what was that strong intellectual food which revived the energies and enriched the blood of the barbarians of the sixteenth century? the renaissance possessed the germs of every modern thing, and much that was far more than a mere germ: it possessed the habit of equality before the law, of civic organization, of industry and commerce developed to immense and superb proportions. it possessed science, literature, and art; above all, that which at once produced and was produced by all these--thorough perception of what exists, thorough consciousness of our own freedom and powers: self-cognizance. in italy there was intellectual light, enabling men to see and judge all around them, enabling them to act wittingly and deliberately. in this lies the immense greatness of the renaissance; to this are due all its achievements in literature and science, and, above all, in art: that, for the first time since the dissolution of antique civilization, men were free agents, both in thought and in deed; that there was an end of that palsying slavery of the middle ages, slavery of body and of mind, slavery to stultified ideas and effete forms, which made men endure every degree of evil and believe every degree of absurdity. for the first time since antiquity, man walks free of all political and intellectual trammels, erect, conscious of his own thoughts, master of his own actions; ready to seek for truth across the ocean like columbus, or across the heavens like copernicus; to seek it in criticism and analysis like machiavelli or guicciardini, boldly to reproduce it in its highest, widest sense like michael angelo and raphael. the men of the renaissance had to pay a heavy price for this intellectual freedom and self-cognizance which they not only enjoyed themselves, but transmitted to the rest of the world; the price was the loss of all moral standard, of all fixed public feeling. they had thrown aside all accepted rules and criteria, they had cast away all faith in traditional institutions, they had destroyed, and could not yet rebuild. in their instinctive and universal disbelief in all that had been taught them, they lost all respect for opinion, for rule, for what had been called right and wrong. could it be otherwise? had they not discovered that what had been called right had often been unnatural, and what had been called wrong often natural? moral teachings, remonstrances, and judgments belonged to that dogmatism from which they had broken loose; to those schools and churches where the foolish and the unnatural had been taught and worshipped; to those priests and monks who themselves most shamefully violated their teachings. to profess morality was to be a hypocrite; to reprobate others was to be narrow-minded. there was so much error mixed up with truth that truth had to share the discredit of error; so many innocent things had been denounced as sins that sinful ones at length ceased to be reprobated; people had so often found themselves sympathizing with supposed criminals, that they soon lost their horror of real ones. damnation came to be disassociated from moral indignation: it was the retribution, not of the unnatural and immoral, but of the unlawful; and unlawful with respect to a law made without reference to reason and instinct. as reason and instinct were thus set at defiance, but could not be silenced, the law was soon acquiesced in without being morally supported; thus, little by little, moral feeling became warped. this was already the case in dante's day. farinata is condemned to the most horrible punishment, which to dante seems just, because in accordance with an accepted code; yet dante cannot but admire him and cannot really hate him, for there is nothing in him to hate; he is a criminal and yet respected--fatal combination! dante punishes francesca, pier delle vigne, and brunetto latini, but he shows no personal horror of them; in the one case his moral instinct refrains from censuring the comparatively innocent, in the other it has ceased to revolt from the really infamous. where dante does feel real indignation, is most often in cases unprovided for by the religious codes, as with those low, grovelling, timid natures (the very same with whom machiavelli, the admirer of great villains, fairly loses patience), those creatures whom dante personally despises, whom he punishes with filthy devices of his own, whom he passes by with words such as he never addresses to semiramis, brutus, or capaneus. this toleration of vice, while acquiescing in its legal punishment, increased in proportion to the development of individual judgment, and did not cease till all the theories of the lawful and unlawful had been so completely demolished as to permit of their being rebuilt on solid bases. this work of demolition had not yet ceased in the beginning of the sixteenth century; and the moral confusion due to it was increased by various causes dependent on political and other circumstances. the despots in whose hands it was the inevitable fate of the various commonwealths to fall, were by their very position immoral in all their dealings: violent, fraudulent, suspicious, and, from their life of constant unnatural tension of the feelings, prone to every species of depravity; while, on the other hand, in the feudal parts of italy--which had merely received a superficial renaissance varnish imported from other places with painters and humanists--in naples, rome, and the greater part of umbria and the marches, the upper classes had got into that monstrous condition which seems to have been the inevitable final product of feudalism, and which, while it gave france her armagnacs, her foix, and her retz, gave italy their counterparts in her hideously depraved princelets, the malatestas, varanos, vitelli, and baglioni. both these classes of men, despots and feudal nobles, had a wide field for their ambition among the necessarily dissolved civic institutions; and their easy success contributed to confirm the general tendency of the day to say with commines, "qui a le succès a l'honneur," and to confound these two words and ideas. nor was this yet all: the men of the renaissance discovered the antique world, and in their wild, blind enthusiasm, in their ardent, insatiable thirst for its literature, swallowed it eagerly, dregs and all, till they were drunk and poisoned. these are the main causes of the immorality of the renaissance: first, the general disbelief in all accepted doctrines, due to the falseness and unnaturalness of those hitherto prevalent; secondly, the success of unscrupulous talent in a condition of political disorder; thirdly, the wholesale and unjudging enthusiasm for all that remained of antiquity, good or bad. these three great causes, united in a general intellectual ebullition, are the explanation of the worst feature of the renaissance: not the wickedness of numberless single individuals, but the universal toleration of it by the people at large. men like sigismondo malatesta, sixtus iv., alexander vi., and cæsar borgia might be passed over as exceptions, as monstrous aberrations which cannot affect our judgment of their time and nation; but the general indifference towards their vices shown by their contemporaries and countrymen is a conclusive and terrible proof of the moral chaos of the renaissance. it is just the presence of so much instinctive simplicity and virtue, of childlike devotion to great objects, of patriarchal simplicity of manners, of all that is loveable in the books of men like vespasiano da bisticci and leon battista albert; of so much that seems like the realization of the idyllic home and merchant life of schiller's "song of the bell," by the side of all the hideous lawlessness and vice of the despots and humanists; that makes the renaissance so drearily painful a spectacle. the presence of the good does not console us for that of the evil, because it neither mitigates nor even shrinks from it; we merely lose our pleasure in the good nature and simplicity of Æneas sylvius when we see his cool admiration for a man of fraud and violence like sforza; we begin to mistrust the purity and integrity of the upright guarino da verona when we hear his lenient judgment of the infamous beccadelli; we require of the virtuous that they should not only be incapable of vice, but abhorrent of it; and this is what even the best men of the renaissance rarely were. such a state of moral chaos there has constantly been when an old effete mode of thought required to be destroyed. such work is always attended, in greater or less degree, by this subversion of all recognized authority, this indifference to evil, this bold tasting of the forbidden. in the eighteenth century france plays the same part that was played in the fifteenth by italy: again we meet the rebellion against all that has been consecrated by time and belief, the toleration of evil, the praise of the abominable, in the midst of the search for the good. these two have been the great fever epochs of modern history; fever necessary for a subsequent steady growth. both gave back truth to man, and man to nature, at the expense of temporary moral uncertainty and ruthless destruction. the renaissance reinstated the individual in his human dignity, as a thinking, feeling, and acting being; the eighteenth century reconstructed society as a homogeneous free existence; both at the expense of individual degradation and social disorder. both were moments of ebullition in which horrible things rose to the surface, but after which what remained was purer than it had ever been before. this is no plea for the immorality of the renaissance: evil is none the less evil for being inevitable and necessary; but it is nevertheless well that we should understand its necessity. it certainly is a terrible admission, but one which must be made, that evil is part of the mechanism for producing good; and had the arrangement of the universe been entrusted to us, benevolent and equitable people of an enlightened age, there would doubtless have been invented some system of evolution and progression differing from the one which includes such machinery as hurricanes and pestilences, carnage and misery, superstition and license, renaissance and eighteenth century. but unfortunately nature was organized in a less charitable and intelligent fashion; and, among other evils required for the final attainment of good, we find that of whole generations of men being condemned to moral uncertainty and error in order that other generations may enjoy knowledge peacefully and guiltlessly. let us remember this, and let us be more generous towards the men who were wicked that we might be enlightened. above all, let us bear in mind, in judging the renaissance, that the sacrifice which it represents could be useful only in so far as it was complete and irretrievable. let us remember that the communal system of government, on whose development the renaissance mainly depended, inevitably perished in proportion as it developed; that the absolute subjugation of italy by barbarous nations was requisite to the dissemination of the civilization thus obtained; that the italians were politically annihilated before they had time to recover a normal condition, and were given up crushed and broken spirited, to be taught righteousness by spaniards and jesuits. that, in short, while the morality of the italians was sacrificed to obtain the knowledge on which modern society depends, the political existence of italy was sacrificed to the diffusion of that knowledge, and that the nation was not only doomed to immorality, but doomed also to the inability to reform. perhaps, if we think of all this, and weigh the tremendous sacrifice to which we owe our present intellectual advantages, we may still feel sad, but sad rather with remorse than with indignation, in contemplating the condition of italy in the first years of the sixteenth century; in looking down from our calm, safe, scientific position, on the murder of the italian renaissance: great and noble at heart, cut off pitilessly at its prime; denied even an hour to repent and amend; hurried off before the tribunal of posterity, suddenly, unexpectedly, and still bearing its weight of unexpiated, unrecognized guilt. the italy of the elizabethan dramatists. i. the chroniclers of the last years of the fifteenth century have recorded how the soldiery of charles viii. of france amused the tedious leisure of their sullen and suspicious occupation of rome, by erecting in the camp a stage of planks, and performing thereon a rude mystery-play. the play thus improvised by a handful of troopers before this motley invading army: before the feudal cavalry of burgundy, strange steel monsters, half bird, half reptile, with steel beaked and winged helmets and claw-like steel shoes, and jointed steel corselet and rustling steel mail coat; before the infantry of gascony, rapid and rapacious with their tattered doublets and rag-bound feet; before the over-fed, immensely plumed, and slashed and furbelowed giants of switzerland, and the starved, half-naked savages of brittany and the marches--before this multifaced, many-speeched army, gathered from the rich cities of the north and the devastated fields of the south, and the wilds and rocks of the west and the east, alike in nothing save in its wonder and dread and delight and horror at this strange invaded italy--the play performed for the entertainment of this encamped army was no ordinary play. no clerkly allegorical morality; no mouthing and capering market-place farce; no history of joseph and his brethren, of the birth of the saviour, or of the temptations of st. anthony. it was the half-allegorical, half-dramatic representation of the reigning borgia pope and his children; it was the rude and hesitating moulding into dramatic shape of those terrible rumours of simony and poison, of lust and of violence, of mysterious death and abominable love, which had met the invaders as they had first set their feet in italy; which had become louder and clearer with every onward step through the peninsula, and now circulated around them, with frightful distinctness, in the very capital of christ's vicar on earth. this blundering mystery-play of the french troopers is the earliest imaginative fruit of that first terrified and fascinated glimpse of the men of the barbarous north at the strange italy of the renaissance; it is the first manifestation of that strong tragic impulse due to the sudden sight, by rude and imaginative young nations, of the splendid and triumphant wickedness of italy. the french saw, wondered, shuddered, and played upon their camp stage the tragedy of the borgias. but the french remained in italy, became familiar with its ways, and soon merely shrugged their shoulders and smiled where they had once stared in horror. they served under the flags of sforzas, borgias, baglionis, and vitellis, by the side of the bravos of naples and umbria; they saw their princes wed the daughters of evil-famed italian sovereigns, and their princes' children, their own valois and guises, develope into puny, ambiguous, and ominous medicis and gonzagas, surrounded by italian minions and poison distillers, and buffoons and money-lenders. the french of the sixteenth century, during their long neapolitan and lombard wars and negotiations, and time to learn all that italy could teach; to become refined, subtle, indifferent, and cynical: bastard italians, with the bastard italian art of goujon and philibert delorme, and the bastard italian poetry of du bellay and ronsard. the french of the sixteenth century therefore translated machiavel and ariosto and bandello; but they never again attempted such another play as that which they had improvised while listening to the tales of alexander vi. and cæsar and lucrezia, in their camp in the meadows behind sant' angelo. the spaniards then came to italy, and the germans: strong mediæval nations, like the french, with the creative power of the middle ages still in them, refreshed by the long rest of the dull fifteenth century. but spaniards and germans came as mere greedy and besotten and savage mercenaries: the scum of their countries, careless of italian sights and deeds, thinking only of torturing for hidden treasure, or swilling southern wines; and they returned to spain and to germany, to persecutions of moriscos and plundering of abbeys, as savage and as dull as they had arrived. a smattering of italian literature, art, and manners was carried back to spain and germany by spanish and german princes and governors, to be transmitted to a few courtiers and humanists; but the imagination of the lower classes of spain and of germany, absorbed in the quixotic catholicism of loyola and the biblical contemplation of luther, never came into fertilizing contact with the decaying italy of the renaissance. the mystery-play of the soldiers of charles viii. seemed destined to remain an isolated and abortive attempt. but it was not so. the invasions had exhausted themselves; the political organization of italy was definitely broken up; its material wealth was exhausted; the french, germans, and spaniards had come and gone, and returned and gone again; they had left nothing to annex or to pillage; when, about the middle of the sixteenth century, the country began to be overrun by a new horde of barbarians: the english. the english came neither as invaders nor as marauders; they were peaceable students and rich noblemen, who, so far from trying to extort money or annex territory, rather profited the ruined italians by the work which they did and the money which they squandered. yet these quiet and profitable travellers, before whom the italians might safely display their remaining wealth, were in reality as covetous of the possessions of italy and as resolute to return home enriched as any tattered gascon men-at-arms or gluttonous swiss or grinding spaniards. they were, one and all, consciously and unconsciously, dragged to italy by the irresistible instinct that italy possessed that which they required; by the greed of intellectual gain. that which they thus instinctively knew that italy possessed, that which they must obtain, was a mode of thought, a habit of form; philosophy, art, civilization: all the materials for intellectual manipulation. for, in the sixteenth century, on awakening from its long evil sleep, haunted by the nightmare of civil war, of the fifteenth century, the english mind had started up in the vigour of well-nigh mature youth, fed up and rested by the long inactivity in which it had slept through its period of assimilation and growth. it had awakened at the first touch of foreign influence, and had grown with every fresh contact with the outer world: with the first glance at plato and xenophon suddenly opened by erasmus and colet, at the bible suddenly opened by cranmer; it had grown with its sob of indignation at the sight of the burning faggots surrounding the martyrs, with its joyous heart-throbs at the sight of the seas and islands of the new world; it had grown with the sudden passionate strain of every nerve and every muscle when the galleys of philip had been sighted in the channel. and when it had paused, taken breath, and looked calmly around it, after the tumult of all these sights and sounds and actions, the english mind, in the time of elizabeth, had found itself of a sudden full-grown and blossomed out into superb manhood, with burning activities and indefatigable powers. but it had found itself without materials for work. of the scholastic philosophy and the chivalric poetry of the middle ages there remained but little that could be utilized: the few bungled formulæ, the few half-obsolete rhymes still remaining, were as unintelligible, in their spirit of feudalism and monasticism and mysticism, as were the angevin english and the monkish latin in which they were written to these men of the sixteenth century. all the intellectual wealth of england remained to be created; but it could not be created out of nothing. spenser, shakespeare, and bacon could not be produced out of the half-effete and scattered fragments of chaucer, of scotus, and of wycliffe. the materials on which english genius was to work must be sought abroad, and abroad they could be found only in italy. for in the demolished italy of the sixteenth century lay the whole intellectual wealth of the world: the great legacy of antiquity, the great work of the middle ages had been stored up, and had been increased threefold, and sorted and classified by the renaissance; and now that the national edifice had been dismantled and dilapidated, and the national activity was languishing, it all lay in confusion, awaiting only the hand of those who would carry it away and use it once more. to italy therefore englishmen of thought and fancy were dragged by an impulse of adventure and greed as irresistible as that which dragged to antwerp and the hanse ports, to india and america, the seekers for gold and for soil. to italy they flocked and through italy they rambled, prying greedily into each cranny and mound of the half-broken civilization, upturning with avid curiosity all the rubbish and filth; seeking with aching eyes and itching fingers for the precious fragments of intellectual splendour; lingering with fascinated glance over the broken remnants and deep, mysterious gulfs of a crumbling and devastated civilization. and then, impatient of their intoxicating and tantalizing search, suddenly grown desperate, they clutched and stored away everything, and returned home tattered, soiled, bedecked with gold and with tinsel, laden with an immense uncouth burden of jewels, and broken wealth, and refuse and ordure, with pseudo-antique philosophy, with half-mediæval dantesque and petrarchesque poetry, with renaissance science, with humanistic pedantry and obscenity, with euphuistic conceits and casuistic quibble, with art, politics, metaphysics--civilization embedded in all manner of rubbish and abomination, soiled with all manner of ominous stains. all this did they carry home and throw helter-skelter into the new-kindled fire of english intellectual life, mingling with it many a humble-seeming northern alloy; cleaning and compounding, casting into shapes, mediæval and english, this strange corinthian brass made of all these heterogeneous remnants, classical, italian, saxon, and christian. a strange corinthian brass indeed; and as various in tint, in weight, and in tone, in manifold varieties of mixture, as were the moulds into which it was cast: the white and delicate silver settling down in the gracious poetic moulds of sidney and spenser; the glittering gold, which can buy and increase, in the splendid, heavy mould of bacon's prose; and the copper, the iron, the silver and gold in wondrous mixture, with wondrous iridescences of colour and wondrous scale of tone, all poured into the manifold moulds, fantastic and beautiful and grand, of shakespeare. and as long as all this dross and ore and filth brought from the ruins of italy was thus mingling in the heat of english genius, while it was yet but imperfectly fused, while already its purest and best compounded portion was being poured in shakespeare's mould, and when already there remained only a seething residue; as long as there remained aught of the glowing fire and the molten mass, some of it all, of the pure metal bubbling up, of the scum frothing round, nay, of the very used-up dregs, was ever and anon being ladled out--gold, dross, filth, all indiscriminately--and cast into shapes severe, graceful, or uncouth. and this somewhat, thus pilfered from what was to make, or was making, or had made, the works of shakespeare; this base and noble, still unfused or already exhausted alloy, became the strange heterogeneous works of the elizabethan dramatists: of webster, of ford, of tourneur, of ben jonson, of beaumont and fletcher, and of their minor brethren; from the splendid ore of marlowe, only half molten and half freed from dross, down to the shining metal, smooth and silvery as only tinsel can be, of massinger. in all the works of our elizabethans, we see not only the assimilated intellectual wealth of italy, but we see the deep impression, the indelible picture in the memory, of italy itself; the positive, unallegorical, essentially secular mode of thought; the unascetic, æsthetic, eminently human mode of feeling; the artistic desire of clear and harmonious form; the innumerable tendencies and habits which sever the elizabethans so completely from the middle ages, and bring them so near at once to ourselves and to the ancients, making them at once antique and modern, in opposition to mediæval; these essential characters and the vast bulk of absolute scientific fact and formula, of philosophic opinion, of artistic shape, of humanistic learning, are only one-half of the debt of our sixteenth century to the italy of the renaissance. the delicate form of the italian sonnet, as copied by sidney from bembo and molza and costanzo, contained within it the exotic and exquisite ideal passion of the "vita nuova" and petrarch. with the bright, undulating stanza spenser received from ariosto and tasso the richly coloured spirit of the italian descriptive epic. with the splendid involutions of machiavelli's and guicciardini's prose bacon learned their cool and disimpassioned philosophy. from the reading of politian and lorenzo dei medici, from the sight of the psyche of raphael, the europa of veronese, the ariadne of tintoret, men like greene and dorset learned that revival of a more luscious and pictorial antique which was brought to perfection in shakespeare's "venus and adonis" and marlowe's "sestiad." from the platonists and epicureans of renaissance italy our greatest dramatists learned that cheerful and serious love of life, that solemn and manly facing of death, that sense of the finiteness of man, the inexhaustibleness of nature, which shines out in such grand, paganism, with such olympian serenity, as of the bent brows and smiling lips of an antique zeus, in shakespeare, in marlowe, in beaumont and fletcher, even in the sad and savage webster. but with the abstract, with the imbibed modes of thought and feeling, with the imitated forms, the elizabethans brought back from italy the concrete, the individual, the personal. they filled their works with italian things: from the whole plot of a play borrowed from an italian novel, to the mere passing allusion to an italian habit, or the mere quotation of an italian word; from the full-length picture of the actions of italian men and women, down to the mere sketch, in two or three words, of a bit of italian garden or a group of italian figures; nay, to the innumerable scraps of tiny detail, grotesque, graceful, or richly coloured, which they stuffed into all their works: allusions to the buffoons of the mask comedy, to the high-voiced singers, to the dress of the venetian merchants, to the step of a dance; to the pomegranate in the garden or the cypress on the hillside; mere names of italian things: the _lavolta_ and _corranto_ dances, the _traglietto_ ferry, the rialto bridge; countless little touches, trifling to us, but which brought home to the audience at the globe or at blackfriars that wonderful italy which every man of the day had travelled through at least in spirit, and had loved at least in imagination. and of this wonderful italy the englishmen of the days of elizabeth and of james knew yet another side; were familiar, whether travelled or untravelled, with yet other things besides the buffoons and singers and dancers, the scholars and learned ladies, the pomegranates, and cypresses and roses and nightingales; were fascinated by something besides the green lagoons, the clear summer nights, the soft spring evenings of which we feel as it were the fascination in the words of jessica and portia and juliet. the english knew and were haunted by the crimes of italy: the terrible and brilliant, the mysterious and shadowy crimes of lust and of blood which, in their most gigantic union and monstrous enthronement on the throne of the vicar of christ, had in the first terrified glimpse awakened the tragic impulse in the soldiers of charles viii. we can imagine the innumerable english travellers who went to italy greedy for life and knowledge or merely obeying a fashion of the day--travellers forced into far closer contact with the natives than the men of the time of walpole and of beckford, who were met by french-speaking hosts and lacqueys and officials--travellers also thirsting to imbibe the very spirit of the country as the travellers of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries never thirsted; we can imagine these englishmen possessed by the morbid passion for the stories of abominable and unpunished crime--crime of the learned, the refined, the splendid parts of society--with which the italy of the deeply corrupted sixteenth century was permeated. we can imagine how the prosaic merchants' clerks from london; the perfumed dandies, trying on italian clothes, rehearsing italian steps and collecting italian oaths, the faulcon-bridges of shakespeare and mr. gingleboys of beaumont and fletcher, sent to italy to be able gracefully to kiss the hand and cry, "sweet lady!" say they had been at rome and seen the relics, drunk your verdea wine, and rid at naples-- how all these privileged creatures ferreted about for monstrous crimes with which to horrify their stay-at-home countrymen; how the rich young lords, returning home with mincing steps and high-pitched lisp, surrounded by a train of parti-coloured, dialect-jabbering venetian clowns, deft and sinister neapolitan fencing masters, silver-voiced singing boys decoyed from some church, and cynical humanists escaped from the faggot or the gallows, were expected to bring home, together with the newest pastoral dramas, lewd novels, platonic philosophy and madrigals set in complicated counterpoint; stories of hideous wickedness, of the murders and rapes and poisonings committed by the dukes and duchesses, the nobles and senators, in whose palaces they had so lately supped and danced. the crimes of italy fascinated englishmen of genius with a fascination even more potent than that which they exercised over the vulgar imagination of mere foppish and swashbuckler lovers of the scandalous and the sensational: they fascinated with the attraction of tragic grandeur, of psychological strangeness, of moral monstrosity, a generation in whom the passionate imagination of the playwright was curiously blent with the metaphysical analysis of the philosopher and the ethical judgment of the puritan. to these men, ardent and serious even in their profligacy; imaginative and passionate even in their puritanism, all sucking avidly at this newly found italian civilization; the wickedness of italy was more than morbidly attractive or morbidly appalling: it was imaginatively and psychologically fascinating. whether they were as part of the action or as allusions, as in webster's two great plays, in which there occurs poisoning by means of the leaves of a book, poisoning by the poisoned lips of a picture, poisoning by a helmet, poisoning by the pommel of a saddle; crimes were multiplied by means of subordinate plots and unnecessary incidents, like the double vengeance of richardetto and of hippolita in ford's "giovanni and annabella," where both characters are absolutely unnecessary to the main story of the horrible love of the hero and heroine; like the murders of levidulcia and sebastian in tourneur's "atheist's tragedy," and the completely unnecessary though extremely pathetic death of young marcello in webster's "white devil;" until the plays were brought to a close by the gradual extermination of all the principal performers, and only a few confidants and dummies remained to bury the corpses which strewed the stage. imaginary monsters were fashioned out of half-a-dozen neapolitan and milanese princes, by ford, by beaumont and fletcher, by middleton, by marston, even by the light and graceful philip massinger: mythical villains, ferdinands, lodowicks, and fernezes, who yet fell short of the frightful realities of men like sigismondo malatesta, alexander vi., and pier luigi farnese; nay, more typical monsters, with no name save their vices, lussuriosos, gelosos, ambitiosos, and vindicis, like those drawn by the strong and savage hand of cyril tourneur. nothing which the english stage could display seemed to the minds of english playwrights and the public to give an adequate picture of the abominations of italy; much as they heaped up horrors and combined them with artistic skill, much as they forced into sight, there yet remained an abyss of evil which the english tongue refused to mention, but which weighed upon the english mind; and which, unspoken, nay (and it is the glory of the elizabethan dramatists excepting ford), unhinted, yet remained as an incubus in the consciousness of the playwrights and the public, was in their thoughts when they wrote and heard such savage misanthropic outbursts as those of tourneur and of marston. the sense of the rottenness of the country whence they were obtaining their intellectual nourishment, haunted with a sort of sickening fascination the imaginative and psychological minds of the late sixteenth century, of the men who had had time to outgrow the first cynical plunge of the rebellious immature intellects of the contemporaries of greene, peele, and marlowe into that dissolved civilization. and of the great men who were thus enthralled by italy and italian evil, only shakespeare and massinger maintain or regain their serenity and hopefulness of spirit, resist the incubus of horror: shakespeare from the immense scope of his vision, which permitted him to pass over the base and frightful parts of human nature and see its purer and higher sides; massinger from the very superficiality of his insight and the narrowness of his sympathies, which prevented his ever thoroughly realizing the very horrors he had himself invented. but on the minds less elastic than that of shakespeare, and less superficial than that of massinger, the italian evil weighed like a nightmare. with an infinitely powerful and passionate imagination, and an exquisitely subtle faculty of mental analysis; only lately freed from the dogma of the middle ages; unsettled in their philosophy; inclined by wholesale classical reading to a sort of negative atheism, a fatalistic and half-melancholy mixture of epicurism and stoicism; yet keenly alive, from study of the bible and of religious controversies, to all questions of right and wrong; thus highly wrought and deeply perplexed, the minds of the elizabethan poets were impressed by the wickedness of italy as by the horrible deeds of one whom we are accustomed to venerate as our guide, whom we cannot but love as our benefactor, whom we cannot but admire as our superior: it was a sense of frightful anomaly, of putrescence in beauty and splendour, of death in life and life in death, which made the english psychologist-poets savage and sombre, cynical and wrathful and hopeless. the influence is the same on all, and the difference of attitude is slight, and due to individual characters; but the gloom is the same in each of them. in webster--no mere grisly inventor of radcliffian horrors, as we are apt to think of the greatest of our dramatists--after shakespeare--in the noble and tender nature of webster the sense is one of ineffable sadness, unmarred by cynicism, but unbrightened by hope. the villains, even if successful till death overtake them, are mere hideous phantoms-- these wretched eminent things leave no more fame behind 'em, than should one fall in a frost, and leave his print in snow-- the victims of tortured conscience, or, worse still, the owners of petrified hearts; there is nothing to envy in them. but none the better is it for the good: if ferdinands, bosolas, brachianos, and flaminios perish miserably, it is only after having done to death the tender and brave duchess, the gentle antonio, the chivalric marcello; there is virtue on earth, but there is no justice in heaven. the half-pagan, half-puritanic feeling of webster bursts out in the dying speech of the villain bosola-- o, this gloomy world! in what a shadow, or deep pit of darkness, doth womanish and fearful mankind live! let worthy minds ne'er stagger in distrust to suffer death or shame for what is just. of real justice in this life or compensation in another, there is no thought: webster, though a puritan in spirit, is no christian in faith. on ford the influence is different; although equal, perhaps, in genius to webster, surpassing him even in intense tragic passion, he was far below webster, and, indeed, far below all his generation, in moral fibre. the sight of evil fascinates him; his conscience staggers, his sympathies are bedraggled in foulness; in the chaos of good and evil he loses his reckoning, and recognizes the superiority only of strength of passion, of passion for good or evil: the incestuous giovanni, daring his enemies like a wild beast at bay and cheating them of their revenge by himself murdering the object of his horrible passion, is as heroic in the eyes of ford as the magnanimous princess of sparta, bearing with unflinching spirit the succession of misfortunes poured down upon her, and leading off the dance while messenger succeeds messenger of evil; till, free from her duties as a queen, she sinks down dead. cyril tourneur and john marston are far more incomplete in genius than either webster or ford, although tourneur sometimes obtains a lurid and ghastly tragic intensity which more than equals ford when at his best; and marston, in the midst of crabbedness and dulness, sometimes has touches of pathos and michelangelesque foreshortenings of metaphor worthy of webster. but tourneur and marston have neither the constant sympathy with oppressed virtue of the author of the "duchess of malfy," nor the blind fury of passion of the poet of "giovanni and annabella;" they look on grim and hopeless spectators at the world of fatalistic and insane wickedness which they have created, in which their heroes and heroines and villains are slowly entangled in inextricable evil. the men and women of tourneur and marston are scarcely men and women at all: they are mere vague spectres, showing their grisly wounds and moaning out their miserable fate. there is around them a thick and clammy moral darkness, dispelled only by the ghastly flashes of lurid virtue of maniacs like tourneur's vindici and hippolito; a crypt-like moral stillness, haunted by strange evil murmurs, broken only by the hysterical sobs and laughs of marston's antonios and pandulphos. at the most there issues out of the blood-reeking depth a mighty yell of pain, a tremendous imprecation not only at sinful man but at unsympathizing nature, like that of marston's old doge, dethroned, hunted down, crying aloud into the grey dawn-mists of the desolate marsh by the lagoon-- o thou all-bearing earth which men do gape for till thou cram'st their mouths and choak'st their throats for dust: o charme thy breast and let me sinke into thee. look who knocks; andrugio calls. but o, she's deafe and blinde. a wretch but leane relief on earth can finde. the tragic sense, the sense of utter blank evil, is stronger in all these elizabethan painters of italian crime than perhaps in any other tragic writers. there is, in the great and sinister pictures of webster, of ford, of tourneur, and of marston, no spot of light, no distant bright horizon. there is no loving suffering, resigned to suffer and to pardon, like that of desdemona, whose dying lips forgive the beloved who kills from too great love; no consoling affection like cordelia's, in whose gentle embrace the poor bruised soul may sink into rest; no passionate union in death with the beloved, like the union of romeo and juliet; nothing but implacable cruelty, violent death received with agonized protest, or at best as the only release from unmitigated misery with which the wretch has become familiar, as the tann'd galley slave is with his oar. neither is there in these plays that solemn sense of heavenly justice, of the fatality hanging over a house which will be broken when guilt shall have been expiated, which lends a sort of serene background of eternal justice to the terrible tales of thebes and argos. there is for these men no fatality save the evil nature of man, no justice save the doubling of crime, no compensation save revenge: there is for webster and ford and tourneur and marston no heaven above, wrathful but placable; there are no gods revengeful but just: there is nothing but this blood-stained and corpse-strewn earth, defiled by lust-burnt and death-hungering men, felling each other down and trampling on one another blindly in the eternal darkness which surrounds them. the world of these great poets is not the open world with its light and its air, its purifying storms and lightnings: it is the darkened italian palace, with its wrought-iron bars preventing escape; its embroidered carpets muffling the foot steps; its hidden, suddenly yawning trapdoors; its arras-hangings concealing masked ruffians; its garlands of poisoned flowers; its long suites of untenanted darkened rooms, through which the wretch is pursued by the half-crazed murderer; while below, in the cloistered court, the clanking armour and stamping horses, and above, in the carved and gilded hall, the viols and lutes and cornets make a cheery triumphant concert, and drown the cries of the victim. ii. such is the italy of the renaissance as we see it in the works of our tragic playwrights: a country of mysterious horror, the sinister reputation of which lasted two hundred years; lasted triumphantly throughout the light and finikin eighteenth century, and found its latest expression in the grim and ghastly romances of the school of ann radcliff, romances which are but the last puny and grotesque descendants of the great stock of italian tragedies, born of the first terror-stricken meeting of the england of elizabeth with the italy of the late renaissance. is the impression received by the elizabethan playwrights a correct impression? was italy in the sixteenth century that land of horrors? reviewing in our memory the literature and art of the italian renaissance, remembering the innumerable impressions of joyous and healthy life with which it has filled us; recalling the bright and thoughtless rhymes of lorenzo dei medici, of politian, of bern!, and of ariosto; the sweet and tender poetry of bembo and vittoria colonna and tasso; the bluff sensuality of novelists like bandello and masuccio, the aristophanesque laughter of the comedy of bibbiena and of beolco; seeing in our mind's eye the stately sweet matrons and noble senators of titian, the virginal saints and madonnas of raphael, the joyous angels of correggio;--recapitulating rapidly all our impressions of this splendid time of exuberant vitality, of this strong and serene renaissance, we answer without hesitation, and with only a smile of contempt at our credulous ancestors--no. the italy of the renaissance was, of all things that have ever existed or ever could exist, the most utterly unlike the nightmare visions of men such as webster and ford, marston and tourneur. the only elizabethan drama which really represents the italy of the renaissance is the comedy of shakespeare, of beaumont and fletcher, and of ben jonson and massinger: to the renaissance belong those clear and sunny figures, the portias, antonios, gratianos, violas, petruchios, bellarios, and almiras; their faces do we see on the canvases of titian and the frescoes of raphael; they are the real children of the italian renaissance. these frightful brachianos and annabellas and ferdinands and corombonas and vindicis and pieros of the "white devil," of the "duchess of malfy," of the "revenger's tragedy," and of "antonio and mellida," are mere fantastic horrors, as false as the counts udolpho, the spalatros, the zastrozzis, and all their grotesquely ghastly pseudo-italian brethren of eighty years ago. and, indeed, the italy of the renaissance, as represented in its literature and its art, is the very negation of elizabethan horrors. of all the mystery, the colossal horror and terror of our dramatists, there is not the faintest trace in the intellectual productions of the italian renaissance. the art is absolutely stainless: no scenes of horror, no frightful martyrdoms, as with the germans under albrecht dürer; no abominable butcheries, as with the bolognese of the seventeenth century; no macerated saints and tattered assassins, as with the spaniards; no mystery, no contortion, no horrors: vigorous and serene beauty, pure and cheerful life, real or ideal, on wall or canvas, in bronze or in marble. the literature is analogous to the art, only less perfect, more tainted with the weakness of humanity, less ideal, more real. it is essentially human, in the largest sense of the word; or if it cease, in creatures like aretine, to be humanly clean, it becomes merely satyr-like, swinish, hircose. but it is never savage in lust or violence; it is quite free from the element of ferocity. it is essentially light and quiet and well regulated, sane and reasonable, never staggering or blinded by excess: it is full of intelligent discrimination, of intelligent leniency, of well-bred reserved sympathy; it is civilized as are the wide well-paved streets of ferrara compared with the tortuous black alleys of mediæval paris; as are the well-lit, clean, spacious palaces of michelozzo or bramante compared with the squalid, unhealthy, uncomfortable mediæval castles of dürer's etchings. it is indeed a trifle too civilized; too civilized to produce every kind of artistic fruit; it is--and here comes the crushing difference between the italian renaissance and our elizabethans' pictures of it--it is, this beautiful rich literature of the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries, completely deficient in every tragic element; it has intuition neither for tragic event nor for tragic character; it affords not a single tragic page in its poems and novels; it is incapable, after the most laborious and conscientious study of euripides and seneca, utterly and miserably incapable of producing a single real tragedy, anything which is not a sugary pastoral or a pompous rhetorical exercise. the epic poets of the italian renaissance, pulci, boiardo, berni, and ariosto, even the stately and sentimental tasso, are no epic poets at all. they are mere light and amusing gossips, some of them absolute buffoons. their adventures over hill and dale are mere riding parties; their fights mere festival tournaments, their enchantments mere pageant wonders. events like the death of hector, the slaughter of penelope's suitors, the festive massacre of chriemhilt, the horrible deceit of alfonso the chaste sending bernardo del carpio his father's corpse on horseback-- things like these never enter their minds. when tragic events do by some accident come into their narration, they cease to be tragic; they are frittered away into mere pretty conceits like the death of isabella and the sacrifice of olympia in the "orlando furioso;" or melted down into vague pathos, like the burning of olindo and sofronia, and the death of clorinda by the sentimental tasso. neither poet, the one with his cheerfulness, the other with his mild melancholy, brings home, conceives the horror of the situation; the one treats the tragic in the spirit almost of burlesque, the other entirely in the spirit of elegy. so, again, with the novel writers: these professional retailers of anecdotes will pick up any subject to fill their volumes. in default of pleasant stories of filthy intrigue or lewd jest, men like cinthio and bandello will gabble off occasionally some tragic story, picked out of a history book or recently heard from a gossip: the stories of harmodius and aristogeiton, of disdémona and the moorish captain, of roméo montecchio and giulietta cappelletti, of the cardinal d'aragona and the duchess of amalfi, of unknown grotesque persian sophis and turkish bassas--stories of murder, massacre, rape, incest, anything and everything, prattled off, with a few words of vapid compassion and stale moralizing, in the serene, cheerful, chatty manner in which they recount their decameronian escapades or rabelaisian repartees. as it is with tragic action, so is it with tragic character. the literature of the country which suggested to our elizabethans their colossal villains, can display only a few conventional monsters, fire-eating, swashbuckler rodomonts and sultan malechs, strutting and puffing like the grotesque villains of puppet-shows; aladins and ismenos, enchanters and ogres fit to be put into don quixote's library: mere conventional rag puppets, doubtless valued as such and no more by the shrewd contemporaries of ariosto and tasso. the inhabitants of tasso's world of romance are pale chivalric unrealities, lifeless as spenser's half-allegoric knights and ladies; those of pulci's ardenne forests and cathay deserts are buffoons such as florentine shopmen may have trapped out for their amusement in rusty armour and garlands of sausages. the only lifelike heroes and heroines are those of ariosto. and they are most untragic, unromantic. the men are occasionally small scoundrels, but unintentionally on the part of the author. they show no deep moral cancers or plague-spots; they display cheerfully all the petty dishonour and small lusts which the renaissance regarded as mere flesh and blood characteristics. so also ariosto's ladies: the charming, bright women, coquettish or amazonian, are frail and fickle to the degree which was permissible to a court lady, who should be neither prudish nor coquettish; doing unchaste things and listening to unchaste words simply, gracefully, without prurience or horror; perfectly well-bred, _gentili_, as ariosto calls them; prudent also, according to the notions of the day, in limiting their imprudence. the adventure of fiordispina with ricciardetto would have branded an english serving-wench as a harlot; the behaviour of roger towards the lady he has just rescued from the sea-monster would have blushingly been attributed by spenser to one of his satyrs; but these were escapades quite within ariosto's notions of what was permitted to a _gentil cavaliero_ and a _nobil donzella_; and if fiordispina and roger are not like florimell and sir calidore, still less do they in the faintest degree resemble tourneur and marston's levidulcias and isabellas and lussuriosos. and with the exception perhaps, of this heroine and this hero, we cannot find any very great harm in ariosto's ladies and gentlemen: we may, indeed, feel indignant when we think that they replace the chaste and noble impossibilities of earlier romance, the rolands and percivals, the beatrices and lauras of the past; when we consider that they represent for ariosto, not the bespattered but the spotless, not the real but the ideal. all this may awaken in us contempt and disgust; but if we consider these figures in themselves as realities, and compare them with the evil figures of our drama, we find that they are mere venial sinners--light, fickle, amorous, fibbing--very human in their faults; human, trifling, mild, not at all monstrous, like all the art products of the renaissance.[ ] [ ] the "orlando innamorato" of boiardo contains, part i, canto , a story too horrible and grotesque for me to narrate, of a monster born of marchino and his murdered sister-in-law, which forms a strange exception to my rule, even as does, for instance, matteo di giovanni's massacre of the innocents. can this story have been suggested, a ghastly nightmare, by the frightful tale of sigismondo malatesta and the beautiful borbona, which was current in boiardo's day? a serene and spotless art, a literature often impure but always cheerful, rational, civilized--this is what the italian renaissance displays when we seek in it for spirits at all akin to webster or lope de vega, to holbein or ribera. to find the tragic we must wait for the bolognese painters of the seventeenth century, for metastasio and alfieri in the eighteenth; it is useless seeking it in this serene and joyous renaissance. where, then, in the midst of these spotless virgins, these noble saints, these brilliant pseudo-chivalric joustings and revels, these sweet and sonneteering pastorals, these scurrilous adventures and loose buffooneries; where in this italian renaissance are the horrors which fascinated so strangely our english playwrights: the fratricides and incests, the frightful crimes of lust and blood which haunted and half crazed the genius of tourneur and marston? where in this brilliant and courteous and humane and civilized nation are the gigantic villains whose terrible features were drawn with such superb awfulness of touch by webster and ford? where in this renaissance of italian literature, so cheerful and light of conscience, is the foul and savage renaissance of english tragedy? does the art of italy tell an impossible, universal lie? or is the art of england the victim of an impossible, universal hallucination? neither; for art can neither tell lies nor be the victim of hallucination. the horror exists, and the light-heartedness exists; the unhealthiness and the healthiness. for as, in that weird story by nathaniel hawthorne, the daughter of the paduan wizard is nurtured on the sap and fruit and the emanations of poisonous plants, till they become her natural sustenance, and she thrives and is strong and lovely; while the youth, bred in the ordinary pure air and nourished on ordinary wholesome food, faints and staggers as soon as he breathes the fatal odours of the poison garden, and sinks down convulsed and crazed at the first touch of his mistress' blooming but death-breathing lips; so also the italians, steeped in the sin of their country, seeing it daily and hourly, remained intellectually healthy and serene; while the english, coming from a purer moral atmosphere, were seized with strange moral sickness of horror at what they had seen and could not forget. and the nation which was chaste and true wrote tales of incest and treachery, while the nation which was foul and false wrote poetry of shepherds and knights-errant. the monstrous immorality of the italian renaissance, as i have elsewhere shown in greater detail, was, like the immorality of any other historical period, not a formal rebellion against god, but a natural result of the evolution of the modern world. the italy of the renaissance was one of the many victims which inevitable moral sequence dooms to be evil in order that others may learn to be good: it was a sacrifice which consisted in a sin, a sacrifice requiring frightful expiation on the part of the victim. for italy was subjected, during well-nigh two centuries, to a slow process of moral destruction; a process whose various factors--political disorganization, religious indifference, scientific scepticism, wholesale enthusiasm for the antique, breaking-up of mediæval standards and excessive growth of industry, commerce, and speculative thought at the expense of warlike and religious habits--were at the same time factors in the great advent of modern civilization, of which italy was the pioneer and the victim; a process whose result was, in italy, insensibly and inevitably to reduce to chaos the moral and political organization of the nation; at once rendering men completely unable to discriminate between good and evil, and enabling a certain proportion of them to sin with complete impunity: creating on the one hand moral indifference, and on the other social irresponsibility. civilization had kept pace with demoralization; the faculty of reasoning over cause and effect had developed at the expense of the faculty of judging of actions. the italians of the renaissance, little by little, could judge only of the adaptation of means to given ends; whether means or ends were legitimate or illegitimate they soon became unable to perceive and even unable to ask. success was the criterion of all action, and power was its limits. active and furious national wickedness there was not: there was mere moral inertia on the part of the people. the italians of the renaissance neither resisted evil nor rebelled against virtue; they were indifferent to both, and a little pressure sufficed to determine them to either. in the governed classes, where the law was equal between men, and industry and commerce kept up healthy activity, the pressure was towards good. the artizans and merchants lived decent lives, endowed hospitals, listened to edifying sermons, and were even moved (for a few moments) by men like san bernardino or savonarola. in the governing classes, where all right lay in force, where the necessity of self-defence induced treachery and violence, and irresponsibility produced excess, the pressure was towards evil. the princelets and prelates and mercenery generals indulged in every sensuality, turned treachery into a science and violence into an instrument; and sometimes let themselves be intoxicated into mad lust and ferocity, as their subjects were occasionally intoxicated with mad austerity and mysticism; but the excesses of mad vice, like the excesses of mad virtue, lasted only a short time, or lasted only in individual saints or blood-maniacs; and the men of the renaissance speedily regained their level of indifferent righteousness and of indifferent sinfulness. righteousness and sinfulness both passive, without power of aggression or resistance, and consequently in strange and dreadful peace with each other. the wicked men did not dislike virtue, nor the good men vice: the villain could admire a saint, and the saint could condone a villain. the prudery of righteousness was as unknown as the cynicism of evil; the good man, like guarino da verona, would not shrink from the foul man; the foul man, like beccadelli, would not despise the pure man. the ideally righteous citizen of agnolo pandolfini does not interfere with the ideally unrighteous prince of machiavelli: each has his own position and conduct; and who can say whether, if the positions were exchanged, the conduct might not be exchanged also? in such a condition of things as this, evil ceases to appear monstrous; it is explained, endured, condoned. the stately philosophical historians, so stoically grand, and the prattling local chroniclers, so highly coloured and so gentle and graceful; guicciardini and machiavelli and valori and segni, on the one hand--corio, allegretti, matarazzo, infessura, on the other; all these, from whom we learn the real existence of immorality far more universal and abominable than our dramatists venture to show, relate quietly, calmly, with analytical frigidness or gossiping levity, the things which we often shrink from repeating, and sometimes recoil from believing. great statesmanlike historians and humble chattering chroniclers are alike unaffected by what goes on around them: they collect anecdotes and generalize events without the fumes of evil, among which they seek for materials in the dark places of national or local history, ever going to their imagination, ever making their heart sicken and faint, and their fancy stagger and reel. the life of these righteous, or at least, not actively sinning men, may be hampered, worried, embittered, or even broken by the villainy of their fellow-men; but, except in some visionary monk, life can never be poisoned by the mere knowledge of evil. their town maybe betrayed to the enemy, their daughters may be dishonoured or poisoned, their sons massacred; they may, in their old age, be cast starving on the world, or imprisoned or broken by torture; and they will complain and be fierce in diatribe: the fiercest diatribe written against any pope of the renaissance being, perhaps, that of platina against paul ii., who was a saint compared with his successors sixtus and alexander, because the writer of the diatribe and his friends were maltreated by this pope. when personally touched, the italians of the renaissance will brook no villainy--the poniard quickly despatches sovereigns like galeazzo maria sforza; but when the villainy remains abstract, injures neither themselves nor their immediate surroundings, it awakens no horror, and the man who commits it is by no means regarded as a fiend. the great criminals of the renaissance--traitors and murderers like lodovico sforza, incestuous parricides like gianpaolo baglioni, committers of every iniquity under heaven like cæsar borgia--move through the scene of renaissance history, as shown by its writers great and small, quietly, serenely, triumphantly; with gracious and magnanimous bearing; applauded, admired, or at least endured. on their passage no man, historian or chronicler, unless the agent of a hostile political faction, rises up, confronts them and says, "this man is a devil." and devils these men were not: the judgment of their contemporaries, morally completely perverted, was probably psychologically correct; they misjudged the deeds, but rarely, perhaps, misjudged the man. to us moderns, as to our english ancestors of the sixteenth century, this is scarcely conceivable. a man who does devilish deeds is necessarily a devil; and the evil italian princes of the renaissance, the borgias, sforzas, baglionis, malatestas, and riarios appear, through the mist of horrified imagination, so many uncouth and gigantic monsters, nightmare shapes, less like human beings than like the grand and frightful angels of evil who gather round milton's satan in the infernal council. such they appear to us. but if we once succeed in calmly looking at them, seeing them not in the lurid lights and shadows of our fancy, but in the daylight of contemporary reality, we shall little by little be forced to confess (and the confession is horrible) that most of these men are neither abnormal nor gigantic. their times were monstrous, not they. they were not, that is clear, at variance with the moral atmosphere which surrounded them; and they were the direct result of the social and political condition. this may seem no answer; for although we know the causes of monster births, they are monstrous none the less. what we mean is not that the existence of men capable of committing such actions was normal; we mean that the men who committed them, the conditions being what they were, were not necessarily men of exceptional character. the level of immorality was so high that a man need be no giant to reach up into the very seventh heaven of iniquity. when to massacre at a banquet a number of enemies enticed by overtures of peace was considered in cæsar borgia merely a rather audacious and not very holy action, indicative of very brilliant powers of diplomacy, then cæsar borgia required, to commit such an action, little more than a brilliant diplomatic endowment, unhampered by scruples and timidity; when a brave, and gracious prince like gianpaolo baglioni could murder his kinsmen and commit incest with his sister without being considered less gracious and magnanimous, then gianpaolo baglioni might indeed be but an indifferent villain; when treachery, lust, and bloodshed, although objected to in theory, were condoned in practice, and were regarded as venial sins, those who indulged in them might be in fact scarcely more than venial sinners. in short, where a fiendish action might be committed without the perpetrator being considered a fiend, there was no need of his being one. and, indeed, the great villains of the renaissance never take up the attitude of fiends; one or two, like certain visconti or aragonese, were madmen, but the others were more or less normal human beings. there was no barrier between them and evil; they slipped into it, remained in it, became accustomed to it; but a vicious determination to be wicked, a feeling of the fiend within one, like that of shakespeare's richard, or a gradual, conscious irresistible absorption into recognized iniquity like macbeth's, there was not. the mere sense of absolute power and impunity, together with the complete silence of the conscience of the public at large, can make a man do strange things. if cæsar borgia be free to practise his archery upon hares and deer, why should he not practise it upon these prisoners? who will blame him? who can prevent him? if he had for his mistress every woman he might single out from among his captives, why not his sister? if he have the force to carry out a plan, why should a man stand in his way? the complete facility in the commission of all actions quickly brings such a man to the limits of the legitimate: there is no universal cry to tell him where those limits are, no universal arm to pull him back. he pooh-poohs, pushes them a little further, and does the iniquity. nothing prevents his gratifying his ambition, his avarice, and his lust, so he gratifies them. soon, seeking for further gratification, he has to cut new paths in villainy: he has not been restrained by man, who is silent; he is soon restrained no longer by nature, whose only voice is in man's conscience. pleasure in wanton cruelty takes the same course: he prefers to throw javelins at men and women to throwing javelins at bulls or bears, even as he prefers throwing javelins at bulls or bears rather than at targets; the excitement is greater; the instinct is that of the soldiers of spain and of france, who invariably preferred shooting at a valuable fresco like sodoma's christ, at siena, or lo spagna's madonna, at spoleto, to practising against a mere worthless piece of wood. such a man as cæsar borgia is the _nec plus ultra_ of a renaissance villain; he takes, as all do not, absolute pleasure in evil as such. yet cæsar borgia is not a fiend nor a maniac. he can restrain himself whenever circumstances or policy require it; he can be a wise administrator, a just judge. his portraits show no degraded criminal; he is, indeed, a criminal in action, but not necessarily a criminal in constitution, this fiendish man who did not seem a fiend to machiavel. we are astonished at the strange anomaly in the tastes and deeds of these renaissance villains; we are amazed before their portraits. these men, who, in the frightful light of their own misdeeds, appear to us as complete demons or complete madmen, have yet much that is amiable and much that is sane; they stickle at no abominable lust, yet they are no bestial sybarites; they are brave, sober, frugal, enduring like any puritan; they are treacherous, rapacious, cruel, utterly indifferent to the sufferings of their enemies, yet they are gentle in manner, passionately fond of letters and art, superb in their works of public utility, and not incapable of genuinely admiring men of pure life like bernardino or savonarola: they are often, strange to say, like the frightful baglionis of perugia, passionately admired and loved by their countrymen. the bodily portraits of these men, painted by the sternly realistic art of the fifteenth and early sixteenth centuries, are even more confusing to our ideas than their moral portraits drawn by historians and chroniclers. cæsar borgia, with his long fine features and noble head, is a gracious and refined prince; there is, perhaps, a certain duplicity in the well-cut lips; the beard, worn full and peaked in spanish fashion, forms a sort of mask to the lower part of the face, but what we see is noble and intellectual. sigismondo malatesta has on his medals a head whose scowl has afforded opportunity for various fine descriptions of a blood maniac; but the head, thus found so expressive, of this monster, is infinitely more human than the head on the medals of lionello d'este, one of the most mild and cultivated of the decently behaved ferrarese princes. the very flower of precocious iniquity, the young baglionis, vitellis, and orsinis, grouped round signorelli's preaching antichrist at orvieto, are, in their gallantly trimmed jerkins and jewelled caps, the veriest assemblage of harmless young dandies, pretty and insipid; we can scarcely believe that these mild beardless striplings, tight-waisted and well-curled like girls of sixteen, are the terrible umbrian brigand condottieri--gianpaolos, simonettos, vitellozzos, and astorres--whose abominable deeds fill the pages of the chronicles of matarazzo, of frolliere, of monaldeschi. nowhere among the portraits of renaissance monsters do we meet with anything like those roman emperors, whose frightful effigies, tumid, toad-like vitelliuses or rage-convulsed caracallas, fill all our museums in marble or bronze or loathsome purple porphyry; such types as these are as foreign to the reality of the italian renaissance as are the brachianos and lussuriosos, the pieros and corombonas, to the italian fiction of the sixteenth century. nor must such anomalies between the type of the men and their deeds, between their abominable crimes and their high qualities, be merely made a subject for grandiloquent disquisition. the man of the renaissance, as we have said, had no need to be a monster to do monstrous things; a crime did not necessitate such a moral rebellion as requires complete unity of nature, unmixed wickedness; it did not precipitate a man for ever into a moral abyss where no good could ever enter. seeing no barrier between the legitimate and the illegitimate, he could alternate almost unconsciously between them. he was never shut out from evil, and never shut out from good; the judgment of men did not dress him in a convict's jacket which made evil his only companion; it did not lock him up in a moral dungeon where no ray of righteousness could enter; he was not condemned, like the branded harlot, to hopeless infamy. he need be bad only as much and as long as he chose. hence, on the part of the evil-doer of the renaissance, no necessity either for violent rebellion or for sincere repentance; hence the absence of all characters such as the tragic writer seeks, developed by moral struggle, warped by the triumph of vice, or consciously soiled in virtue. what a "revenger's tragedy" might not cyril tourneur have made, had he known all the details, of the story of alessandro de' medici's death! what a vindici he would have made of the murderer lorenzino; with what a strange lurid grandeur he would have surrounded the plottings of the pander brutus. but lorenzino de' medici had none of the feeling of tourneur's vindici; there was in him none of the ghastly spirit of self-immolation of the hero of tourneur in his attendance upon the foul creature whom he leads to his death. lorenzino had the usual brutus mania of his day, but unmixed with horror. to be the pander and jester of the duke was no pain to his nature; there was probably no sense of debasement in the knowledge either of his employer or of his employment. to fasten on alexander, to pretend to be his devoted slave and server of his lust, this piece of loathsome acting, merely enhanced, by the ingenuity it required, the attraction of what to lorenzino was an act of heroism. his ambition was to be a brutus; that he had bespattered the part probably never occurred to him. the indifference to good and evil permitted the men of the renaissance to mix the two without any moral sickness, as it permitted them to alternate them without a moral struggle. such is the wickedness of the renaissance: not a superhuman fury of lust and cruelty, like victor hugo's lucrezia borgia; but an indifferent, a characterless creature like the lucrezia borgia of history: passive to surrounding influences, blind to good and evil, infamous in the infamous rome, among her father and brother's courtesans and cut-throats; grave and gracious! in the grave and gracious ferrara, among the platonic poets and pacific courtiers of the court of the estensi. thus, in the complete prose and colourlessness of reality, has the evil of the renaissance been understood and represented only by one man, and transmitted to us in one pale and delicate psychological masterpiece far more loathsome than any elaborately hideous monster painting by marston or tourneur. the man who thus conceived the horrors of the italian renaissance in the spirit in which they were committed is ford. in his great play he has caught the very tone of the italian renaissance: the abominableness of the play consisting not in the coarse slaughter scenes added merely to please the cockpit of an english theatre, but in the superficial innocence of tone; in its making evil lose its appearance of evil, even as it did to the men of the renaissance. giovanni and annabella make love as if they were romeo and juliet: there is scarcely any struggle, and no remorse; they weep and pay compliments and sigh and melt in true aminta style. there is in the love of the brother and sister neither the ferocious heat of tragic lust, nor the awful shudder of unnatural evil; they are lukewarm, neither good nor bad. their abominable love is in their own eyes a mere weakness of the flesh; there is no sense of revolt against man and nature and god; they are neither dragged on by irresistible demoniac force nor held back by the grip of conscience; they slip and slide, even like francesca and paolo. they pay each other sweet and mawkish compliments. the ferocious lust of francesco cenci is moral compared with the way in which the "trim youth" giovanni praises annabella's beauty; the blushing, bride-like way in which annabella, "white in her soul," acknowledges her long love. the atrociousness of all this is, that if you strike out a word or two the scene may be read with perfect moral satisfaction, with the impression that this is really "sacred love." for in these scenes ford wrote with a sweetness and innocence truly diabolical, not a shiver of horror passing through him--serene, unconscious; handling the filthy without sense of its being unclean, to the extent, the incredible extent, of making giovanni and annabella swear on their mother's ashes eternal fidelity in incest: horror of horrors, to which no walpurgis night abomination could ever approach, this taking as witness of the unutterable, not an obscene beelzebub with abominable words and rites, but the very holiest of holies. if ever englishman approached the temper of the italian renaissance, it was not tourneur, nor shelley with his cleansing hell fires of tragic horror, but this sweet and gentle ford. if ever an artistic picture approached the reality of such a man as gianpaolo baglioni, the incestuous murderer whom the frolliere chronicler, enthusiastic like matarazzo, admires, for "his most beautiful person, his benign and amiable manner and lordly bearing," it is certainly not the elaborately villainous francesco cenci of shelley, boasting like another satan of his enormous wickedness, exhausting in his picture of himself the rhetoric of horror, committing his final enormity merely to complete the crown of atrocities in which he glories; it is no such tragic impossibility of moral hideousness as this; it is the giovanni of ford, the pearl of virtuous and studious youths, the spotless, the brave, who, after a moment's reasoning, tramples on a vulgar prejudice--"shall a peevish sound, a customary form from man to man, of brother and of sister, be a bar 'twixt my eternal happiness and me?" who sins with a clear conscience, defies the world, and dies, bravely, proudly, the "sacred name" of annabella on his lips, like a chivalrous hero. the pious, pure germany of luther will give the world the tragic type of the science-damned faustus; the devout and savage spain of cervantes will give the tragic type of don juan, damned for mockery of man and of death and of heaven; the puritan england of milton will give the most sublimely tragic type of all, the awful figure of him who says, "evil, be thou my good." what tragic type can this evil italy of renaissance give to the world? none: or at most this miserable, morbid, compassionated giovanni: whom ford would have us admire, and whom we can only despise. the blindness to evil which constitutes the criminality of the renaissance is so great as to give a certain air of innocence. for the men of that time were wicked solely from a complete sophistication of ideas, a complete melting away (owing to slowly operating political and intellectual tendencies) of all moral barriers. they walked through the paths of wickedness with the serenity with which they would have trod the ways of righteousness; seeing no boundary, exercising their psychic limbs equally in the open and permitted spaces and in the forbidden. they plucked the fruit of evil without a glance behind them, without a desperate setting of their teeth; plucked it openly, calmly, as they would have plucked the blackberries in the hedge; bit into it, ate it, with perfect ease and serenity, saying their prayers before and after, as if it were their natural daily bread mentioned in the lord's prayer; no grimace or unseemly leer the while; no moral indigestion or nightmare (except very rarely) in consequence. hence the serenity of their literature and art. these men and women of the italian renaissance have, in their portraits, a very pleasing nobility of aspect: serene, thoughtful, healthy, benign. titian's courtesans are our archetypes of dignified womanhood; we might fancy portia or isabella with such calm, florid beauty, so wholly unmeretricious and uncankered. the humanists and priests who lie outstretched on the acanthus-leaved and flower-garlanded sarcophagi by desiderio and rossellino are the very flowers of refined and gentle men of study; the youths in botticelli's "adoration of the magi," for instance, are the ideal of boiardo's chivalry, rinaldos and orlandos every one; the corseleted generals of the renaissance, so calm and stern and frank, the bartolomeo colleoni of verrocchio, the gattamelata by giorgione (or giorgione's pupil), look fit to take up the banner of the crusade: that gattamelata in the uffizi gallery especially looks like a sort of military milton: give him a pair of wings and he becomes at once signorelli's archangel, clothed in heavenly steel and unsheathing the flaming sword of god. compare with these types holbein's courtiers of henry viii.; what scrofulous hogs! compare sanchez coello's philip ii. and don carlos; what monomaniacs. compare even dürer's magnificent head of willibald pirkheimer: how the swine nature is blended with the thinker. and the swine will be subdued, the thinker will triumph. why? just because there is a contest--because the thinker-willibald is conscious of the swine-willibald. in this coarse, brutal, deeply stained germany of the time of luther, affording dürer and holbein, alas! how many besotten and bestial types, there will arise a great conflict: the obscene leering death--death-in-life as he really is--will skulk everywhere, even as in the prints of the day, hideous and powerful, trying, with hog's snout, to drive christ himself out of limbo; but he is known, seen, dreaded. the armed knight of dürer turns away from his grimacings, and urges on his steel-covered horse. he visits even the best, even luther in the wartburg; but the good men open their bibles, cry "vade retro!" and throw their inkstands at him, showing themselves terrified and ruffled after the combat. and these germans of luther's are disgustingly fond of blood and horrors: they like to see the blood spirt from the decapitated trunk, to watch its last contortions; they hammer with a will (in dürer's "passion") the nails of the cross, they peel off strips of skin in the flagellation. but then they can master all that; they can be pure, charitable; they have gentleness for the hare and the rabbit, like luther; they kneel piously before the cross-bearing stag, like saint hubert. not so the italians. they rarely or never paint horrors, or death, or abominations. their flagellated christ, their arrow-riddled sebastian, never writhe or howl with pain; indeed, they suffer none. judith, in mantegna's print, puts the head of holophernes into her bag with the serenity of a muse; and the head is quite clean, without loathsome drippings or torn depending strings of muscle; unconvulsed, a sort of plaster cast. the tragedy of christ, the tragedy of judith; the physical agency shadowing the moral agony; the awfulness of victim and criminal--the whole tragic meaning was unknown to the light and cheerful contemporaries of ariosto, the cold and cynical contemporaries of machiavelli. the tragic passion and imagination which, in the noble and grotesque immaturity of the middle ages, had murmured confusedly in the popular legends which gave to ezzelin the fiend as a father, and death and sin as adversaries at dice; which had stammered awkwardly but grandly in the school latin of mussato's tragedy of "eccerinis;" which had wept and stormed and imprecated and laughed for horror in the infinite tragedy--pathetic, grand, and grotesque, like all great tragedy--of dante; this tragic passion and imagination, this sense of the horrible and the terrible, had been forfeited by the italy of the renaissance, lost with its sense of right and wrong. the italian renaissance, supreme in the arts which require a subtle and strong perception of the excellence of mere lines and colours and lights and shadows, which demand unflinching judgment of material qualities; was condemned to inferiority in the art which requires subtle and strong perception of the excellence of human emotion and action; in the art which demands unflinching judgment of moral motives. the tragic spirit is the offspring of the conscience of a people. the sense of the imaginative grandeur of evil may perhaps be a forerunner of demoralization; but such a sense of wonder and awe, such an imaginative fascination of the grandly, superhumanly wicked such a necessity to magnify a villain into a demon with archangelic splendour of power of evil, can exist only in minds pure and strong, braced up to virtue, virgin of evil, with a certain childlike power of wonder; minds to whom it appears that to be wicked requires a powerful rebellion; minds accustomed to nature and nature's plainness, to whom the unnatural can be no subject of sophistication and cynicism, but only of wonder. while, in italy, giraldi cinthio prattles off to a gay party of ladies and gentlemen stories of murder and lust as frightful as those of "titus' andronicus," of "giovanni and annabella," and of the "revenger's tragedy," in the intelligent, bantering tone in which he tells his decameronian tales; in england, marston, in his superb prologue to the second part of "antonio and mellida," doubts whether all his audience can rise to the conception of the terrible passions he wishes to display: if any spirit breathes within this round uncapable of weighty passion, who winks and shuts his apprehension up from common sense of what men were and are, who would not know what men must be: let such hurry amain from our black visaged shows; we shall affright their eyes. the great criminals of italy were unconscious of being criminals; the nation was unconscious of being sinful. bembo's sonnets were the fit reading for lucrezia borgia; pastorals by guarini the dramatic amusements of rannuccio farnesi; if vittoria accoramboni and francesco cenci read anything besides their prayerbook or ribald novels, it was some sugary "aminta" or "pastor fido:" their own tragedies by webster and shelley they could never have understood. and thus the italians of the renaissance walked placidly through the evil which surrounded them; for them, artists and poets, the sky was always blue and the sun always bright, and their art and their poetry were serene. but the englishmen of the sixteenth century were astonished and fascinated by the evil of italy: the dark pools of horror, the dabs of infamy which had met them ever and anon in the brilliant southern cities, haunted them like nightmare, bespattered for them the clear blue sky, and danced, black and horrible spots, before the face of the sun. the remembrance of italian wickedness weighed on them like an incubus, clung to them with a frightful fascination. while the foulest criminals of italy discussed the platonic vapidnesses of bembo's sonnets, and wept at the sweet and languid lamentations of guarini's shepherds and nymphs; the strong englishmen of the time of shakespeare, the men whose children were to unsheathe under cromwell the sword of righteousness, listened awe-stricken and fascinated with horror to the gloomy and convulsed, the grand and frightful plays of webster and of tourneur. and the sin of the renaissance, which the art of italy could neither pourtray nor perceive; appeared on the stage decked in superb and awful garb by the tragic imagination of elizabethan england. the outdoor poetry. the thought of winter is bleak and barren to our mind; the late year is chary of æsthetic as of all other food. in the country it does not bring ugliness; but it terribly reduces and simplifies things, depriving them of two-thirds of their beauty. in sweeping away the last yellow leaves, the last crimson clouds, and in bleaching the last green grass, it effaces a whole wealth of colour. it deprives us still more by actually diminishing the number of forms: for what summer had left rich, various, complex, winter reduces to blank uniformity. there is a whole world of lovely things, shapes and tints, effects of light, colour, and perspective in a wood, as long as it is capriciously divided into a thousand nooks and crannies by projecting boughs, bushes, hedges, and hanging leaves; and this winter clears away and reduces to a haussmanized simplicity of plan. there is a smaller world, yet one quite big enough for a summer's day, in any hay field, among the barren oats, the moon-daisies, the seeded grasses, the sorrel, the buttercups, all making at a distance a wonderful blent effect of luminous brown and lilac and russet foamed with white; and forming, when you look close into it, an unlimited forest of delicately separate stems and bloom and seed; every plant detaching itself daintily from an undefinable background of things like itself. this winter turns into a rusty brown and green expanse, or into a bog, or a field of frozen upturned clods. the very trees, stripped of their leaves, look as if prepared for diagrams of the abstraction tree. everything, in short, is reduced most philosophically to its absolutely ultimate elements; and beauty is got rid of almost as completely as by a metaphysical definition. this æsthetic barrenness of winter is most of all felt in southern climates, to which it brings none of the harsh glitter and glamour of snow and ice; but leaves the frozen earth and leafless trees merely bare, without the crisp sheen of snow, the glint and glimmer of frost and icicles, forming for the denuded rigging of branches a fantastic system of ropes and folded sails. in the south, therefore, unless you go where winter never comes, and autumn merely merges into a lengthened spring, winter is more than ever negative, dreary, barren to our fancy. yet even this southern winter gives one things, very lovely things: things which one scarcely notices perhaps, yet which would baffle the most skilled painter to imitate, the most skilled poet to describe. thus, for instance, there is a peculiar kind of morning by no means uncommon in tuscany in what is completely winter, not a remnant of autumn or a beginning of spring. it is cold, but windless; the sky full of sun, the earth full of mist. sun and mist uniting into a pale luminousness in which all things lose body, become mere outline; bodiless hills taking shape where they touch the sky with their curve; clear line of irregular houses, of projecting ilex roundings and pointed cypresses marking the separation between hill and sky, the one scarcely more solid, corporeal than the other; the hill almost as blue as the sky, the sky almost as vaporous as the hill; the tangible often more ghostlike than the intangible. but the sun has smitten the higher hills, and the vapours have partially rolled down, in a scarcely visible fold, to their feet; and the high hill, not yet rock or earth, swells up into the sky as something real, but fluid and of infinite elasticity. all in front the plain is white with mist; or pinkish grey with the unseen agglomeration of bare tree boughs and trunks, of sere field; till, nearer us, the trees become more visible, the short vinebearing elms in the fields, interlacing their branches compressed by distance, the clumps of poplars, so scant and far between from nearly, so serried and compact from afar; and between them an occasional flush, a tawny vapour of the orange twigged osiers; and then, still nearer, the expanse of sere field, of mottled, crushed-together, yellowed grass and grey brown leaves; things of the summer which winter is burying to make room for spring. along the reaches of the river the clumps of leafless poplars are grey against the pale, palest blue sky; grey but with a warmth of delicate brown, almost of rosiness. grey also the shingle in the river bed; the river itself either (if after rain) pale brown, streaked with pale blue sky reflections; or (after a drought), low, grey, luminous throughout its surface, you might think, were it not that the metallic sheen, the vacillating sparkles of where the sun, smiting down, frets it into a shifting mass of scintillating facets, gives you the impression that this other luminousness of silvery water must be dull and dead. and, looking up the river, it gradually disappears, its place marked only, against the all-pervading pale blue haze, by the brownish grey spectre of the furthest poplar clumps. this, i have said, is an effect which winter produces, nay, even a southern winter, with those comparatively few and slight elements at its disposal. we see it, notice it, and enjoy its delicate loveliness; but while so doing we do not think, or we forget, that the habit of noticing, nay, the power of perceiving such effects as this, is one of those habits and powers which we possess, so to speak, only since yesterday. the possibility of reproducing in painting effects like this one; or, more truthfully, the wish to reproduce them, is scarcely as old as our own century; it is, perhaps, the latest born of all our artistic wishes and possibilities. but the possibility of any visible effect being perceived and reproduced by the painter, usually precedes--at least where any kind of pictorial art already exists--the perception of such effects by those who are not painters, and the attempt to reproduce them by means of words. we do not care to admit that our grandfathers were too unlike ourselves, lest ourselves should be found too unlike our grandchildren. we hold to the metaphysic fiction of man having always been the same, and only his circumstances having changed; not admitting that the very change of circumstances implies something new in the man who altered them; and similarly we shrink from the thought of the many things which we used never to notice, and which it has required a class of men endowed with special powers of vision to find out, copy, and teach us to see and appreciate. yet there is scarcely one of us who has not a debt towards some painter or writer for first directing his attention to objects or effects which may have abounded around him, but unnoticed or confused with others. the painters, as i have said, the men who see more keenly and who study what they have seen, naturally come first; nor does the poet usually describe what his contemporary painter attempts not to paint. an exception might, perhaps, require to be made for dante, who would seem to have seen and described many things left quite untouched by giotto, and even by raphael; but in estimating dante we must be careful to distinguish the few touches which really belong to him, from the great mass of colour and detail which we have unconsciously added thereto, borrowing from our own experience and from innumerable pictures and poems which, at the moment, we may not in the least remember; and having done so, we shall be led to believe that those words which suggest to us so clear and coloured a vision of scenes often complex and uncommon, presented to his own mind only a comparatively simple and incomplete idea: the atmospheric effects, requiring a more modern painter than turner, which we read between the lines of the "inferno" and the "purgatorio," most probably existed as little for dante as they did for giotto; the poet seeing and describing in reality only salient forms of earth and rock, monotonous in tint and deficient in air, like those in the backgrounds of mediæval tuscan frescoes and panels. be this as it may, the fact grows daily on me that men have not at all times seen in the same degree the nature which has always equally surrounded them; and that during some periods they have, for explicable reasons, seen less not only than their successors, but also than their predecessors; and seen that little in a manner conventional in proportion to its monotony. there are things about which certain historic epochs are strangely silent; so much so, indeed, that the breaking of the silence impresses us almost as the more than human breaking of a spell; and that silence is the result of a grievous wrong, of a moral disease which half closes the eyes of the fancy, or of a moral poison which presents to those sorely aching eyes only a glimmer amid darkness. and it is as the most singular instance of such conditions that i should wish to study, in themselves, their causes and effects, the great differences existing between the ancients and ourselves on the one hand, and the men of the genuine middle ages on the other, in the degree of interest taken respectively by each in external nature, the seasons and that rural life which seems to bring us into closest contact with them both. there is, of course, a considerable difference between the manner in which the country, its aspects and occupations, are treated by the poets of antiquity and by those of our own day; in the mode of enjoying them of an ancient who had read theocritus and virgil and tibullus, and a modern whose mind is unconsciously full of the influence of wordsworth or shelley or ruskin. but it is a mere difference of mode; and is not greater, i think, than the difference between the descriptions in the "allegro," and the descriptions in "men and women;" than the difference between the love of our elizabethans for the minuter details of the country, the flowers by the stream, the birds in the bushes, the ferrets, frogs, lizards, and similar small creatures; and the pleasure of our own contemporaries in the larger, more shifting, and perplexing forms and colours of cloud, sunlight, earth, and rock. the description of effects such as these latter ones, nay, the attention and appreciation given to them, are things of our own century, even as is the power and desire of painting them. landscape, in the sense of our artists of to-day, is a very recent thing; so recent that even in the works of turner, who was perhaps the earliest landscape painter in the modern sense, we are forced to separate from the real rendering of real effects, a great deal in which the tints of sky and sea are arranged and distributed as a mere vast conventional piece of decoration. nor could it be otherwise. for, in poetry as in painting, landscape could become a separate and substantive art only when the interest in the mere ins and outs of human adventure, in the mere structure and movement of human limbs, had considerably diminished. there is room, in epic or drama, only for such little scraps of description as will make clearer, without checking, the human action; as there is place, in a fresco of a miracle, or a little picture of carousing and singing bacchantes and venetian dandies, only for such little bits of laurel grove, or dim plain, or blue alpine crags, as can be introduced in the gaps between head and head, or figure and figure. thus, therefore, a great difference must exist between what would be felt and written about the country and the seasons by an ancient, by a man of the sixteenth century, or by a contemporary of our own: a difference, however, solely of mode; for we feel sure that of the three men each would find something to delight himself and wherewith to delight others among the elm-bounded english meadows, the fiat cornfields of central france, the vine and olive yards of italy-- wherever, in short, he might find himself face to face and, so to speak, hand in hand with nature. but about the man of the middle ages (unless, perhaps, in italy, where the whole middle ages were merely an earlier renaissance) we could have no such assurance; nay, we might be persuaded that, however great his genius, be he even a gottfried von strassburg, or a walther von der vogelweide, or the unknown frenchman who has left us "aucassin et nicolette," he would bring back impressions only of two things, authorized and consecrated by the poetic routine of his contemporaries--of spring and of the woods. there is nothing more characteristic of mediæval poetry than this limitation. of autumn, of winter; of the standing corn, the ripening fruit of summer; of all these things so dear to the ancients and to all men of modern times, the middle ages seem to know nothing. the autumn harvests, the mists and wondrous autumnal transfiguration of the humblest tree, or bracken, or bush; the white and glittering splendour of winter, and its cosy life by hearth or stove; the drowsiness of summer, its suddenly inspired wish for shade and dew and water, all this left them stolid. to move them was required the feeling of spring, the strongest, most complete and stirring impression which, in our temperate climates, can be given by nature. the whole pleasurableness of warm air, clear moist sky, the surprise of the shimmer of pale green, of the yellowing blossom on tree tops, the first flicker of faint shadow where all has been uniform, colourless, shadeless; the replacing of the long silence by the endless twitter and trill of birds, endless in its way as is the sea, twitter and trill on every side, depths and depths of it, of every degree of distance and faintness, a sea of bird song; and along with this the sense of infinite renovation to all the earth and to man's own heart. of all nature's effects this one alone goes sparkling to the head; and it alone finds a response in mediæval poetry. spring, spring, endless spring--for three long centuries throughout the world a dreary green monotony of spring all over france, provence, italy, spain, germany, england; spring, spring, nothing but spring even in the mysterious countries governed by the grail king, by the fairy morgana, by queen proserpine, by prester john; nay, in the new jerusalem, in the kingdom of heaven itself, nothing but spring; till one longs for a bare twig, for a yellow leaf, for a frozen gutter, as for a draught of water in the desert. the green fields and meadows enamelled with painted flowers, how one detests them! how one would rejoice to see them well sprinkled with frost or burnt up to brown in the dry days! the birds, the birds which warble through every sonnet, canzone, sirventes, glosa, dance lay, roundelay, virelay, rondel, ballade, and whatsoever else it may be called,--how one wishes them silent for ever, or their twitter, the tarantarantandei of the eternal german nightingale especially, drowned by a good howling wind j after any persistent study of mediæval poetry, one's feeling towards spring is just similar to that of the morbid creature in schubert's "müllerin," who would not stir from home for the dreadful, dreadful greenness, which he would fain bleach with tears, all around: ich möchte ziehn in die welt hinaus, hinaus in die weite welt, wenn's nur so grün, so grün nicht war da draussen in wald und feld. moreover this mediæval spring is the spring neither of the shepherd, nor of the farmer, nor of any man to whom spring brings work and anxiety and hope of gain; it is a mere vague spring of gentle-folk, or at all events of well-to-do burgesses, taking their pleasure on the lawns of castle parks, or the green holiday places close to the city, much as we see them in the first part of "faust;" a sweet but monotonous charm of grass, beneath green lime tree, or in the south the elm or plane; under which are seated the poet and the fiddler, playing and singing for the young women, their hair woven with chaplets of fresh flowers, dancing upon the sward. and poet after poet, provençal, italian, and german, nithart and ulrich, and even the austere singer of the holy grail, wolfram, pouring out verse after verse of the songs in praise of spring, which they make even as girls wind their garlands: songs of quaint and graceful ever-changing rythm, now slowly circling, now bounding along, now stamping out the measure like the feet of the dancers, now winding and turning as wind and twine their arms in the long-linked mazes; while the few and ever-repeated ideas, the old, stale platitudes of praise of woman, love pains, joys of dancing, pleasure of spring (spring, always spring, eternal, everlasting spring) seem languidly to follow the life and movement of the mere metre. poets, these german, provençal, french, and early italian lyrists, essentially (if we venture to speak heresy) not of ideas or emotions, but of metre, of rythm and rhyme; with just the minimum of necessary thought, perpetually presented afresh just as the words, often and often repeated and broken up and new combined, of a piece of music--poetry which is in truth a sort of music, dance or dirge or hymn music as the case may be, more than anything else. as it is in mediæval poetry with the seasons, so it is likewise with the country and its occupations: as there is only spring, so there is only the forest. of the forest, mediæval poetry has indeed much to say; more perhaps, and more familiar with its pleasures, than antiquity. there is the memorable forest where the heroes of the nibelungen go to hunt, followed by their waggons of provisions and wine; where siegfried overpowers the bear, and returns to his laughing comrades with the huge thing chained to his saddle; where, in that clear space which we see so distinctly, a lawn on to which the blue black firs are encroaching, siegfried stoops to drink of the spring beneath the lime tree, and hagen drives his boarspear straight through the nibelung's back. there is the thick wood, all a golden haze through the young green, and with an atmosphere of birds' song, where king mark discovers tristram and iseult in the cave, the deceitful sword between them, as gottfried von strassburg relates with wonderful luscious charm. the forest, also, more bleak and austere, where the four outlawed sons of aymon live upon roots and wild animals, where they build their castle by the meuse. further, and most lovely of all, the forest in which nicolette makes herself a hut of branches, bracken, and flowers, through which the stars peep down on her whiteness as she dreams of her lord aucassin. the forest where huon meets oberon; and guy de lusignan, the good snake-lady; and parzival finds on the snow the feathers and the drops of blood which throw him into his long day-dream; and owen discovers the tomb of merlin; the forest, in short, which extends its interminable glades and serried masses of trunks and arches of green from one end to the other of mediæval poetry. it is very beautiful, this forest of the middle ages; but it is monotonous, melancholy; and has a terrible eeriness in its endlessness. for there is nothing else. there are no meadows where the cows lie lazily, no fields where the red and purple kerchiefs of the reapers overtop the high corn; no orchards, no hayfields; nothing like those hill slopes where the wild herbs encroach upon the vines, and the goats of corydon and damoetas require to be kept from mischief; where, a little lower down, the athenian shopkeeper of aristophanes goes daily to look whether yesterday's hard figs may not have ripened, or the vine wreaths pruned last week grown too lushly. nor anything of the sort of those umbrian meadows, where virgil himself will stop and watch the white bullocks splashing slowly into the shallow, sedgy clitumnus; still less like those hamlets in the cornfields through which propertius would stroll, following the jolting osier waggon, or the procession with garlands and lights to pales or to the ochre-stained garden god. nothing of all this: there are no cultivated spots in mediæval poetry; the city only, and the castle, and the endless, all-encompassing forest. and to this narrowness of mediæval notions of outdoor life, inherited together with mediæval subjects by the poets even of the sixteenth century, must be referred the curious difference existing between the romance poets of antiquity, like homer in the odyssey, and the romance poets--boiardo, ariosto, tasso, spenser, camoens--of modern times, in the matter of--how shall i express it?--the ideal life, the fortunate realms, the "kennaqwhere." in homer, in all the ancients, the ideal country is merely a more delightful reality; and its inhabitants happier everyday men and women; in the poetry sprung from the middle ages it is always a fairy-land constructed by mechanicians and architects. for, as we have seen, the middle ages could bequeath to the sixteenth century no ideal of peaceful outdoor enjoyment. hence, in the poetry of the sixteenth century, still permeated by mediæval traditions, an appalling artificiality of delightfulness. fallerina, alcina, armida, acrasia, all imitated from the original calypso, are not strong and splendid god-women, living among the fields and orchards, but dainty ladies hidden in elaborate gardens, all bedizened with fashionable architecture: regular palaces, pleasaunces, with uncomfortable edifices, artificial waterfalls, labyrinths, rare and monstrous plants, parrots, apes, giraffes; childish splendours of gardening and engineering and menageries, which we meet already in "ogier the dane" and "huon of bordeaux," and which later poets epitomized out of the endless descriptions of colonna's "hypnerotomachia poliphili," the still more frightful inventories of the amadis romances. they are, each of them, a kind of anticipated marly, versailles, prince elector's friedrichsruhe or nymphenburg, with clipped cypresses and yews, doubtless, and (o pales and pan!) flower-beds filled with coloured plaster and spas, and cascades spirting out (thanks to fifty invisible pumps) under your feet and over your head. all the vineyards and cornfields have been swept away to make these solemn terraces and water-works; all the cottages which, with their little wooden shrine, their humble enclosure of sunflowers and rosemary and fruit trees, their buzzing hives and barking dogs, were loved and sung even by town rakes like catullus and smart coffeehouse wits like horace; all these have been swept away to be replaced by the carefully constructed (? wire) bowers, the aviaries, the porticoes, the frightful circular edifice (_tondo è il ricco edificio_), a masterpiece of palladian stucco work, in which armida and rinaldo, acrasia and her knight, drearily disport themselves. what has become of calypso's island? of the orchards of alcinous? what would the noble knights and ladies of ariosto and spenser think of them? what would they say, these romantic, dainty creatures, were they to meet nausicaa with the washed linen piled on her waggon? alas! they would take her for a laundress. for it is the terrible aristocratic idleness of the middle ages, their dreary delicacy, which hampers boiardo, ariosto, tasso, spenser, even in the midst of their most unblushing plagiarisms from antiquity: their heroes and heroines have been brought up, surrounded by equerries and duennas, elegant, useless things, or at best (the knights at least) good only for aristocratic warfare. plough or prune! defile the knightly hands! wash or cook, ply the loom like nausicaa, calypso, or penelope! the mere thought sends them very nearly into a faint. no: the ladies of mediæval romance must sit quiet, idle; at most they may sing to the lute; and if they work with their hands, it must be some dreary, strictly useless, piece of fancy work; they are hot-house plants, all these dainty folk. had they no eyes, then, these poets of the middle ages, that they could see, among all the things of nature, only those few which had been seen by their predecessors? at first one feels tempted to think so, till the recollection of many vivid touches in spring and forest descriptions persuades one that, enormous as was the sway of tradition among these men, they were not all of them, nor always, repeating mere conventional platitudes. this singular limitation in the mediæval perceptions of nature--a limitation so important as almost to make it appear as if the middle ages had not perceived nature at all--is most frequently attributed to the prevalence of asceticism, which, according to some critics, made all mediæval men into so many repetitions of bernard of clairvaux, of whom it is written that, being asked his opinion of lake leman, he answered with surprise that, during his journey from geneva to the rhone valley, he had remarked no lake whatever, so absorbed had he been in spiritual meditations. but the predominance of asceticism has been grossly exaggerated. it was a state of moral tension which could not exist uninterruptedly, and could exist only in the classes for whom poetry was not written. the mischief done by asceticism was the warping of the moral nature of men, not of their æsthetic feelings; it had no influence upon the vast numbers, the men and women who relished the profane and obscene fleshliness and buffoonery of stage plays and fabliaux, and those who favoured the delicate and exquisite immoralities of courtly poetry. indeed, the presence of whole classes of writings, of which such things as boccaccio's tales, "the wife of bath," and villon's "ballades," on the one hand, and the songs of the troubadours, the poem of gottfried, and the romance or rather novel of "flamenca," are respectively but the most conspicuous examples, ought to prove only too clearly that the middle ages, for all their asceticism, were both as gross and as æsthetic in sensualism as antiquity had been before them. we must, therefore, seek elsewhere than in asceticism, necessarily limited, and excluding the poetry-reading public, for an explanation of this peculiarity of mediæval poetry. and we shall find it, i think, in that which during the middle ages could, because it was an all-regulating social condition, really create universal habits of thought and feeling, namely, feudalism. a moral condition like asceticism must leave unbiassed all such minds as are incapable of feeling it; but a social institution like feudalism walls in the life of every individual, and forces his intellectual movements into given paths; nor is there any escape, excepting in places where, as in italy and in the free towns of the north, the feudal conditions are wholly or partially unknown. to feudalism, therefore, would i ascribe this, which appears at first so purely æsthetic, as opposed to social, a characteristic of the middle ages. ever since schiller, in his "gods of greece," spoke for the first time of undivinized nature (_die entgötterte natur_), it has been the fashion among certain critics to fall foul of christianity for having robbed the fields and woods of their gods, and reduced to mere manured clods the things which had been held sacred by antiquity. desecrated in those long mediæval centuries nature may truly have been, but not by the holy water of christian priests. desecrated because out of the fields and meadows was driven a divinity greater than pales or vertumnus or mighty pan, the divinity called _man_. for in the terrible times when civilization was at its lowest, the things of the world had been newly allotted; and by this new allotment, man--the man who thinks and loves and hopes and strives, man who fights and sings--was shut out from the fields and meadows, forbidden the labour, nay, almost the sight, of the earth; and to the tending of kine, and sowing of crops, to all those occupations which antiquity had associated with piety and righteousness, had deemed worthy of the gods themselves, was assigned, or rather condemned, a creature whom every advancing year untaught to think or love, or hope, or fight, or strive; but taught most utterly to suffer and to despair. for a man it is difficult to call him, this mediæval serf, this lump of earth detached from the field and wrought into a semblance of manhood, merely that the soil of which it is part should be delved and sown, and then manured with its carcass or its blood; nor as a man did the middle ages conceive it. the serf was not even allowed human progenitors: his foul breed had originated in an obscene miracle; his stupidity and ferocity were as those of the beasts; his cunning was demoniac; he was born under god's curse; no words could paint his wickedness, no persecutions could exceed his deserts; the whole world turned pale at his crime, for he it was, he and not any human creature, who had nailed christ upon the cross. like the hunger and sores of a fox or a wolf, his hunger and his sores are forgotten, never noticed. were it not that legal and ecclesiastical narratives of trials (not of feudal lords for crushing and contaminating their peasants, but of peasants for spitting out and trampling on the consecrated wafer) give us a large amount of pedantically stated detail; tell us how misery begat vice, and filth and starvation united families in complicated meshes of incest, taught them depopulation as a virtue and a necessity; and how the despair of any joy in nature, of any mercy from god, hounded men and women into the unspeakable orgies, the obscene parodies, of devil worship; were it not for these horrible shreds of judicial evidence (as of tatters of clothes or blood-clotted hairs on the shoes of a murderer) we should know little or nothing of the life of the men and women who, in mediæval france and germany, did the work which had been taught by hesiod and virgil. about all these tragedies the literature of the middle ages, ready to show us town vice and town horror, dens of prostitution and creaking, overweighted gibbets, as in villon's poems, utters not a word. all that we can hear is the many-throated yell of mediæval poets, noble and plebeian, french, provençal, and german, against the brutishness, the cunning, the cruelty, the hideousness, the heresy of the serf, whose name becomes synonymous with every baseness; which, in mock grammatical style, is declined into every epithet of wickedness; whose punishment is prayed for from the god whom he outrages by his very existence; a hideous clamour of indecent jibe, of brutal vituperation, of senseless accusation, of every form of words which furious hatred can assume, whose echoes reached even countries like tuscany, where serfdom was well nigh unknown, and have reached even to us in the scraps of epigram still bandied about by the townsfolk against the peasants, nay, by the peasants against themselves.[ ] a monstrous rag doll, dressed up in shreds of many-coloured villainy without a recognizable human feature, dragged in mud, pilloried with unspeakable ordure, paraded in mock triumph like a king of fools, and burnt in the market-place like antichrist, such is the image which mediæval poetry has left us of the creature who was once the pious rustic, the innocent god-beloved husbandman, on whose threshold justice stopped a while when she fled from the towns of antiquity. [ ] the reader may oppose to my views the existence of the--class of poems, french, latin, and german, of which the provençal pastourela is the original type, and which represent the courting, by the poet, who is, of course, a knight, of a beautiful country-girl, who is shown us as feeding her sheep or spinning with her distaff. but these poems are, to the best of my knowledge, all of a single pattern, and extremely insincere and artificial in tone, that i feel inclined to class them with the pastorals--dresden china idylls by men who had never looked a live peasant in the face--of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, --as distant descendants from the pastoral poetry of antiquity, of which the chivalric poets may have got some indirect notions as they did of the antique epics. it is moreover extremely the likely that these love poems, in which, successfully or unsuccessfully, the poet usually offers a bribe to the woman of low degree, conceal beneath the conventional pastoral trappings the intrigues of minnesingers and troubadours with women of the small artizan or village proprietor class. the real peasant woman--the female of the villain--could scarcely have been above the notice of the noblemen's servants; and, in countries where the seigneurial rights were in vigour, would scarcely have been offered presents and fine words. as regards the innumerable poems against the peasantry, i may refer the reader to an extremely curious publication of "carmina medii Ævi," recently made by sig. francesco novati, and which contains, besides a selection of specimens, a list of references on the subject of poems "de natura rusticorum." one of the satirical declensions runs as follows: singulariter. pluraliter. nom. hic villanus. nom. hi maledicti. gen. huius rustici. gen. horum tristium. dat. huic tferfero (_sic_). dat. his mendacibus. acc. hunc furem. acc. hos nequissimos. voc. o latro. voc. o pessimi. abl. ab hoc depredatore. abl. ab his infidelibus. the accusation of heresy and of crucifying christ is evidently due to the devil-worship prevalent among the serfs, and is thus, alluded to in a north italian poem, probably borrowed from the french: christo fo da villan crucifiò, e stagom sempre in pioza, in vento, e in neve, perchè havom fato cosi gran peccà. this feeling is exactly analogous to that existing nowadays in semi-barbarous countries against the jews. the idle hated the industrious, and hated them all the more when their industry brought them any profit.] yet not so; i can recall one, though only one, occasion in which mediæval literature shows us the serf. the place is surely the most unexpected, the charming thirteenth century tale of "aucassin et nicolette." in his beautiful essay upon that story, mr. pater has deliberately omitted this episode, which is indeed like a spot of blood-stained mud upon some perfect tissue of silver flowers on silver ground. it is a piece of cruellest realism, because quite quiet and unforced, in the midst of a kind of fairy-land idyl of almost childish love, the love of the beautiful son of the lord of beaucaire for a beautiful saracen slave girl. for, although aucassin and nicolette are often separated, and always disconsolate--she in her wonderfully frescoed vaulted room, he in his town prison--there is always surrounding them a sort of fairy land of trees and flowers, a constant song of birds; although they wander through the woods and tear their delicate skin, and catch their hair in brambles and briars, we have always the sense of the daisies bending beneath their tread, of the green leaves rustling aside from their heads covered with hair--"blond et menu crespelé." their very hardships are lovely, like the hut of flowering branches and grapes, which nicolette builds for herself, and through whose fissures the moonlight shines and the little stars twinkle: so much so, that when they weep, these two beautiful and dainty creatures, we listen as if to singing, and with no more sense of grief than at some pathetic little snatch of melody. and in the midst of this idyl of lovely things; in the midst of all these delicate patternings, whose minuteness and faint tint merge into one vague pleasurable impression; stands out, unintentionally placed there by the author, little aware of its terrible tragic realism, the episode which i am going to translate. "thus aucassin wandered all day through the forest, without hearing any news of his sweet love; and when he saw that dusk was spreading, he began bitterly to weep. as he was riding along an old road, where weeds and grass grew thick and high, he suddenly saw before him, in the middle of this road, a man such as i am going to describe to you. he was tall, ugly; nay, hideous quite marvellously. his face was blacker than smoked meat, and so wide, that there was a good palm's distance between his eyes; his cheeks were huge, his nostrils also, with a very big flat nose; thick lips as red as embers, and long teeth yellow and smoke colour. he wore leathern shoes and gaiters, kept up with string at the knees; on his back was a parti-coloured coat. he was leaning upon a stout bludgeon. aucassin was startled and fearful, and said: "'fair brother ("beau frère"--a greeting corresponding to the modern "bon homme")! god be with thee!' "'god bless you!' answered the man. "'what dost thou here?' asked aucassin. "'what is that to you?' answered the man. "'i ask thee from no evil motive.' "'then tell me why,' said the man, 'you yourself are weeping with such grief? truly, were i a rich man like you, nothing in the world should make me weep.' "'and how dost thou know me?' "'i know you to be aucassin, the son of the count; and if you will tell me why you weep, i will tell you why i am here.' "'i will tell thee willingly,' answered aucassin. 'this morning i came to hunt in the forest; i had a white leveret, the fairest in the world; i have lost him--that is why i am weeping.' "'what!' cried the man;' it is for a stinking hound that you waste the tears of your body? woe to those who shall pity you; you, the richest man of this country. if your father wanted fifteen or twenty white leverets, he could get them. i am weeping and mourning for more serious matters.' "'and what are these?' "'i will tell you. i was hired to a rich farmer to drive his plough, dragged by four bullocks. three days ago, i lost a red bullock, the best of the four. i left the plough, and sought the red bullock on all sides, but could not find him. for three days i have neither eaten nor drunk, and have been wandering thus. i have been afraid of going to the town, where they would put me in jail, because i have not wherewith to pay for the bullock. all i possess are the clothes on my back. i have a mother; and the poor woman had nothing more valuable than me; since she had only an old smock wherewith to cover her poor old limbs. they have torn the smock off her back, and now she has to lie on the straw. it is about her that i am afflicted more than about myself, because, as to me, i may get some money some day or other, and as to the red bullock, he may be paid for when he may. and i should never weep for such a trifle as that. ah! woe betide those who shall make sorrow with you!'" inserted merely to give occasion to show aucassin's good heart in paying the twenty _sols_ for the man's red bullock; perhaps for no reason at all, but certainly with no idea of making the lover's misery seem by comparison trifling--there are, nevertheless, few things in literature more striking than the meeting in the wood of the daintily nurtured boy, weeping over the girl whom he loves with almost childish love of the fancy; and of that ragged, tattered, hideous serf, at whose very aspect the bel aucassin stops in awe and terror. and the attitude is grand of this unfortunate creature, who neither begs nor threatens, scarcely complains, and not at all for himself; but merely tells his sordid misfortune with calm resignation, as if used to such everyday miseries, roused to indignation only at the sight of the tears which the fine-bred youth is shedding. we feel the dreadful solemnity of the man's words; of the reproach thus thrown by the long-suffering serf, accustomed to misfortunes as the lean ox is to blows, to that delicate thing weeping for his lady love, for the lady of his fancy. it is the one occasion upon which that delicate and fantastic mediæval love poetry, that fanciful, wistful stripling king love of the middle ages, in which he keeps high court, and through which he rides in triumphal procession; that king love laughing and fainting by turns with all his dapper artificiality of woes; is confronted with the sordid reality, the tragic impersonation of all the dumb miseries, the lives and loves, crushed and defiled unnoticed, of the peasantry of those days. yes, while they sing--provençals, minnesingers, sicilians, sing of their earthly lady and of their paramour in heaven--the hideous peasant, whose naked granny is starving on the straw, looks on with dull and tearless eyes; crying out to posterity, as the serf cries to aucassin: "woe to those who shall sorrow at the tears of such as these." ii. but meanwhile, during those centuries which lie between the dark ages and modern times, the middle ages (inasmuch as they mean not a mere chronological period, but a definite social and mental condition) fortunately did not exist everywhere. had they existed, it is almost impossible to understand how they would ever throughout europe have come to an end; for as the favourite proverb of catharine of siena has it, one dead man cannot bury another dead man; and the middle ages, after this tedious dying of the fifteenth century, required to be shovelled into the tomb, nay, rather, given the final stroke, by the renaissance. this that we foolishly call--giving a quite incorrect notion of sudden and miraculous birth--the renaissance, and limit to the time of the revival of greek humanities, really existed, as i have repeatedly suggested wherever, during the mediæval centuries, the civilization of which the twelfth and thirteenth centuries were big was not, by the pressure of feudalism and monasticism, made to be abortive or stillborn. low as was italy at the very close of the dark ages, and much as she borrowed for a long while from the more precocious northern nations, especially france and provence; italy had, nevertheless, an enormous advantage in the fact that her populations were not divided into victor and vanquished, and that the old latin institutions of town and country were never replaced, except in certain northern and southern districts, by feudal arrangements. the very first thing which strikes us in the obscure italian commonwealths of early times, is that in these resuscitated relics of roman or etruscan towns there is no feeling of feudal superiority and inferiority; that there is no lord, and consequently no serf. nor is this the case merely within the city walls. the never sufficiently appreciated difference between the italian free burghs and those of germany, flanders, and provence, is that the citizens depend only in the remotest and most purely fictitious way upon any kind of suzerain; and moreover that the country, instead of belonging to feudal nobles, belong every day more and more completely to the burghers. the peasant is not a serf, but one of three things--a hired labourer, a possessor of property, or a farmer, liable to no taxes, paying no rent, and only sharing with the proprietor the produce of the land. by this latter system, existing, then as now, throughout tuscany, the peasantry was an independent and well-to-do class. the land owned by one man (who, in the commonwealths, was usually a shopkeeper or manufacturer in the town) was divided into farms small enough to be cultivated--vines, olives, corn, and fruit--by one family of peasants, helped perhaps by a paid labourer. the thriftier and less scrupulous peasants could, in good seasons, put by sufficient profit from their share of the produce to suffice after some years, and with the addition of what the women might make by washing, spinning, weaving, plaiting straw hats (an accomplishment greatly insisted upon by lorenzo dei medici), and so forth, to purchase some small strip of land of their own. hence, a class of farmers at once living on another man's land and sharing its produce with him, and cultivating and paying taxes upon land belonging to themselves. of these tuscan peasants we get occasional glimpses in the mediæval italian novelists--a well-to-do set of people, in constant communication with the town where they sell their corn, oil, vegetables, and wine, and easily getting confused with the lower class of artizans with whom they doubtless largely intermarried. these peasants whom we see in tidy kilted tunics and leathern gaiters, driving their barrel-laden bullock carts, or riding their mules up to the red city gates in many a florentine and sienese painting of the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries, were in many respects better off than the small artizans of the city, heaped up in squalid houses, and oppressed by the greater and smaller guilds. agnolo pandolfini, teaching thrift to his sons in alberti's charming treatise on "the government of the family," frequently groans over the insolence, the astuteness of the peasantry; and indeed seems to consider that it is impossible to cope with them--a conclusion which would have greatly astounded the bailiffs of the feudal proprietors in the two sicilies and beyond the alps. indeed it is impossible to conceive a stranger contrast than that between the northern peasant, the starved and stunted serf, whom holbein drew, driving his lean horses across the hard furrow, with compassionate death helping along the plough, and the tuscan farmer, as shown us by lorenzo dei medici--the young fellow who, while not above minding his cows or hoeing up his field, goes into florence once a week, offers his sweetheart presents of coral necklaces, silk staylaces, and paint for her cheeks and eyelashes; who promises, to please her, to have his hair frizzled (as only the youths of the renaissance knew how to be frizzled and fuzzed) by the barber, and even dimly hints that some day he may appear in silken jerkin and tight hose, like a well-to-do burgess. no greater contrast perhaps, unless indeed we should compare his sweetheart, lorenzo's beautiful nenciozza, with her box full of jewels, her sunday garb of damask kirtle and gold-worked bodice, her almost queenly ways towards her adorers, with the wretched creature, not a woman, but a mere female animal, cowering among her starving children in her mud cottage, and looking forward, in dull lethargy, after the morning full of outrages at the castle, to the night, the night on the heath, lit with mysterious flickers, to the horrible joys of the sacrifice which the oppressed brings to the dethroned, the serf to satan; when, in short, we compare the peasant woman described by lorenzo with the female serf resuscitated by the genius of michelet; nay, more poignant still, with that mother in the "dance of death," seated on the mud flood of the broken-roofed, dismantled hovel, stewing something on a fire of twigs, and stretching out vain arms to her poor tattered baby-boy, whom, with the good-humoured tripping step of an old nurse, the kindly skeleton is leading away out of this cruel world. such were the conditions of the peasantry of the great italian commonwealths. they were, as much as the northern serfs were the reverse, creatures pleasant to deal with, pleasant to watch. the upper classes, on the other hand, differed quite as much from the upper classes of feudal countries. they were, be it remembered, men of business, constantly in contact with the working classes; albizis, strozzis, pandolfinis, guinigis, tolomeis, no matter what their name, these men who built palaces and churches which outdid the magnificence of northern princes, and who might, at any moment, be sent ambassadors from florence, lucca, or siena, to the french or english kings, to the emperor or the pope, spent a large portion of their days at their office desk, among the bales of their warehouses, behind the counter of their shops; they wore the same dress, had the same habits, spoke the same dialect, as the weavers and dyers, the carriers and porters whom they employed, and whose sons might, by talent and industry, amass a fortune, build palaces, and go ambassadors to kings in their turn. when, therefore, these merchant nobles turned to the country for rest and relief from their cares, it was not to the country as it existed for the feudal noble of the north. boar and stag hunts had no attraction for quiet men of business; forests stocked with wild beasts where vineyard and cornfield might have extended, would have seemed to them the very height of wastefulness, discomfort, and ugliness. pacific and businesslike, they merely transferred to the country the habits of thought and of life which had arisen in the city. not for them any imitation of the feudal castle, turreted and moated, cut up into dark irregular rooms and yards, filled with noisy retainers and stinking hounds. on some gentle hillside a well-planned palace, its rooms spacious and lofty, and sparely windowed for coolness in summer; with a neat cloistered court in the centre, ventilating the whole house, and affording a cool place, full of scent of flowers and sound of fountains for the burning afternoons; a belvedere tower also, on which to seek a breeze on stifling nights, when the very stars seem faint for heat, and the dim plumy heads of cypress and poplar are motionless against the misty blue sky. in front a broad terrace, whence to look down towards the beloved city, a vague fog of roofs in the distance; on the side and behind, elaborate garden walks walled with high walls of box and oak and laurel, in which stand statues in green niches; gardens with little channels to bring water, even during droughts, to the myrtles, the roses, the stocks and clove pinks, over which bend with blossoms brilliant against the pale blue sky the rose-flowered oleander, the scarlet-flowered pomegranate; also aviaries and cages full of odd and harmless creatures, ferrets, guinea pigs, porcupines, squirrels, and monkeys; arbours where wife, daughters, and daughters-in-law may sew and make music; and neat lawns where the young men may play at quoits, football, or swordsticks and bucklers; and then, sweeping all round the house and gardens and terraces an undulating expanse of field and orchard, smoke-tinted with olive, bright green in spring with budding crops, russet in autumn with sere vines; and from which, in the burning noon, rises the incessant sawing noise of the cicalas, and ever and anon the high, nasal, melancholy chant of the peasant, lying in the shade of barn door or fig tree till the sun shall sink and he can return to his labour. if the house in town, with its spacious store-rooms, its carved chapel, and painted banqueting hall, large enough to hold sons' children and brothers' wives and grandchildren, and a whole host of poor relatives, whom the wise father (as pandolfini teaches) employs rather than strangers for his clerks and overseers--if this town house was the pride of the italian burgess; the villa, with its farms and orchards, was the real joy, the holiday paradise of the over-worked man. to read in the cool house, with cicala's buzz and fountain plash all round, the greek and latin authors; to discuss them with learned men; to watch the games of the youths and the children, this was the reward for years of labour and intelligence; but sweeter than all this (how we feel it in agnolo pandolfini's speeches!) were those occupations which the city could not give: the buying and selling of plants, grain, and kine, the meddling with new grafted trees, the mending of spaliers, the straightening of fences, the going round (with the self-importance and impatience of a cockney) to see what flowers had opened, what fruit had ripened over-night; to walk through the oliveyards, among the vines; to pry into stable, pig-stye, and roosting-place, taking up handfuls of drying grain, breaking twigs of olives, to see how things were doing; and to have long conversations with the peasants, shrewd enough to affect earnest attention when the master was pleased to vent his town-acquired knowledge of agriculture and gardening. sweet also, doubtless, for younger folk, or such perhaps as were fonder of teaching new lute tunes to the girls than of examining into cabbages, and who read dante and boccaccio more frequently than cicero or sallust; though sweet perhaps only as a vague concomitant of their lazy pleasures, to listen to those songs of the peasantry rising from the fields below, while lying perhaps on one's back in the shaded grass, watching the pigeons whirring about the belvedere tower. vaguely pleasant this also, doubtless; but for a long while only vaguely. for, during more than two centuries, the burgesses of italy were held enthralled by the courtly poets of other countries; listening to, and reading, at first, only provençals and sicilians, or italians, like sordello, pretending to be of provence or sicily; and even later, enduring in their own poets, their own guittones, cavalcantis, cinos, guinicellis, nay even in dante and petrarch's lyrics, only the repetition (however vivified by genius) of the old common-places of courtly love, and artificial spring, of the poetry of feudal nations. but the time came when not only provençal and sicilian, but even tuscan, poetry was neglected, when the revival of greek and latin letters made it impossible to rewrite the threadbare mediæval prettinesses, or even to write in earnest in the modern tongue, so stiff and thin (as it seemed) and like some grotesque painted saint, when compared with the splendidly fleshed antique languages, turning and twining in graceful or solemn involutions, as of a pyrrhic or a maidens' dance. and it was during this period, from petrarch to politian, that, as philologists have now proved beyond dispute, the once fashionable chivalric romance, and the poetry of provençal and sicilian school, cast off by the upper classes, was gradually picked up by the lower and especially by the rural classes. vagabond ballad-singers and story-tellers--creatures who wander from house to house, mending broken pottery, collecting rags or selling small pedlar's wares--were the old clothesmen who carried about these bits of tarnished poetic finery. the people of the town, constantly in presence of the upper classes, and therefore sooner or later aware of what was or was not in fashion, did not care long for the sentimental daintiness of mediæval poetry; besides, satire and scurrility are as inevitable in a town as are dogs in gutters and cats on roofs; and the townsfolk soon set their own buffoonish or satirical ideas to whatever remained of the music of mediæval poetry: already early in the fifteenth century the sonnet had become for the florentine artizans a mere scurrilous epigram. it was different in the country. the peasant, at least the tuscan peasant, is eminently idealistic and romantic in his literary tastes; it may be that he has not the intellectual life required for any utterances or forms of his own, and that he consequently accepts poetry as a ready-made ornament, something pretty and exotic, which is valued in proportion to its prettiness and rarity. be the reason whatever it may, certain it is that nothing can be too artificial or high-flown to please the italian peasantry: its tales are all of kings; princesses, fairies, knights, winged horses, marvellous jewels, and so forth; its songs are almost without exception about love, constancy, moon, stars, flowers. such things have not been degraded by familiarity and parody as in the town; they retain for the country folk the vague charm (like that of music, automatic and independent of thorough comprehension) of belonging to a sphere of the marvellous; hence they are repeated and repeated with almost religious servility, as any one may observe who will listen to the stories and verses told and sung even nowadays in the tuscan country, or who will glance over the splendid collections of folklore made in the last twenty years. such things, must suffer alteration from people who can neither read nor write, and who cannot be expected to remember very clearly details which, in many cases, must have for them only the vaguest meaning. the stories split in process of telling and re-telling, and are completed with bits of other stories; details are forgotten and have to be replaced; the same happens with poetry: songs easily get jumbled together, their meaning is partially obliterated, and has to be restored or, again, an attempt is made by bold men to adapt some seemingly adaptable old song to a new occasion an old love ditty seems fit to sing to a new sweetheart.--names, circumstances, and details require arranging for this purpose; and hence more alterations. now, however much a peasant may enjoy the confused splendours of court life and of courtly love, he cannot, with the best will in the world, restore their details or colouring if they happen to become obliterated. if he chance to forget that when the princess first met the wizard she was riding forth on a snow-white jennet with a falcon on her glove, there is nothing to prevent his describing her as walking through the meadow in charge of a flock of geese; and similarly, should he happen to forget that the courtly lover compares the skin of his mistress to ivory and her eyes to cupid's torches, he is quite capable of filling up the gap by saying that the girl is as white as a turnip and as bright-eyed as a ferret. as with details of description and metaphors, so also with the emotional and social parts of the business. the peasant has not been brought up in the idea that the way to gain a woman's affection is to stick her glove on a helmet and perform deeds of prowess closely resembling those of don quixote in the sierra morena; so he attempts to ingratiate himself by offering her presents of strawberries, figs, buttons, hooks-and-eyes, and similar desirable things. again, were the peasant to pay attentions to a married woman, he would merely get (what noble husbands were too well bred to dream of) a sound horsewhipping, or perhaps even a sharp knife thrust in his stomach; so that he takes good care to address his love songs only to marriageable young women. in this way, without any deliberate attempt .at originality, the old courtly poetry becomes, when once removed to the country, thoroughly patched and seamed with rustic ideas, feelings, and images; while never ceasing to be, in its general stuff and shape, of a kind such as only professional poets of the upper classes can produce. the sicilian lyrics collected by signor pitre, still more the tuscan poems of tigri's charming volume, are, therefore, a curious mixture of high-flown sentiment, dainty imagery, and most artistic arrangements of metre and diction (especially in the rispetto, where metrical involution is accompanied by logical involution of the most refined mediæval sort), with hopes and complaints such as only a farmer could frame, with similes and descriptions such as only the business of the field, vineyard, and dairy could suggest. a mixture, but not a jumble. for as in this slow process of assimilation and alteration only that was remembered by the peasant which the peasant could understand and sympathize with; and only that was welded into the once courtly poetry which was sufficiently refined to please the people who delighted in the exotic refinement--as, in short, everything came about perfectly simply and unconsciously, there resulted what in good sooth may be considered as a perfectly substantive and independent form of art, with beauties and refinements of its own. and, indeed, it appears to me that one might say, without too much paradox, that in these peasant songs only does the poetry of minnesingers and troubadours, become thoroughly enjoyable; that only when the conventionality of feeling and imagery is corrected by the freshness, the straightforwardness, nay, even the grotesqueness of rural likings, dislikings, and comparisons, can the dainty beauty of mediæval courtly poetry ever really satisfy our wishes. comparing together tigri's collection of tuscan folk poetry with any similar anthology that might be made of middle-high german and provençal, and early italian lyrics, i feel that the adoption of courtly mediæval poetry by the italian peasantry of the renaissance can be compared more significantly than at first seemed with the adoption of a once fashionable garb by country folk. the peasant pulled about this courtly lyrism, oppressively tight in its conventional fit and starched with elaborate rhetorical embroideries; turned it inside out, twisted a bit here, a bit there, ripped open seam after seam, patched and repatched with stuffs and stitches of its own; and then wore the whole thing as it had never been intended to be worn; until this cast-off poetic apparel, stretched on the freer moral limbs of natural folk, faded and stained by weather and earth into new and richer tints, had lost all its original fashionable stiffness, and crudeness of colour, and niminy-piminy fit, and had acquired instead i know not what grace of unexpectedness, picturesqueness, and ease.[ ] [ ] any one who is sceptical of the courtly derivation of the italian popular song may, besides consulting the admirable book of prof. d'ancona, compare with the contents of tigri's famous "canti popolari toscani," the following scraps of sicilian and early italian lyrics:-- the emperor frederick ii. writes: "rosa di maggio--colorita e fresca--occhi hai fini--e non rifini--di gioie dare--lo tuo parlare--la gente innamora--castella ed altura." jacopo pugliesi says of his lady: "chiarita in viso più che argento--donami allegrezze--ben eo son morto--e mal colto--se non mi dai conforto--_fior dell' orto_." inghilfredi siciliano: "gesù cristo ideolla in paradiso--e poi la fece angelo incarnando--gioia aggio preso di giglio novello--e vago, che sormonta ogni ricchezza--sua dottrina m' affrezza--cosi mi coglie e olezza--come pantera le bestie selvagge." jacopo da lentino: "e di virtute tutte l' altre avanza--e somigliante a stella è di splendore--colla sua conta (_cf_. provençal _coindeta_, gentille) e gaia innamoranza--e più bella è che rosa e che fiore--cristo le doni vita ed allegranza--e sì la cresca in gran pregio ed onore." i must finish off what might be a much longer collection with a charming little scrap, quite in rispetto tone, by guinicelli: "vedut 'ho la lucente stella diana--ch' appare anzi che 'l giorno renda albore--ch' a preso forma di figura umana--sovr' ogni altra mi par che dia splendore--viso di neve colorato in grana--occhi lucenti, gai e pien d'amore--non credo che nel mondo sia cristiana--si piena di beltate e di valore."] well; for many a year did the song of the peasants rise up from the fields and oliveyards unnoticed by the good townsfolk taking their holiday at the tuscan villa; but one day, somewhere in the third quarter of the fifteenth century, the long-drawn chant of the rispetto, telling perhaps how the singer's sweetheart was beautiful as the star diana, so beautiful as a baby that the pope christened her with his own hands; the quavering nasal cadence of the stornello saying by chance-- flower of the palm, &c., did at last waken the attention of one lettered man, a man of curious and somewhat misshapen body and mind, of features satyr-like in ugliness, yet moody and mystical in their very earthiness; a man essentially of the senses, yet imperfect in them, without taste or smell, and, over and above, with a marvellously supple intellect; weak and coarse and idealistic; and at once feebly the slave of his times, and so boldly, spontaneously innovating as to be quite unconscious of innovation: the mixed nature, or rather the nature in many heterogeneous bits, of the man of letters who is artistic almost to the point of being an actor, natural in every style because morally connected with no style at all. the man was lorenzo di piero dei medici, for whom posterity has exclusively reserved the civic title of all his family and similar town despots, calling him the magnificent. it is the fashion at present to give lorenzo only the leavings, as it were, of our admiration for the weaker, less original, nay, considerably enervate, humanistic exquisite politian; and this absurd injustice appears to me to show that the very essence and excellence of lorenzo is not nowadays perceived. the renaissance produced several versatile and charming poets; and, in the midst of classic imitation, one or two, of whom one is certainly boiardo, of real freshness and raciness. but of this new element in the renaissance, this element which is neither imitation of antiquity nor revival of mediæval, which is original, vital, fruitful, in short, modern, lorenzo is the most versatile example. he is new, renaissance, modern; not merely in this or that quality, he is so all round. and this in the first place because he is so completely the man of impressions; the man not uttering wonderful things, nor elaborating exquisite ones, but artistically embodying with marvellous versatility whatever strikes his fancy and feeling--fancy and feeling which are as new as the untouched sculptor's clay. and this extraordinary temper of art for art's sake, or rather effect for effect and form's sake, was possible in that day only in a man equally without strong passions, and without strong convictions. he is naturally attracted most by what is most opposed to the academic, virgilian, horatian, or petrarchesque æstheticism of his contemporaries; he is essentially a realist, and all the effects, which he produces, all the beauty, charm, or beastliness of his work, corresponds to beauty, charm, or beastliness in the reality of things. if lorenzo writes at one moment carnival songs of ribald dirtiness, at the next hymns full of holy solemnity; it is, i think, merely because this versatile artist takes pleasure in trying whether his face may not be painted into grinning drunkenness, and then elongated and whitened into ascetic gentleness. instead of seeking, like most of his contemporaries, to be greek, roman, or mediæval by turns, he preferred trying on all the various tricks of thought and feeling which he remarked among his unlettered townsfolk. his realism naturally drew him towards the classes where realism can deal with the real; and not the affected, the self-conscious, the deliberately attempted. hence those wonderful little poems, the carnival songs of the gold-thread spinners, of the pastry-cooks, of the shoemakers, which give us so completely, so gracefully, the whole appearance, work, manner, gesture of the people; give them to us with ease and rapidity so perfect, that we scarcely know how they are given; that we almost forget verses and song, and actually see the pulling, twisting, and cutting of the gold-threads; that we see and hear the shoemaker's hands smoothing down the leather of the shoe in his hand, to convince his customers of its pliability; that we see and smell the dear little pale yellow pasties nestling in the neat white baskets, after having stood by and watched the dough being kneaded, chopped, and floured over, the iron plates heated in the oven, the soft, half-baked paste twisted and bent; nay, we feel almost as if we had eaten of them, those excellent things which seem such big mouthfuls but are squeezed and crunched at one go like nothing at all. hence, i mean from this love of watching effects and reproducing them, originated also the masterpiece of lorenzo dei medici, the "nencia da barberino." this poem, of some fifty octaves, is the result of those tuscan peasant songs, of which i have told you the curious courtly descent, at last having struck the fancy of a real poet. it is, what lorenzo's masterpiece necessarily must be, in the highest degree a modern performance; as modern as a picture by bastien lepage; as an opera, founded upon local music, by bizet. for it is not by any manner of means a pastoral, a piece of conventional poetic decoration, with just a little realistic detail, more of the mere conventional or more of the realistic dominating according as it is a pastoral by theocritus, or a pastoral by quinault or metastasio. it is the very reverse of this: it is the attempt to obtain a large and complete, detailed and balanced impression by the cunning arrangement of a number of small effects which the artist has watched in reality; it is the making into a kind of little idyl, something half narrative, half drama, with distinct figures and accessories and background, of a whole lot of little fragments imitated from the peasant poetry, and set in thin, delicate rims of imitation no longer of the peasant's songs, but of the peasant's thoughts and speech; a perfect piece of impressionist art, marred only in rare places by an attempt (inevitable in those days) to force the drawing and colour into caricature. the construction, which appears to be nowhere, is in reality a masterpiece; for, without knowing it, you are shown the actors, the background, the ups and downs of temper, the variation of the seasons; above all you are shown the heroine through the medium of the praises, the complaints, the narratives of the past, the imaginings of the future, of the hero, whose incoherent rhapsodizing constitutes the whole poem. he, valléra, is a well-to-do young farmer; she, nencia, is the daughter of peasant folk of the castellated village of barberino in the mugello; he is madly in love, but shy, and (to all appearance) awkward, so that we feel convinced that of all these speeches in praise of his nenciozza, in blame of his indifference, highly poetic flights and most practical adjurations to see all the advantages of a good match, the young woman hears few or none; valléra is talking not to her, but at her, or rather, he is rehearsing to himself all the things which he cannot squeeze out in her presence. it is the long day-dream, poetic, prosaic, practical, and imaginative, of a love-sick italian peasant lad, to whom his sweetheart is at once an ideal thing of beauty, a goddess at whose shrine songs must be sung and wreaths twined; and a very substantial lass, who cannot be indifferent to sixpenny presents, and whom he cannot conceive as not ultimately becoming the sharer of his cottage, the cooker of his soup, the mender of his linen, the mother of his brats--a dream in which image is effaced by image, and one thought is expelled, unfinished, by another. she is to him like the fairy morgana, the fairy who kept so much of chivalry in her enchanted island; she is like the evening star when above his cottage it slowly pierces the soft blue sky with its white brilliancy; she is purer than the water in the well, and sweeter than the malmsey wine, and whiter than the miller's flour; but her heart is as hard as a pebble, and she loves driving to distraction a whole lot of youths who dangle behind her, captives of those heart-thievish eyes of hers. but she is also a most excellent housewife, can stand any amount of hard field labour, and makes lots of money by weaving beautiful woollen stuff. to see her going, to church of a morning, she is a little pearl! her bodice is of damask, and her petticoat of bright, colour, and she kneels down carefully where she may be seen, being so smart. and then, when she dances!--a born dancer, bouncing like a little goat, and twirling more than a mill-wheel; and when she has finished she makes you such a curtsey; no citizen's wife in florence can curtsey as she does. it was in april that he first fell in love. she was picking salad in the garden; he begged her for a little, and she sent him about his business; las, alas! ever since then his peace has been gone; he cannot sleep, he can only think of her, and follow her about; he has become quite good-for-nothing as to his field work,--yet he hears all the people around laughing and saying, "of course valléra will get her." only _she_ will pay no heed to him. she is finer to look at than the pope, whiter than the whitest wood core: she is more delectable than are the young figs to the earwigs, more beautiful than the turnip flower, sweeter than honey. he is more in love with her than the moth is in love with the lamp; she loves to see him perishing for her. if he could cut himself in two without too much pain, he would, just to let her see that he carries her in his heart. no; he would cut out his heart, and when she has touched it with that slender hand of hers, it would cry out, "nencia, nencia bella." but, after all, he is not to be despised: he is an excellent labourer, most learned in buying--and selling pigs, he can play the bagpipe beautifully; he is rich, is willing to go to any expense to please her, nay, even to pay the barber double that his hair may be nice and fuzzy from the crimping irons; and if only he were to get himself tight hose and a silk jerkin, he would be as good as any florentine burgess. but she will not listen; or, rather, she listens and laughs. yes, she sits up in bed at night and laughs herself to death at the mere thought of him, that is all he gets. but he knows what it is! there is a fellow who will keep sneaking about her; if valléra only catch him near his cottage, won't he give him a taste of his long new knife! nay, rip him up and throw his bowels, like those of a pig, to dry on a roof! he is sorry--perhaps he bores her--god bless you, nencia!--he had better go and look after his sheep. all this is not the poetry of the renaissance peasant; it is the poem made out of his reality; the songs which valléra sang in the fields about his nencia we must seek in the volume of tigri; those rispetti and stornelli of to-day are the rispetti and stornelli of four centuries ago; they are much more beautiful and poetic than any of lorenzo's work; but lorenzo has given us not merely a peasant's love-song; he has given us a peasant's thoughts, actions, hopes, fears; he has given us the peasant himself, his house, his fields, and his sweetheart, as they exist even now. for lorenzo is gone, and, greater than he, the paladins and ladies of boiardo and ariosto, have followed the saints and virgins of dante into the limbo of fair unrealities; and the very greek and roman heroes of a hundred years ago, the very knights and covenanters of forty years since, have joined them; but valléra exists still, and still in the flesh exists his nenciozza. everything changes, except the country and the peasant. for, in the long farms of southern tuscany, with double row of blackened balcony all tapestried with heavy ingots of indian corn, and spread out among the olives of the hillside, up which twists the rough bullock road protected by its vine trellis; and in the little farms, with queer hood-shaped double roofs (as if to pull over the face of the house when it blows hard), and pigeon towers which show that some day they must have been fortified, all about florence; farms which i pass every day, with their sere trees all round, their rough gardens of bright dahlias and chrysanthemums draggled by the autumn rains--in these there are, do not doubt it, still nencias: magnificent creatures, fit models for amazons, only just a trifle too full-blown and matronly; but with real amazonian limbs, firm and delicate, under their red and purple striped print frocks; creatures with heads set on necks like towers or columns, necks firm in broad, well-fleshed chest as branches in a tree's trunk; great penthouses of reddish yellow or lustreless black crimped hair over the forehead; the forehead, like the cheeks, furrowed a good deal--perhaps we dainty people might say, faded and wrinkled by work in the burning sun and the wind; women whom you see shovelling bread into the heated ovens, or plashing in winter with bare arms in half-frozen streams, or digging up a turnip field in the drizzle; or on a sunday, standing listless by their door, surrounded by rolling and squalling brats, and who, when they slowly look up at the passer-by, show us, on those monumental faces of theirs, a strange smile, a light of bright eyes and white teeth; a smile which to us sophisticated townspeople is as puzzling as certain sudden looks in some comely animal, but which yet makes us understand instinctively that we have before us a nencia; and that the husband yonder, though he now swears at his wife, and perhaps occasionally beats her, has nevertheless, in his day, dreamed, argued, raged, and sung to himself just like lorenzo's valléra. the "nencia da barberino" is certainly lorenzo dei medici's masterpiece: it is completely and satisfactorily worked out. yet we may strain possibilities to the point of supposing (which, however, i cannot for a moment suppose) that this "nencia" is a kind of fluke; that by an accident a beautiful and seemingly appreciative poem has resulted where the author, a mediæval realist of a superior villon sort, had intended only a piece of utter grotesqueness. but important as is the "nencia," lorenzo has left behind him another poem, greatly inferior in completeness, but which settles beyond power of doubt that in him the renaissance was not merely no longer mediæval, but most intensely modern. this poem is the "ambra." it is simply an allegorical narrative of the inundation, by the river ombrone, of a portion, called ambra, of the great medicean villa of poggio a caiano. lorenzo's object was evidently to write a semi-ovidian poem, of a kind common in his day, and common almost up to our own: a river-god, bearded, crown of reeds, urn, general dampness and uproariousness of temper, all quite correct; and a nymph, whom he pursues, who prays to the virgin huntress to save her from his love, and who, just in the nick of time, is metamorphosed into a mossy stone, dimly showing her former woman's shape; the style of thing, charming, graceful, insipid, of which every one can remember a dozen instances, and which immediately brings up to the mind a vision of grand-ducal gardens, where, among the clipped ilexes and the cypress trunks, great lumbering water-gods and long-limbed nymphs splash, petrified and covered with melancholy ooze and yellow lichen, among the stagnant grotto waters. in some respects, therefore, there is in the "ambra" somewhat more artificial, more _barrocco_ than that early renaissance of politian and pontano would warrant. there also several bits, half graceful, half awkward, pedantic, constrained, childish, delightful, like the sedge-crowned rivers telling each other anecdotes of the ways and customs of their respective countries, and especially the charming dance of zephyr with the flowers on the lawns of cyprus, which must immediately suggest pictures by piero di cosimo and by botticelli. so far, therefore, there is plenty to enjoy, but nothing to astonish, in the "ambra." but the magnificent lorenzo has had the extraordinary whim of beginning his allegory with a description, twenty-one stanzas long, of the season of floods. a description, full of infinitely delicate minute detail: of the plants which have kept their foliage while the others are bare--the prickly juniper, the myrtle and bay; of the flocks of cranes printing the sky with their queer shapes, of the fish under the ice, and the eagle circling slowly round the ponds--little things which affect us mixed up as they are with all manner of stiff classic allusions, very much as do the carefully painted daisies and clover among the embossed and gilded unrealities of certain old pictures. from these rather finikin details, lorenzo passes, however, to details which are a good deal more than details, things little noticed until almost recently: the varying effect of the olives on the hillside--a grey, green mass, a silver ripple, according as the wind stirs them; the golden appearance of the serene summer air, and so forth; details no longer, in short, but essentially, however minute, effects. and then, suddenly leaving such things behind, he rushes into the midst of a real picture, a picture which you might call almost impressionistic, of the growth of rivers and the floods. the floods are a grand sight; more than a sight--a grand performance, a drama; sometimes, god knows, a tragedy. last night, under a warm, hazy sky, through whose buff-tinted clouds the big moon crept in and out, the mountain stream was vaguely visible--a dark riband in its wide shingly bed, when the moon was hidden; a narrow, shallow, broken stream, sheets of brilliant metallic sheen, and showers of sparkling facets, when the moon was out; a mere drowsy murmur mixing with the creaking and rustling of dry reeds in the warm, wet wind. thus in the evening. look down from your window next morning. a tremendous rushing mass of waters, thick, turbid, reddish, with ominous steel-like lustre where its coppery surface reflects the moist blue sky, now fills the whole bed, shaking its short fringe of foam, tossing the spray as it swirls round each still projecting stone, angrily tugging at the reeds and alders which flop their draggled green upon its surface; eddying faster and faster, encircling each higher rock or sandbank, covering it at last with its foaming red mass. meanwhile, the sky is covered in with vaporous grey clouds, which enshroud the hills; the clear runnels, dash over the green banks, spirt through the walls, break their way across the roads; the little mountain torrents, dry all summer, descend, raging rivers, red with the hill soil; and with every gust of warm wind the river rises higher and rushes along tremendously impetuous. down in the plain it eats angrily at the soft banks, and breaks its muddy waters, fringed on the surface with a sort of ominous grime of broken wood and earth, higher and higher against the pierheads of the bridges; shaking them to split their masonry, while crowds of men and women look on, staring at the rising water, at the planks, tables, beams, cottage thatches, nay, whole trees, which it hurls at the bridge piers. and then, perhaps, the terrible, soft, balmy flood-wind persisting, there comes suddenly the catastrophe; the embankment, shaken by the resistless current, cracks, fissures gives way; and the river rushes into the city, as it has already rushed into the fields, to spread in constantly rising, melancholy livid pools, throughout the streets and squares. this lorenzo saw, and, wonderful to say, in this soiled and seething river, in these torn and crumbling banks, in all the dreadfulness of these things, he saw a beauty and a grandeur. but he saw not merely the struggle of the waters and of the land; he--the heartless man who laid his hand even upon the saved-up money of orphan girls in order to keep up the splendour of his house and of his bank--saw the misfortunes of the peasantry; the mill, the cottage by the riverside, invaded by the flood; the doors burst open by the tremendous rushing stream, the stables and garners filled with the thick and oozy waters; the poor creatures, yesterday prosperous, clinging to the roof, watching their sheep and cows, their hay, and straw, and flour, the hemp bleached in the summer, the linen spun and woven in the long winter, their furniture and chattels, their labour and their hope whirled along by the foaming river. thus by this versatile lorenzo dei medici, this flippant, egotistic artist and despot, has at last been broken the long spell of the middle ages. the renaissance has sung no longer of knights and of spring, but of peasants and of autumn. an immoral and humanistic time, an immoral and humanistic man, have had at length a heart for the simpler, ruder less favoured classes of mankind; an eye for the bolder, grander, more solemn sights of nature: modern times have begun, modern sympathies, modern art are in full swing. symmetria prisca. mirator veterum, discipulusque memor, defuit mini symmetria prisca. peregi quod potui; veniam da mihi, posteritas. --_lionardo da vinci's epitaph by platino piatto_. into the holy enclosure which had received the precious shiploads of earth from calvary, the pisans of the thirteenth century carried the fragments of ancient sculpture brought from rome and from greece; and in the gothic cloister enclosing the green sward and dark cypresses of the graveyard of pisa, the art of the middle ages came for the first time face to face with the art of antiquity. there, among pagan sarcophagi turned into christian tombs, with heraldic devices chiselled on their arabesques and vizored helmets surmounting their garlands, the great unsigned artist of the fourteenth century, orcagna of florence, or lorenzetti of siena, painted the typical masterpiece of mediæval art, the great fresco of the triumph of death. with wonderful realization of character and situation he painted the prosperous of the world, the dapper youths and damsels seated with dogs and falcons beneath the orchard trees, amusing themselves with decameronian tales and sound of lute and psaltery, unconscious of the colossal scythe wielded by the gigantic dishevelled death, and which, in a second, will descend and mow them to the ground; while the crowd of beggars, ragged, maimed, paralyzed, leprous, grovelling on their withered limbs, see and implore death, and cry stretching forth their arms, their stumps, and their crutches. further on, three kings in long embroidered robes and gold-trimmed shovel caps, lewis the emperor, uguccione of pisa, and castruccio of lucca, with their retinue of ladies and squires, and hounds and hawks, are riding quietly through a wood. suddenly their horses stop, draw back; the emperor's bay stretches out his long neck sniffing the air; the kings strain forward to see, one holding his nose for the stench of death which meets him; and before them are three open coffins, in which lie, in three loathsome stages of corruption, from blue and bloated putrescence to well-nigh fleshless decay, three crowned corpses. this is the triumph of death; the grim and horrible jest of the middle ages: equality in decay; kings, emperors, ladies, knights, beggars, and cripples, this is what we all come to be, stinking corpses; death, our lord, our only just and lasting sovereign, reigns impartially over all. but opposite, all along the sides of the painted cloister, the amazons are wrestling with the youths on the stone of the sarcophagi; the chariots are dashing forward, the tritons are splashing in the marble waves; the bacchantæ are striking their timbrels in their dance with the satyrs; the birds are pecking at the grapes, the goats are nibbling at the vines; all is life, strong and splendid in its marble eternity. and the mutilated venus smiles towards the broken hermes; the stalwart hercules, resting against his club, looks on quietly, a smile beneath his beard; and the gods murmur to each other, as they stand in the cloister filled with earth from calvary, where hundreds of men lie rotting beneath the cypresses, "death will not triumph for ever; our day will come." we have all seen them opposite to each other, these two arts, the art born of antiquity and the art born of the middle ages; but whether this meeting was friendly or hostile or merely indifferent, is a question of constant dispute. to some, mediæval art has appeared being led, dante-like, by a magician virgil through the mysteries of nature up to a christian beatrice, who alone can guide it to the kingdom of heaven; others have seen mediæval art, like some strong, chaste sir guyon turning away resolutely from the treacherous sorceress of antiquity, and pursuing solitarily the road to the true and the good; for some the antique has been an impure goddess venus, seducing and corrupting the christian artist; the antique has been for others a glorious helen, an unattainable perfection, ever pursued by the mediæval craftsman, but seized by him only as a phantom. magician or witch, voluptuous, destroying venus or cold and ungrasped helen, what was the antique to the art born of the middle ages and developed during the renaissance? was the relation between them that of tuition, cool and abstract; or of fruitful love; or of deluding and damning example? the art which came to maturity in the late fifteenth and early sixteenth centuries was generated in the early mediæval revival. the seeds may, indeed, have come down from antiquity, but they remained for nearly a thousand years hidden in the withered, rotting remains of former vegetation; and it was not till that vegetation had completely decomposed and become part of the soil, it was not till putrefaction had turned into germination, that artistic organism timidly reappeared. the new art-germ developed with the new civilization which surrounded it. manufacture and commerce reappeared: the artizans and merchants formed into communities; the communities grew into towns, the towns into cities; in the city arose the cathedral; the lombard or byzantine mouldings and traceries of the cathedral gave birth to figure-sculpture; its mosaics gave birth to painting; every forward movement of the civilization unfolded as it were a new form or detail of the art, until, when mediæval civilization was reaching its moment of consolidation, when the cathedrals of lucca and pisa stood completed, when niccolò and giovanni pisano had sculptured their pulpits and sepulchres; painting, in the hands of cimabue and duccio, of giotto and of guido da siena, freed itself from the tradition of the mosaicists as sculpture had freed itself from the practice of the stone-masons, and stood forth an independent and organic art. thus painting was born of a new civilization, and grew by its own vital force; a thing of the middle ages, original and spontaneous. but contemporaneous with the mediæval revival was the resuscitation of antiquity; in proportion as the new civilization developed, the old civilization was exhumed; real latin began to be studied only when real italian began to be written; dante, petrarca, and boccaccio were at once the founders of modern literature and the exponents of the literature of antiquity; the strong young present was to profit by the experience of the past. as it was with literature, so likewise was it with art. the most purely mediæval sculpture, the sculpture which has, as it were, just detached itself from the capitals and porches of the cathedral, is the direct pupil of the antique; and the three great gothic sculptors, niccolò, giovanni, and andrea of pisa, learn from fragments of greek and roman sculpture how to model the figure of the redeemer and how to chisel the robe of the virgin. this spontaneous mediæval sculpture, aided by the antique, preceded by a full half-century the appearance of mediæval painting; and it was from the study of the works of the pisan sculptors that cimabue and giotto learned to depart from the mummified monstrosities of the hieratic, byzantine and roman style of giunta and berlinghieri. thus, through the sculpture of the pisans the painting of the school of giotto received at second-hand the teachings of antiquity. sculpture had created painting; painting now belonged to the painters. in the hands of giotto it developed within a few years into an art which seemed almost mature, an art dealing victoriously with its materials, triumphantly solving its problems, executing as if by miracle all that was demanded of it. but giottesque art appeared perfect merely because it was limited; it did all that was required of it, because that which was required was little; it was not asked to reproduce the real nor to represent the beautiful; it was asked merely to suggest a character, a situation, a story. the artistic development of a nation has its exact parallel in the artistic development of an individual. the child uses his pencil to tell a story, satisfied with balls and sticks as body, head, and legs; provided he and his friends can associate with them the ideas in their minds. the youth sets himself to copy what he sees, to reproduce forms and effects, without any aim beyond the mere pleasure of copying. the mature artist strives to obtain forms and effects of which he approves, he seeks for beauty. in the life of italian painting the generation of men who flourished at the beginning of the sixteenth century are the mature artists; the men of the fifteenth century are the inexperienced youths; the giottesques are the children--children titanic and seraph-like, but children nevertheless; and, like all children, learning more perhaps in their few years than can the youth and the man learn in a lifetime. like the child, the giottesque painter wished to show a situation or express a story, and for this purpose the absolute realization of objects was unnecessary. giottesque art is not incorrect art, it is generalized art; it is an art of mere outline. the giottesques could draw with great accuracy the hand: the form of the fingers, the bend of the limb, they could give to perfection its whole gesture and movement, they could produce a correct and spirited outline, but within this correct outline marked off in dark paint there is but a vague, uniform mass of pale colour; the body of the hand is missing, and there remains only its ghost, visible indeed, but unsubstantial, without weight or warmth, eluding the grasp. the difference between this spectre hand of the giottesques, and the sinewy, muscular hand which can shake and crush of masaccio and signorelli; or the soft hand with throbbing pulse and warm pressure of perugino and bellini,--this difference is typical of the difference between the art of the fourteenth century and the art of the fifteenth century: the first suggests, the second realizes; the one gives impalpable outlines, the other gives tangible bodies. the giottesque cares for the figure only inasmuch as it displays an action; he reduces it to a semblance, a phantom, to the mere exponent of an idea; the man of the renaissance cares for the figure inasmuch as it is a living organism, he gives it substance and weight, he makes it stand out as an animate reality. thence, despite its early triumphs, the giottesque style, by its inherent nature, forbade any progress; it reached its limits at once, and the followers of giotto look almost as if they were his predecessors, for the simple reason that, being unable to advance, they were forced to retrograde. the limited amount of artistic realization required to present to the mind of the spectator a situation or an allegory, had been obtained by giotto himself, and bequeathed by him to his followers; who, finding it more than sufficient for their purposes, and having no incentive to further acquisition in the love of form and reality for their own sake, worked on with their master's materials, composing and recomposing, but adding nothing of their own. giotto had observed nature with passionate interest, because, although its representation was only a means to an end, it was a means which required to be mastered; and as such became in itself a sort of secondary aim; but the followers of giotto merely utilized his observations--of nature, and in so doing gradually conventionalized and debased these second-hand observations. giotto's forms are wilfully incomplete, because they aim at mere suggestion, but they are not conventional: they are diagrams, not symbols, and thence it is that giotto seems nearer to the renaissance than do his latest followers, not excepting even orcagna. painting, which had made the most prodigious strides from giunta to cimabue, and from cimabue to giotto, had got enclosed within a vicious circle, in which it moved for nearly a century neither backwards nor forwards: painters were satisfied with suggestion; and as long as they were satisfied, no progress was possible. from this giottesque treadmill, painting was released by the intervention of another art. the painters were hopelessly mediocre; their art was snatched from them by the sculptors. orcagna himself, perhaps the only giottesque who gave painting an onward push, had modelled and cast one of the bronze gates of the florence baptistery; the generation of artists who arose at the beginning of the fifteenth century, and who opened the period of the renaissance, were sculptors or pupils of sculptors. when we see these vigorous lovers of nature, these heroic searchers after truth, suddenly pushing aside the decrepit giottesque allegory-mongers, we ask ourselves in astonishment whence they have arisen, and how those broken-down artists of effete art could have begotten such a generation of giants. whence do they come? certainly not from the studios of the giottesques. no, they issue out of the workshops of the stone-mason, of the goldsmith, of the worker in bronze, of the sculptor. vasari has preserved the tradition that masolino and paolo uccello were apprentices of ghiberti; he has remarked that their greatest contemporary, masaccio, "trod in the steps of brunelleschi and of donatello." pollaiolo and verrocchio we know to have been equally excellent as painters and as workers in bronze. sculpture, at once more naturalistic and more constantly under the influence of the antique, had for the second time laboured for painting. itself a subordinate art, without much vitality, without deep roots in the civilization, sculpture was destined to remain the unsuccessful pupil of the antique, and the unsuccessful rival of painting; but sculpture had for its mission to prepare the road for painting and to prepare painting for antique influence; and the noblest work of ghiberti and donatello was masaccio, as the most lasting glory to the pisani had been giotto. with masaccio began the study of nature for its own sake, the desire of reproducing external objects, without any regard to their significance as symbols, or as parts of a story; the passionate wish to arrive at absolute realization. the merely suggestive outline art of the giottesques had come to an end; the suggestion became a matter of indifference, the realization became a paramount interest; the story was forgotten in the telling, the religious thought was lost in the search for the artistic form. the giottesques had used debased conventionalism to represent action with wonderful narrative and logical power; the artists of the early renaissance became unskilful narrators and foolish allegorists almost in proportion as they became skilful draughtsmen and colourists; the saints had become to masaccio merely so many lay figures on to which to cast drapery; for fra filippo the madonna was a mere peasant model; for filippino lippi and for ghirlandajo, a miracle meant merely an opportunity of congregating a number of admirable portrait figures in the dress of the day; the baptism for verrocchio had significance only as a study of muscular legs and arms; and the sacrifice of noah had no importance for uccello save as a grand opportunity for foreshortenings. in the hands of the giottesques, interested in the subject and indifferent to the representation, painting had remained stationary for eighty years; for eighty years did it develope in the hands of the men of the fifteenth century, indifferent to the subject and passionately interested in the representation. the unity, the appearance of comparative perfection of the art had disappeared with the limits within which the giottesques had been satisfied to move; instead of the intelligible and solemn conventionalism of the giottesques, we see only disorder, half-understood ideas and abortive attempts, confusion which reminds us of those enigmatic sheets on which leonardo or michael angelo scrawled out their ideas--drawings within drawings, plans of buildings scratched over madonna heads, single flowers upside down next to flayed arms, calculations, monsters, sonnets; a very chaos of thoughts and of shapes, in which the plan of the artist is inextricably lost, which mean everything and nothing, but out of whose unintelligible network of lines and curves have issued masterpieces, and which only the foolish or the would-be philosophical would exchange for some intelligible, hopelessly finished and finite illustration out of a bible or a book of travels. anatomy, perspective, colour, drapery, effects of light, of water, of shadow, forms of trees and flowers, converging lines of architecture, all this at once absorbed and distracted the attention of the artists of the early renaissance; and while they studied, copied, and calculated, another thought began to haunt them, another eager desire began to pursue them: by the side of nature, the manifold, the baffling, the bewildering, there rose up before them another divinity, another sphinx, mysterious in its very simplicity and serenity--the antique. the exhumation of the antique had, as we have seen, been contemporaneous with the birth of painting; nay, the study of the remains of antique sculpture had, in contributing to form niccolò pisano, indirectly helped to form giotto; the very painter of the triumph of death had inserted into his terrible fresco two-winged genii, upholding a scroll, copied without any alteration from some coarse roman sarcophagus, in which they may have sustained the usual _dis manibus sacrum_. there had been, on the part of both sculptors and painters, a constant study of the antique; but during the giottesque period this study had been limited to technicalities, and had in no way affected the conception of art. the mediæval artists, surrounded by physical deformities, and seeing sanctity in sickness and dirt, little accustomed to observe the human figure, were incapable, both as men and as artists, of at all entering into the spirit of antique art. they could not perceive the superior beauty of the antique; they could recognize only its superior science and its superior handicraft, and these alone they studied to obtain. giovanni pisano sculpturing the unfleshed, caried carcases of the devils who leer, writhe, crunch, and tear on the outside of orvieto cathedral; and the giottesques painting those terrible green, macerated christs, hanging livid and broken from the cross, which abound in tuscany and umbria; the artists who produced these loathsome and lugubrious works were indubitably students of the antique; but they had learned from it not a love for beautiful form and noble drapery, but merely the general shape of the limbs and the general fall of the garments: the anatomical science and technical processes of antiquity were being used to produce the most intensely un-antique, the most intensely mediæval works. thus matters stood in the time of giotto. his followers, who studied only arrangement, probably consulted the antique as little as they consulted nature; but the contemporary sculptors were brought by the very constitution of their art into close contact both with nature and with the antique; they studied both with determination, and handed over the results of their labours to the sculptor-taught painters of the fifteenth century. here, then, were the two great factors in the art of the renaissance--the study of nature, and the study of the antique: both understand slowly, imperfectly; the one counteracting the effect of the other; the study of nature now scaring away all antique influence, the study of the antique now distorting all imitation of nature; rival forces confusing the artist and marring the work, until, when each could receive its due, the one corrected the other, and they combined, producing by this marriage of the living reality with the dead but immortal beauty, the great art of michael angelo, of raphael, and of titian: double, like its origin, antique and modern, real and ideal. the study of the antique is thus placed opposite to the study of nature, the comprehension of the works of antiquity is the momentary antagonist of the comprehension of the works of nature. and this may seem strange, when we consider that antique art was itself due to perfect comprehension of nature. but the contradiction is easily explained. the study of nature, as it was carried on in the renaissance, comprised the study of effects which had remained unnoticed by antiquity; and the study of the statue,--colourless, without light, shade, or perspective, hampered, and was hampered by, the study of colour, of light and shade, of perspective, and of all that a generation of painters would seek to learn from nature. nor was this all; the influence of the civilization of the renaissance, of a civilization directly issued from the middle ages, was entirely at variance with the influence of antique civilization through the medium of ancient art; the middle ages and antiquity, christianity and paganism, were even more opposed to each other than could be the statue and the easel picture, the fresco and the bas-relief. first, then, we have the hostility between painting--and sculpture, between the _modus operandi_ of the modern and the _modus operandi_ of the ancient art. antique art is, in the first place, purely linear art, colourless, tintless, without light and shade; next, it is essentially the art of the isolated figure, without background, grouping, or perspective. as linear art it could directly affect only that branch of painting which was itself linear; and as art of the isolated figure it was ever being contradicted by the constantly developing arts of perspective and landscape. the antique never' directly influenced the venetians, not from reasons of geography and culture, but from the fact that venetian painting, founded from the earliest times upon a system of colour, could not be affected by antique sculpture, based upon a system of modelled, colourless form; the men who saw form only through the medium of colour could not learn much from purely linear form; hence it is that even after a certain amount of antique imitation had passed into venetian painting, through the medium of mantegna, the venetian painters display comparatively little antique influence. in bellini, carpaccio, cima, and other early masters, the features, forms, and dress are mainly modern and venetian; and giorgione, titian, and even the eclectic tintoret, were more interested in the bright lights of a steel breastplate than in the shape of a limb; and preferred in their hearts a shot brocade of the sixteenth century to the finest drapery ever modelled by an ancient. the antique influence was naturally strongest among the tuscan schools; because the tuscan schools were essentially schools of drawing, and the draughtsman recognized in antique sculpture the highest perfection of that linear form which was his own domain. yet while the antique appealed most to the linear schools, even in these it could strongly influence only the purely linear part; it is strong in the drawings and weak in the paintings. as long as the artists had only the pencil or pen, they could reproduce much of the linear perfection of the antique; they were, so to speak, alone with it; but as soon as they brought in colour, perspective, and scenery, the linear perfection was lost in attempts at something new; the antique was put to flight by the modern. botticelli's crayon study for his venus is almost antique; his tempera picture of venus, with the pale blue scaly sea, the laurel grove, the flower-embroidered garments, the wisps of tawny hair, is comparatively mediæval; pinturicchio's sketch of pans and satyrs contrasts strangely with his frescoes in the library of siena; mantegna himself, supernaturally antique in his engravings, becomes comparatively trivial and modern in his oil-paintings. do what they might, draw from the antique and calculate its proportions, the artists of the renaissance found themselves baffled as soon as they attempted to apply the result of then linear studies to coloured pictures; as soon as they tried to make the antique unite with the modern, one of the two elements was sure to succumb. in botticelli, draughtsman and student though he was, the modern, the mediæval, that part of the art which had arisen in the middle ages, invariably had the upper hand; his venus, despite her forms studied from the antique and her gesture imitated from some earlier discovered copy of the medicean venus, has the woe-begone prudery of a madonna or of an abbess; she shivers physically and morally in her unaccustomed nakedness, and the goddess of spring, who comes skipping up from beneath the laurel copse, does well to prepare her a mantle, for in the pallid tempera colour, against the dismal background of rippled sea, this mediæval venus, at once indecent and prudish, is no very pleasing sight. in the allegory of spring in the academy of florence, we again have the antique; goddesses and nymphs whose clinging garments the gentle sandro botticelli has assuredly studied from some old statue of agrippina or faustina; but what strange livid tints are there beneath those draperies, what eccentric gestures are those of the nymphs, what a green, ghostlike light illumines this garden of venus are these goddesses and nymphs immortal women such as the ancients conceived, or are they not rather fantastic fairies or nixen, titanias and undines, incorporeal daughters of dew and gossamer and mist? in sandro botticelli the teachings of the statue are forgotten or distorted when the artist takes up his palette and brushes; in his greater contemporary, andrea mantegna, the ever-present antique chills and arrests the vitality of the modern. mantegna, the pupil of the ancient marbles of squarcione's workshop even more than the pupil of donatello, studies for his paintings not from nature, but from sculpture; his figures are seen in strange projection and foreshortening, like figures in a high relief seen from below; despite his mastery of perspective, they seem hewn out of the background; despite the rich colours which he displays in his veronese altar-piece, they look like painted marbles, with their hard clots of stonelike hair and beard, with their vacant glance and their wonderful draperies, clinging and weighty like the wet draperies of ancient sculpture. they are beautiful petrifactions, or vivified statues; mantegna's masterpiece, the sepia "judith" in florence, is like an exquisite, pathetically lovely eurydice, who has stepped unconscious and lifeless out of a praxitelian bas-relief. and there are stranger works than even the judith; strange statuesque fancies, like the fight of marine monsters and the bacchanal among mantegna's engravings. the group of three wondrous creatures, at once men, fish, and gods, is as grand and even more fantastic than leonardo's battle of the standard: a triton, sturdy and muscular, with sea-weed beard and hair, wheels round his finned horse, preparing to strike his adversary with a bunch of fish which he brandishes above him; on him is rushing, careering on an osseous sea-horse, a strange, lank, sinewy being, fury stretching every tendon, his long-clawed feet striking into the flanks of his steed, his sharp, reed-crowned head turned fiercely, with clenched teeth, on his opponent, and stretching forth a truncheon, ready to run down his enemy as a ship runs down another; and further off a young triton, with clotted hair and heavy eyes, seems ready to sink wounded below the rippling wavelets, with the massive head and marble agony of the dying alexander; enigmatic figures, grand and grotesque, lean, haggard, vehement, and yet, in the midst of violence and monstrosity, unaccountably antique. the other print, called the bacchanal, has no background: half a dozen male figures stand separate and naked as in a bas-relief. some are leaning against a vine-wreathed tub; a satyr, with acanthus-leaves growing wondrously out of him, half man, half plant, is emptying a cup; a heavy silenus is prone upon the ground; a faun, seated upon the vat, is supporting in his arms a beautiful sinking youth; another youth, grand, muscular, and grave as a statue, stands on the further side. is this really a bacchanal? yes, for there is the paunchy silenus, there are the fauns, there the vat and vine-wreaths and drinking-horns. and yet it cannot be a bacchanal. compare with it one of rubens's orgies, where the overgrown, rubicund men and women and fauns tumble about in tumultuous, riotous intoxication: that is a bacchanal; they have been drinking, those magnificent brutes, there is wine firing their blood and weighing down their heads. but here all is different, in this so-called bacchanal of mantegna. this heavy silenus is supine like a mass of marble; these fauns are shy and mute; these youths are grave and sombre; there is no wine in the cups, there are no lees in the vat, there is no life in these magnificent colossal forms; there is no blood in their grandly bent lips, no light in their wide-opened eyes; it is not the drowsiness of intoxication which is weighing down the youth sustained by the faun; it is no grapejuice which gives that strange, vague glance. no; they have drunk, but not of any mortal drink; the grapes are grown in persephone's garden, the vat contains no fruits that have ripened beneath our sun. these strange, mute, solemn revellers have drunk of lethe, and they are growing cold with the cold of death and of marble; they are the ghosts of the dead ones of antiquity, revisiting the artist of the renaissance, who paints them, thinking he is painting life, while that which he paints is in reality death. this anomaly, this unsatisfactory character of the works of both botticelli and mantegna, is mainly technical; the antique is frustrated in botticelli, not so much by the christian, the mediæval, the modern mode of feeling, as by the new methods and aims of the new art which disconcert the methods and aims of the old art; and that which arrests mantegna in his development as a painter is not the spirit of paganism deadening the spirit of christianity, but the laws of sculpture hampering painting. but this technical contest between two arts, the one not yet fully developed, the other not yet fully understood, is as nothing compared with the contest between the two civilizations, the antique and the modern; between the habits and tendencies of the contemporaries of the artists of the renaissance and of the artists themselves, and the habits and tendencies of the antique artists and their contemporaries. we are apt to think of the renaissance as of a period closely resembling antiquity, misled by the inevitable similarity between southern and democratic countries of whatever age; misled still less pardonably by the ciceronian pedantries and pseudo-antique obscenities of a few humanists, and by the pseudo-corinthian arabesques and capitals of a few learned architects. but all this was mere archaeological finery borrowed by a civilization in itself entirely unlike that of ancient greece. the renaissance, let us remember, was merely the flowering time of that great mediæval movement which had germinated early in the twelfth century; it was merely a more advanced stage of the civilization which had produced dante and giotto, of the civilization which was destined to produce luther and rabelais. the fifteenth century was merely the continuation of the fourteenth century, as the fourteenth had been of the thirteenth; there had been growth and improvement; development of the more modern, diminishing of the more mediæval elements; but, despite growth and the changes due to growth, the renaissance was part and parcel of the middle ages. the life, thought, aspirations, and habits were mediæval; opposed to the open-air life, the physical training and the materialistic religion of antiquity. the surroundings of masaccio and of signorelli, nay, even of raphael, were very different from those of phidias or praxiteles. let us think what were the daily and hourly impressions given by the renaissance to its artists. large towns, in which thousands of human beings were crowded together, in narrow, gloomy streets, with but a strip of blue visible between the projecting roofs; and in these cities an incessant commercial activity, with no relief save festivals at the churches, brawls at the taverns, and carnival buffooneries. men and women pale and meagre for want of air, and light, and movement; undeveloped, untrained bodies, warped by constant work at the loom or at the desk, at best with the lumpish freedom of the soldier and the vulgar nimbleness of the prentice. and these men and women dressed in the dress of the middle ages, gorgeous perhaps in colour, but heavy, miserable, grotesque, nay, sometimes ludicrous in form; citizens in lumpish robes and long-tailed caps; ladies in stiff and foldless brocade hoops and stomachers; artizans in striped and close-adhering hose and egg-shaped padded jerkin; soldiers in lumbering armour-plates, ill-fitted over ill-fitting leather, a shapeless shell of iron, bulging out and angular, in which the body was buried as successfully as in the robes of the magistrates. thus we see the men and women of the renaissance in the works of all its painters: heavy in ghirlandajo, vulgarly jaunty in filippino, preposterously starched and prim in mantegna, ludicrously undignified in signorelli; while mediæval stiffness, awkwardness, and absurdity reach their acme perhaps in the little boys, companions of the medici children, introduced into benozzo gozzoli's building of babel. these are the prosperous townsfolk, among whom the renaissance artist is but too glad to seek for models; but besides these there are lamentable sights, mediæval beyond words, at every street corner: dwarfs and cripples, maimed and diseased beggars of all degrees of loathsomeness, lepers and epileptics, and infinite numbers of monks, brown, grey, and black, in sack-shaped frocks and pointed hoods, with shaven crown and cropped beard, emaciated with penance or bloated with gluttony. and all this the painter sees, daily, hourly; it is his standard of humanity, and as such finds its way into every picture. it is the living; but opposite it arises the dead. let us turn aside from the crowd of the mediæval city, and look at what the workmen have just laid bare, or what the merchant has just brought from rome or from greece. look at this: it is corroded by oxides, battered by ill-usage, stained with earth: it is not a group, not even a whole statue, it has neither head nor arms remaining; it is a mere broken fragment of antique sculpture,--a naked body with a fold or two of drapery; it is not by phidias nor by praxiteles, it may not even be greek; it may be some cheap copy, made for a garden or a bath, in the days of hadrian. but to the artist of the fifteenth century it is the revelation of a whole world, a world in itself. we can scarcely realize all this; but let us look and reflect, and even we may feel as must have felt the man of the renaissance in the presence of that mutilated, stained, battered torso. he sees in that broken stump a grandeur of outline, a magnificence of osseous structure, a breadth of muscle and sinew, a smooth, firm covering of flesh, such as he would vainly seek in any of his living models; he sees a delicate and infinite variety of indentures, of projections, of creases following the bend of every limb; he sees, where the surface still exists intact, an elasticity of skin, a buoyancy of hidden life such as all the colours of his palette are unable to imitate; and in this piece of drapery, negligently gathered over the hips or rolled upon the arm, he sees a magnificent alternation of large folds and small plaits, of straight lines, and broken lines, and curves. he sees all this; but he sees more: the broken torso is, as we have said, not merely a world in itself, but the revelation of a world. it is the revelation of antique civilization, of the palaestra and the stadium, of the sanctification of the body, of the apotheosis of man, of the religion of life and nature and joy; revealed to the man of the middle ages, who has hitherto seen in the untrained, diseased, despised body but a deformed piece of baseness, which his priests tell him belongs to the worms and to satan; who has been taught that the monk living in solitude and celibacy, filthy, sick, worn out with fastings and bleeding with flagellation, is the nearest approach to divinity; who has seen divinity itself, pale, emaciated, joyless, hanging bleeding from the cross; and who is for ever reminded that the kingdom of this godhead is not of this world. what passes in the mind of that artist? what surprise, what dawning doubts, what sickening fears, what longings and what remorse are not the fruit of this sight of antiquity? is he to yield or to resist? is he to forget the saints and christ, and give himself over to satan and to antiquity? only one man boldly answered, yes. mantegna abjured his faith, abjured the middle ages, abjured all that belonged to his time; and in so doing cast away from him the living art and became the lover, the worshipper of shadows. and only one man turned completely aside from the antique as from the demon, and that man was a saint, fra angelico da fiesole. and with the antique, fra angelico rejected all the other artistic influences and aims of his time, the time not of giotto or of orcagna, but of masaccio and uccello, of pollaiolo and donatello. for the mild, meek, angelic monk dreaded the life of his days; dreaded to leave the cloister where the sunshine was tempered and the noise reduced to a mere faint hum, and where the flower-beds were tidy and prim; dreaded to soil or rumple his spotless white robe and his shining black cowl; a spiritual sybarite, shrinking from the sight of the crowd seething in the streets, shrinking from the idea of stripping the rags off the beggar in order to see his tanned and gnarled limbs; shuddering at the thought of seeking for muscles in the dead, cut-open body; fearful of every whiff of life that might mingle with the incense atmosphere of his chapel, of every cry of human passion which might break through the well-ordered sweetness of his chants. no; the renaissance did not exist for him who lived in a world of diaphanous form, colour and character, unsubstantial and unruffled; dreaming feebly and sweetly of transparent-cheeked madonnas with no limbs beneath their robes; of smooth-faced saints with well-combed beard and placid, vacant gaze, seated in well-ordered masses, holy with the purity of inanity; of divine dolls with pallid flaxen locks, floating between heaven and earth, playing upon lute and viol and psaltery; raised to faint visions of angels and blessed, moving noiseless, feelingless, meaningless, across the flowerets of paradise; of assemblies of saints seated, arrayed in pure pink, and blue and lilac, in an atmosphere of liquid gold, in glory. and thus fra angelico worked on, content with the dearly purchased science of his masters, placid, beatic, effeminate, in an æsthetical paradise of his own, a paradise of sloth and sweetness, a paradise for weak souls, weak hearts, and weak eyes; patiently repeating the same fleshless angels, the same boneless saints, the same bloodless virgins; happy in smoothing the unmixed, unshaded tints of the sky, and earth, and dresses; laying on the gold of the fretted skies, and of the iridescent wings, embroidering robes, instruments of music, halos, flowers, with threads of gold.... sweet, simple artist saint, reducing art to--something akin to the delicate pearl and silk embroidery of pious nuns, to the exquisite sweetmeat cookery of pious monks; a something too delicately gorgeous, too deliciously insipid for human wear or human food; no, the renaissance does not exist for thee, either in its study of the existing reality, or in its study of antique beauty. mantegna, the learned, the archæological, the pagan, who renounces his times and his faith; and angelico, the monk, the saint, who shuts and bolts his monastery doors and sprinkles holy water in the face of the antique; the two extremes, are both exceptions. the innumerable artists of the renaissance remained in hesitation; tried to court both the antique and the modern, to unite the pagan and the christian--some, like ghirlandajo, in cold indifference to all but mere artistic science, encrusting marble bacchanals into the walls of the virgin's paternal house, bringing together, unthinkingly, antique-draped women carrying baskets, and noble strozzi and ruccellai ladies with gloved hands folded over their gold brocaded skirts; others, with cheerful and childlike pleasure in both antique and modern, like benozzo, crowding together half-naked youths and nymphs treading the grapes and scaling the trellise with florentine magnificos in plaited skirts and starched collars, among the pines, and porticos, the sprawling children, barking dogs, peacocks sunning themselves, and partridges picking up grain, of his pisan frescoes; yet others using the antique as mere pageant shows, allegorical mummeries, destined to amuse some duke of ferrara or marquis of mantua, together with the hurdle races of jews, hags, and riderless donkeys. thus little by little the antique amalgamates with the modern; the art born of the middle ages absorbs the art born of paganism; but how slowly, and with what fantastic and ludicrous results at first; as when the anatomical sculptor pollaiolo gives scenes of naked roman prize-fighters as martyrdoms of st. sebastian; or when the pious perugino (pious at least with his brush) dresses up his sleek, hectic, beardless archangels as roman warriors, and makes them stand, straddling beatically on thin little dapper legs, wistfully gazing from beneath their wondrously ornamented helmets on the walls of the cambio at perugia; when he masquerades meditative fathers of the church as socrates and haggard anchorites as numa pompilius; most ludicrous of all, when he attires in scantiest of--clinging antique drapery his mild and pensive madonnas, and, with daintily pointed toes, places them to throne bashfully on allegorical chariots as venus or diana. long is the period of amalgamation, and small are the results throughout that long early renaissance. mantegna, piero della francesca, melozzo, ghirlandajo, filippino, botticelli, verrocchio, have none of them shown us the perfect fusion of the two elements whose union is to give us michael angelo, raphael, and all the great perfect artists of the early sixteenth century; the two elements are for ever ill-combined and hostile to each other; the modern vulgarizes the antique, the antique paralyzes the modern. and meanwhile the fifteenth century, the century of study, of conflict, and of confusion, is rapidly drawing to a close; eight or ten more years, and it will be gone. is the new century to find the antique still dead and the modern still mediæval? the antique and the modern had met for the first time and as irreconcilable enemies in the cloisters of pisa; and the modern had triumphed in the great mediæval fresco of the triumph of death. by a strange coincidence, by a sublime jest of accident, the antique and the modern were destined to meet again, and this time indissolubly united, in a painting representing the resurrection. yes, signorelli's fresco in orvieto cathedral is indeed a resurrection, the resurrection of human beauty after the long death-slumber of the middle ages. and the artist would seem to have been dimly conscious of the great allegory he was painting. here and there are strewn skulls; skeletons stand leering by, as if in remembrance of the ghastly past, and as a token of former death; but magnificent youths are breaking through the crust of the earth, emerging, taking shape and flesh; arising, strong and proud, ready to go forth at the bidding of the titanic angels who announce from on high with trumpet blast and waving banners, that the death of the world has come to an end, and that humanity has arisen once more in the youth and beauty of antiquity. ii. signorelli's frescoes at orvieto, at once the latest works of the fifteenth century, and the latest works of an old man nurtured in the traditions of benozzo gozzoli and of piero della francesca, mark the beginning of the maturity and perfection of italian art. from them michael angelo learns what he could not be taught even by his master ghirlandajo, the grand and cold realist. he learns; and what he has learned at orvieto he teaches with doubled force in rome; and the ceiling of the sixtine chapel, the superb and heroic nudities, the majestic draperies, the reappearance in the modern art of painting of the spirit and hand of phidias, give a new impulse and hasten on perfection. when the doors of the chapel are at length opened, raphael forgets perugino; fra bartolomeo forgets botticelli; sodoma forgets leonardo; the narrower hesitating styles of the fifteenth century are abandoned, as the great example is disseminated throughout italy; and even the tumult of angels in glory which the lombard correggio is to paint in far-off parma, and the daringly simple bacchus and ariadne with which tintoret will decorate the ducal palace more than fifty years later--all that is great and bold, all that is a re-incarnation of the spirit of antiquity, all that marks the culmination of renaissance art, seems due to the impulse of michael angelo, and, through him, to the example of signorelli. from the celestial horseman and bounding avenging angels of raphael's heliodorus, to the st. sebastian of sodoma, with exquisite limbs and head, rich with tendril-like locks, delicate against the brown umbrian sunset; from the madonna of andrea del sarto seated, with the head and drapery of a niobe, by the sack of flour in the annunziata cloister, to the voluptuous goddess, with purple mantle half concealing her body of golden white, who leans against the sculptured fountain in titian's sacred and profane love, with the greenish blue sky and hazy light of evening behind her; from the most extreme examples of the most extreme schools of lombardy and venetia, to the most intense examples of the remotest schools of tuscany and umbria; throughout the art of the early sixteenth century, of those thirty years which were the years of perfection, we see, more or less marked, but always distinct, the union of the living art born of the middle ages with the dead art left by antiquity, a union producing life and perfection, producing the great art of the renaissance. this much is clear and easy of definition; but what is neither clearly understood nor easily defined is the nature of this union, the manner in which the antique and the modern did thus amalgamate. it is easy to speak of a vague union of spirit, of the antique idea having permeated the modern; but all this explains but little: art is not a metaphysical figment, and all its phases and revolutions are concrete, and, so to speak, physically explicable and definable. the union of the antique with the modern meant simply the absorption by the art of the renaissance of elements of civilization necessary for its perfection, but not existing in the medieval civilization of the fifteenth century; of elements of civilization which gave what the civilization of the fifteenth century--which could give colour, perspective, grouping, and landscape--could never have afforded: the nude, drapery, and gesture. the naked human body, which the greeks had trained, studied, and idolized, did not exist in the fifteenth century; in its stead there was only the undressed body, ill-developed, untrained, pinched, and distorted by the garments only just cast off; cramped and bent by sedentary occupations, livid with the plague-spots of the middle ages, scarred by the whipmarks of asceticism. this stripped body, unseen and unfit to be seen, unaccustomed to the air and to the eyes of others, shivered and cowered for cold and for shame. the giottesques ignored its very existence, conceiving humanity as a bodiless creature, with face and hands to express emotion, and just enough malformed legs and feet to be either standing or moving; further, beneath the garments, there was nothing. the realists of the fifteenth century tore off the clothes and drew the ugly thing beneath; and bought the corpses from the lazar-houses, and stole them from the gallows; in order to see how bone fitted into bone, and muscle was stretched over muscle. they learned to perfection the anatomy of the human frame, but they could not learn its beauty; they became even reconciled to the ugliness they were accustomed to see; and, with their minds full of antique examples, verrocchio, donatello, pollaiolo, and ghirlandajo, the greatest anatomists of the fifteenth century, imitated their coarse and ill-made living models when they imagined that they were imitating antique marbles. so much for the nude. drapery, as the ancients understood it in the delicate plaits of greek chiton and tunic, in the grand folds of roman toga, the fifteenth century could not show; it knew only the stiff, scanty raiment of the active classes; the shapeless masses of lined cloth of the merchants and magistrates; the prudish and ostentatious starched dress of the women; and the coarse, lumpish garb of the monks. the artist of the fifteenth century knew drapery only as an exotic, an exotic with whose representation the habit of seeing mediæval costume was for ever interfering; on the stripped, unseemly, indecent body he places, with the stiffness of artificiality, drapery such as he has never seen upon any living creature; the result is awkwardness and rigidity. and what attitude, what gesture, can he expect from this stripped and artificially draped model? none, for the model scarce knows how to stand in so unaccustomed a condition of body. the artist must seek for attitude and gesture among his townsfolk, and among them he can find only trivial, awkward, often vulgar movement. they have never been taught how to stand or to move with grace and dignity; the artist must study attitude and gesture in the market-place or the bull-baiting ground, where ghirlandajo found his jauntily strutting idlers, and verrocchio his brutally staggering prize-fighters. between the constrained attitudinizing of byzantine and giottesque tradition, and the imitation of the movements of clodhoppers and ragamuffins, the realist of the fifteenth century would wander hopelessly were it not for the antique. genius and science are of no avail; the position of christ in baptism in the paintings of verrocchio and ghirlandajo is mean and servile; the movements of the "thunder-stricken" in signorelli's lunettes is an inconceivable mixture of the brutish, the melodramatic, and the comic; the magnificently drawn youth at the door of the prison in filippino's liberation of st. peter is gradually going to sleep and collapsing in a fashion which is truly ignoble. and the same applies to sculptured figures or to figures standing isolated like statues; no greek would have ventured upon the swaggering position, with legs apart and elbows out, of donatello's st. george, or perugino's st. michael; and a young athenian who should have assumed the attitude of verrocchio's david, with tripping legs and hand clapped on his hip, would have been sent to sit in a corner as a saucy little ragamuffin. coarse nude, stiff drapery, vulgar attitude, was all that the fifteenth century could offer to its artists; but antiquity could offer more and very different things: the naked body developed by the most artistic training, drapery the most natural and refined, and attitude and gesture regulated by an education the most careful and artistic; and all these things antiquity did give to the artists of the renaissance. they did not copy antique statues as living naked men and women, but they corrected the faults of their living models by the example of the statues; they did not copy antique stone draperies in coloured pictures, but they arranged the robes on their models with the antique folds well in their memory; they did not give the gestures of statues to living figures, but they made the living figures move in accordance with those principles of harmony which they had found exemplified in the statues. they did not imitate the antique, they studied it; they obtained through the fragments of antique sculpture a glimpse into the life of antiquity, and that glimpse served to correct the vulgarism and distortion of the mediæval life of the fifteenth century. in the perfection of italian painting, the union of antique and modern being consummated, it is perhaps difficult to disentangle what really is antique from what is modern; but in the earlier times, when the two elements were still separate, we can see them opposite each other and compare them in the works of the greatest artists. wherever, in the paintings of the early renaissance, there is realism, marked by the costume of the times, there is ugliness of form and vulgarity of movement; where there is idealism, marked by imitation of the antique, the nude, and drapery, there is beauty and dignity. we need only compare filippino's scene before the proconsul with his raising of the king's son in the brancacci chapel; the grand attitude and draperies of ghirlandajo's zachariah with the vulgar dress and movements of the florentine citizens surrounding him; benozzo gozzoli's noble naked figure of noah with his ungainly, hideously dressed figure of cosimo de' medici; mantegna's exquisite judith with his preposterous marquis of mantua; in short, all the purely realistic with all the purely idealistic painting of the fifteenth century. we may give one last instance. in signorelli's orvieto frescoes there is a figure of a young man, with aquiline features, long crisp hair and strongly developed throat, which reappears unmistakably in all the compositions, and in some of them twice and thrice in various positions. his naked figure is magnificent, his attitudes splendid, his thrown-back head superb, whether he be slowly and painfully emerging from the earth, staggered and gasping with his newly infused life, or sinking oppressed on the ground, broken and crushed by the sound of the trumpet of judgment; or whether he be moving forward with ineffable longing towards the angel about to award him the crown of the blessed; in all these positions he is heroically beautiful. we meet him again, unmistakable, but how different, in the realistic group of the "thunder-stricken "--the long, lank youth, with spindle-shanks and egg-shaped body, bounding forward, with most grotesque strides, over the uncouth heap of dead bodies, ungainly masses with soles and nostrils uppermost, lying in beast-like confusion. this youth, with something of a harlequin in his jumps and his ridiculous thin legs and preposterous round body, is evidently the model for the naked demi-gods of the resurrection and the paradise: he is the handsome boy as the fifteenth century gave him to signorelli; opposite, he is the living youth of the fifteenth century idealized by the study of ancient sculpture; just as the "thunder-stricken" may be some scene of street massacre such as signorelli might have witnessed at cortona or perugia; while the agonies of the "hell" are the grouped and superb agonies taught by the antique; just as the two archangels of the "hell," in their armour of baglioni's heavy cavalry, may represent the modern element, and the same archangels, naked, with magnificent flying draperies, blowing the trumpets of the resurrection, may show the antique element in renaissance art. the antique influence was not, indeed, equally strong throughout italy; it was strongest in the tuscan school, which, seeking for perfection of linear form, found that perfection in the antique; it was weakest in the lombard and venetian schools, which sought for what the antique could not give, light and shade and colour; the antique was most efficacious where it was most indispensable, and it was more necessary to a tuscan, strong only with his charcoal or pencil, than to leonardo da vinci, who could make an imperfect figure, beckoning mysteriously from out of the gloom, more fascinating than the finest drawn florentine madonna, and could surround an insignificant childish head with the wondrous sheen and ripple of hair, as with an aureole of poetry; it was also less necessary to giorgione and titian, who could hide coarse limbs beneath their draperies of precious ruby, and transfigure, by the liquid gold of their palettes, a peasant woman into a goddess. but even the lombards, even the venetians, required the antique influence. they could not perhaps have obtained it direct like the tuscans: the colourists and masters of light and shade might never have understood the blank lines and faint shadows of the marble; but they received the antique influence, strong but modified by the medium through which it had passed, from mantegna; and the relentless self-sacrifice to antiquity, the self-paralyzation of the great artist, was not without its use: from venetian padua, mantegna influenced the bellini and giorgione; from lombard mantua, he influenced leonardo; and mantegna's influence was that of the antique. what would have been the art of the renaissance without the antique? the speculation is vain, for the antique had influenced it, had been goading it on ever since the earliest times; it had been present at its birth, it had affected giotto through niccolò pisano, and masaccio through ghiberti; the antique influence cannot be conceived as absent in the history of italian painting. so far, as a study of the impossible, the speculation respecting the fate of renaissance art had it not been influenced by the antique would be childishly useless. but lest we forget that this antique influence did exist, lest, grown ungrateful and blind, we refuse it its immense share in producing michael angelo, raphael, and titian, we may do well to turn to an art born and bred like italian art, in the middle ages; like it, full of strength and power of self-development, but which, unlike italian art, was not influenced by the antique. this art is the great german art of the early sixteenth century; the art of martin schongauer, of aldegrever, of altdorfer, of wohlgemuth, of kranach, of albrecht dürer and hans holbein, whom they resemble as pinturicchio and lo spagna resemble perugino, as palma and paris bordone resemble titian. this is an art born in a civilization less perfect indeed than that of italy, narrower, as nürnberg or basle is narrower than florence; but resembling it in habits, dress, religion, above all, the main characteristic of being mediæval; and its masters, as great as their italian contemporaries in all the technicalities of the art, and in absolute honesty of endeavour, may show what the italian art of the sixteenth century might have been without the antique. let us therefore open a portfolio of those wonderful minute yet grand engravings of the old germans. they are for the most part scriptural scenes or allegories, quite analogous to those of the italians, but purely realistic, conscious of no world beyond that of an imperial city of the year . here we have the whole turn-out, male and female, of a german free-town, in the shape of scenes from the lives of the virgin and saints; here are short fat burghers, with enormous blotchy, bloated faces and little eyes set in fat, their huge stomachs protruding from under their jackets; here are blear-eyed ladies, tall, thin, wrinkled though not old, with figures like hungry harpies, stalking about in high headgears and stiff gowns, or sitting by the side of lean and stunted pages, singing (with dolorous voice) to lutes; or promenading under trees with long-shanked, high-shouldered gentlemen, with vacant sickly face and long scraggy hair and beard, their bony elbows sticking out of their slashed doublets. these courtly figures culminate in dürer's magnificent plate of the wild man of the woods kissing the hideous, leering jezebel in her brocade and jewels. these aristocratic women are terrible; prudish, malicious, licentious, never modest because they are always ugly. even the poor madonnas, seated in front of village hovels or windmills, smile the smile of starved, sickly sempstresses. it is a stunted, poverty-stricken, plague-sick society, this mediæval society of burghers and burghers' wives; the air seems bad and heavy, and the light wanting physically and morally, in these old free-towns; there is intellectual sickness as well as bodily in those musty gabled houses; the mediæval spirit blights what revival of healthiness may exist in these commonwealths. and feudalism is outside the gates. there are the brutal, leering men-at-arms, in slashed, puffed doublets and heavy armour, face and dress as unhuman as possible, standing grimacing at the blood spirting from john the baptist's decapitated trunk, as in kranach's horrible print, while gaping spectators fill the castle-yard; there are the castles high on rocks amidst woods, with miserable villages below, where the prodigal son wallows among the swine, and the tattered boors tumble about in drunkenness, or rest wearied on their spades. there are the middle ages in full force. but had these germans of the days of luther really no thought beyond their own times and their own country? had they really no knowledge of the antique? not so; they had heard from their learned men, from willibald pirkheimer and ulrich von hutten, that the world had once been peopled with naked gods and goddesses. nay, the very year perhaps that raphael handed to his engraver, marc antonio, his magnificent drawing of the judgment of paris, lukas kranach bethought him to represent the story of the good knight paris giving the apple to the lady venus. so kranach took up his steady pencil and sharp chisel, and in strong, clear, minute lines of black and white showed us the scene. there, on mount ida, with a castellated rock in the distance, the charger of paris browses beneath some stunted larches; the trojan knight's helmet, with its monstrous beak and plume, lies on the ground; and near it reclines paris himself, lazy, in complete armour, with frizzled fashionable beard. to him, all wrinkled and grinning with brutal lust, comes another bearded knight, with wings to his vizored helmet, sir mercury, leading the three goddesses, short, fat-cheeked german wenches, housemaids stripped of their clothes, stupid, brazen, indifferent. and paris is evidently prepared with his choice: he awards the apple to the fattest, for among a half-starved, plague-stricken people like this, the chosen of gods and men must needs be the fattest. no, such pagan scenes are mere burlesques, coarse mummeries, such as may have amused nürnberg and augsburg during shrovetide, when drunken louts figured as bacchus and sang drinking songs by hans sachs. there is no reality in all this; there is no belief in pagan gods. if we would see the haunting divinity of the german renaissance, we shall find him prying and prowling in nearly every scene of real life; him, the ever present, the king of the middle ages, whose triumph we have seen on the cloister wall at pisa, the lord death. his fleshless face peers from behind a bush at zatzinger's stunted, fever-stricken lady and imbecile gentleman; he sits grinning on a tree in orso grafs allegory, while the cynical knights, with haggard, sensual faces, crack dirty jokes with the fat, brutish woman squatted below; he puts his hand into the basket of dürer's tattered pedlar; he leers hideously at the stirrup of dürer's armed and stalwart knight. no gods of youth and nature, no hercules, no hermes, no venus, have invaded his german territories, as they invaded even his own palace, the burial-ground at pisa; the antique has not perverted dürer and his fellows, as it perverted masaccio and signorelli and mantegna, from the mediæval worship of death. the italians had seen the antique and had let themselves be seduced by it, despite their civilization and their religion. let us only rejoice thereat. there are indeed some, and among them the great english critic who is irrefutable when he is a poet, and irrational when he becomes a philosopher;--there are some who tell us that in its union with antique art, the art of the followers of giotto embraced death, and rotted away ever after. there are others, more moderate but less logical, who would teach us that in uniting with the antique, the mediæval art of the fifteenth century purified and sanctified the beautiful but evil child of paganism; that the goddess of scopas and the athlete of polyclete were raised to a higher sphere when raphael changed the one into a madonna, and michael angelo metamorphosed the other into a prophet. but both schools of criticism are wrong. every civilization has its inherent evil; antiquity had its inherent evils, as the middle ages had theirs; antiquity may have bequeathed to the renaissance the bad with the good, as the middle ages had bequeathed to the renaissance the good with the bad. but the art of antiquity was not the evil, it was the good of antiquity; it was born of its strength and its purity only, and it was the incarnation of its noblest qualities. it could not be purified, because it was spotless; it could not be sanctified, because it was holy. it could gain nothing from the art of the middle ages, alternately strong in brutal reality, and languid in mystic inanity; the men of the renaissance could, if they influenced it at all, influence the antique only for evil; they belonged to an inferior artistic civilization, and if we conscientiously seek for the spiritual improvements brought by them into antique types, we shall see that they consist in spoiling their perfect proportions; in making necks longer and muscles more prominent; in rendering more or less flaccid, or meagre or coarse, the grand and delicate forms of antique art. and when we have examined into this purified art of the renaissance, when we have compared coolly and equitably, we may perhaps confess that, while the renaissance added immense wealth of beauty in colour, perspective, and grouping, it took away something of the perfection of simple lines and modest light and shade of the antique; we may admit to ourselves that the grandest saint by raphael is meagre and stunted; and the noblest virgin by titian is overblown and sensual by the side of the demi-gods and amazons of antique sculpture. the antique perfected the art of the renaissance, it did not corrupt it. the art of the renaissance fell indeed into shameful degradation soon after the period of its triumphant union with the antique; and raphael's grand gods and goddesses, his exquisite eros and radiant psyche of the farnesina, are indeed succeeded but too soon by the olympus of giulio romano, an olympus of harlots and acrobats, who smirk and mouth and wriggle and sprawl ignobly on the walls and ceilings of the dismantled palace which crumbles away among the stunted willows, the stagnant pools, and rank grass of the marshes of mantua. but this is no more the fault of antiquity than it is the fault of the middle ages; it is the fault of that great principle of life and of change which makes all things organic, be they physical or intellectual, germinate, grow, attain maturity, and then fade, wither, and rot. the dead art of antiquity could never have brought the art of the renaissance to an untimely end; the art of the renaissance decayed because it was mature, and died because it had lived. euphorion: being studies of the antique and the medieval in the renaissance by vernon lee _author of "studies of the th century in italy," "belcaro," etc._ _vol. ii._ table of contents. the portrait art the school of boiardo mediÆval love epilogue appendix * * * * * the portrait art i. real and ideal--these are the handy terms, admiring or disapproving, which criticism claps with random facility on to every imaginable school. this artist or group of artists goes in for the real--the upright, noble, trumpery, filthy real; that other artist or group of artists seeks after the ideal--the ideal which may mean sublimity or platitude. we summon every living artist to state whether he is a realist or an idealist; we classify all dead artists as realists or idealists; we treat the matter as if it were one of almost moral importance. now the fact of the case is that the question of realism and idealism, which we calmly assume as already settled or easy to settle by our own sense of right and wrong, is one of the tangled questions of art-philosophy; and one, moreover, which no amount of theory, but only historic fact, can ever set right. for, to begin with, we find realism and idealism coming before us in different ways and with different meaning and importance. all art which is not addressing (as decrepit art is forced to do) faculties to which it does not spontaneously and properly appeal--all art is decorative, ornamental, idealistic therefore, since it consciously or unconsciously aims, not merely at reproducing the already existing, but at producing something which shall repay the looking at it, something which shall ornament, if not a place, at least our lives; and such making of the ornamental, of the worth looking at, necessarily implies selection and arrangement--that is to say idealism. at the same time, while art aims definitely at being in this sense decorative, art may very possibly aim more immediately at merely reproducing, without, selection or arrangement, the actually existing things of the world; and this in order to obtain the mere power of representation. in short, art which is idealistic as a master will yet be realistic as a scholar: it decorates when it achieves, it copies when it studies. but this is only half the question. certain whole schools may be described as idealistic, others as realistic, in tendency; and this, not in their study, but in their achievement. one school will obviously be contented with forms the most unselected and vulgar; others will go but little out of their way in search of form-superiority; while yet others, and these we must emphatically call idealistic, are squeamish to the last degree in the choice and adaptation of form, anxious, to get the very best, and make the very best of it. yet, on thinking over it, we shall find that realistic and idealistic schools are all, in their achievements, equally striving after something which is not the mere reproduction of the already existing as such--striving, in short, after decoration. the pupil of perugino will, indeed, wait patiently to begin his work until he can find a model fit for a god or goddess; while the fellow-craftsman of rembrandt will be satisfied with the first dirty old jew or besotten barmaid that comes to hand. but the realistic dutchman is not, therefore, any the less smitten with beauty, any the less eager to be ornamental, than the idealistic italian: his man and woman he takes indeed with off-hand indifference, but he places them in that of which the italian shall perhaps never have dreamed, in that on which he has expended all his science, his skill, his fancy, in that which he gives as his addition to the beautiful things of art--in atmosphere, in light, which are to the everyday atmosphere and light what the patiently sought for, carefully perfected god or goddess model of raphael is to the everyday jew, to the everyday barmaid, of rembrandt. the ideal, for the man who is quite coarsely realistic in his figures, exists in the air, light, colour; and in saying this i have, so to speak, turned over the page too quickly, forestalled the expression of what i can prove only later: the disconnection of such comparative realism and idealism as this (the only kind of realism, let us remember, which can exist in great art) with any personal bias of the artist, its intimate dependence upon the constitution and tendency of art, upon its preoccupations about form, or colour, or light, in a given country and at a given moment. and now i should wish to resume the more orderly treatment of the subject, which will lead us in time to the second half of the question respecting realism and idealism. these considerations have come to me in connection with the portrait art of the renaissance; and this very simply. for portrait is a curious bastard of art, sprung on the one side from a desire which is not artistic, nay, if anything, opposed to the whole nature and function of art: the desire for the mere likeness of an individual. the union with this interloping tendency, so foreign to the whole aristocratic temper of art, has produced portrait; and by the position of this hybrid, or at least far from regularly bred creature; by the amount of the real artistic quality of beauty which it is permitted to retain by the various schools of art, we can, even as by the treatment of similar social interlopers we can estimate the necessities and tendencies of various states of society, judge what are the conditions in which the various schools of art struggle for the object of their lives, which is the beautiful. i have said that art is realistic in its periods or moments of study; and this is essentially the case even with the school which in many respects was the most unmistakably decorative and idealistic in intention: the school of giotto. the giottesques are more than decorative artists, they are decorators in the most literal sense. painting with them is merely one of the several arts and crafts enslaved by mediæval architecture and subservient to architectural effects. their art is the only one which is really and successfully architecturally decorative; and to appreciate this we must contrast their fresco-work with that of the fifteenth century and all subsequent times. masaccio, ghirlandajo, signorelli, turn the wall into a mere badly made frame; a gigantic piece of cardboard would do as well, and better; the colours melt into one another, the figures detach themselves at various degrees of relief; those upon the ceiling and pendentives are frequently upside down; yet these figures, which are so difficult to see, are worth seeing only in themselves, and not in relation to their position. the masonry is no longer covered, but carved, rendered uneven with the cavities and protrusions of perspective. in mantegna's frescoes the wall becomes a slanting theatre scene, cunningly perspectived like palladio's teatro olimpico; with correggio, wall, masonry, everything, is dissolved, the side or cupola of a church becomes a rent in the clouds, streaming with light. not so with the giottesque frescoes: the wall, the vault, the triumphant masonry is always present and felt, beneath the straight, flat bands of uniform colour; the symmetrical compartments, the pentacles, triangles, and segments, and borders of histories, whose figures never project, whose colours are separate as those in a mosaic. the giottesque frescoes, with their tiers and compartments of dark blue, their vague figures dressed in simple ultramarines, greens, dull reds, and purples; their geometrical borders and pearlings and dog-tooths; cover the walls, the ribbed and arched ceilings, the pointed raftering almost like some beautiful brown, blue, and tarnished gold leather-hangings; the figures, outlined in dark paint, have almost the appearance of being stencilled, or even stamped on the wall. such is giottesque painting: an art which is not merely essentially decorative, but which is, moreover, what painting and sculpture remained throughout the gothic period, subservient to the decorative effect of another art; an art in which all is subordinated to architectural effect, in which form, colour, figures, houses, the most dramatic scenes of the most awful of all dramas, everything is turned into a kind of colossal and sublime wall-paper; and such an art as this would lead us to expect but little realism, little deliberate and slavish imitation of the existing. yet wherever there is life in this gothic art (which has a horrible tendency, piously unobserved by critics, to stagnate into blundering repetition of the same thing), wherever there is progress, there is, in the details of that grandiose, idealistic decoration, realism of the crudest kind. those giottesque workers, who were not content with a kind of gothic byzantinism; those who really handed over something vital to their successors of the fifteenth century, while repeating the old idealistical decorations; were studying with extraordinary crudeness of realism. everything that was not conventional ornament or type was portrait; and portrait in which the scanty technical means of the artist, every meagre line and thin dab of colour, every timid stroke of brush or of pencil, went towards the merciless delineation not merely of a body but of a soul. and the greater the artist, the more cruel the portrait: cruellest in representation of utter spiritual baseness in the two greatest of these idealistic decorators; giotto, and his latest disciple, fra angelico. of this i should like to give a couple of examples. in giotto's frescoes at santa croce--one of the most lovely pieces of mere architectural decoration conceivable--there are around the dying and the dead st. francis two groups of monks, which are astoundingly realistic. the solemn ending of the ideally beautiful life of sanctity which was so fresh in the memory of giotto's contemporaries, is nothing beyond a set of portraits of the most absolutely mediocre creatures, moral and intellectual, of creatures the most utterly incapable of religious enthusiasm that ever made religion a livelihood. they gather round the dying and the dead st. francis, a noble figure, not at all ecstatic or seraphic, but pure, strong, worn out with wise and righteous labour, a man of thought and action, upon whose hands and feet the stigmata of supernatural rapture are a mere absurdity. the monks are presumably his immediate disciples, those fervent and delicate poetic natures of whom we read in the "fioretti di san francesco." to represent them giotto has painted the likeness of the first half-dozen friars he may have met in the streets near santa croce: not caricatures, nor ideals, but portraits giotto has attempted neither to exalt nor to degrade them into any sort of bodily or spiritual interestingness. they are not low nor bestial nor extremely stupid. they are in various degrees dull, sly, routinist, prosaic, pedantic; their most noteworthy characteristic is that they are certainly the men who are not called by god. they are no scandal to the church, but no honour; they are sloth, stupidity, sensualism, and cunning not yet risen to the dignity of a vice. they look upon the dying and the dead saint with indifference, want of understanding, at most a gape or a bright look of stupid miscomprehension at the stigmata: they do not even perceive that a saint is a different being from themselves. with these frescoes of giotto i should wish to compare fra angelico's great ceremonial crucifixion in the cloister chapel of san marco of florence; for it displays to an extraordinary degree that juxtaposition of the most conventionally idealistic, pious decorativeness with the realism straightforward, unreflecting, and heartless to the point of becoming perfectly grotesque. the fresco is divided into two scenes: on the one side the crucifixion, the mystic actors of the drama, on the other the holy men admitted to its contemplation. a sense that holy things ought to be old-fashioned, a respect for byzantine inanity which invariable haunted the giottesques in their capacity of idealistic decorators, of men who replaced with frescoes the solemn lifeless splendours of mosaic; this kind of artistico-religious prudery has made angelico, who was able to foreshorten powerfully the brawny crucified thieves, represent the saviour dangling from the cross bleached, boneless, and shapeless, a thing that is not dead because it has never been alive. the holy persons around stand rigid, vacant, against their blue nowhere of background, with vague expanses of pink face looking neither one way nor the other; mere modernized copies of the strange, goggle-eyed, vapid beings on the old italian mosaics. this is not a representation of the actual reality of the crucifixion, like tintoret's superb picture at s. rocco, or dürer's print, or so many others, which show the hill, the people, the hangman, the ladders and ropes and hammers and tweezers: it is a sort of mystic repetition of it; subjective, if i may say so; existing only in the contemplation of the saints on the opposite side, who are spectators only in the sense that a contemplative christian may be said to be the mystic spectator of the passion. the thing for the painter to represent is fervent contemplation, ecstatic realization of the past by the force of ardent love and belief; the condition of mind of st. francis, st. catherine of siena, madame guyon: it is the revelation of the great tragedy of heaven to the soul of the mystic. now, how does fra angelico represent this? a row of saints, founders of orders, kneel one behind the other, and by their side stand apostles and doctors of the church; admitting them to the sight of the super-human, with the gesture, the bland, indifferent vacuity of the cameriere segreto or monsignore who introduces a troop of pilgrims to the pope; they are privileged persons, they respect, they keep up decorum, they raise their eyes and compress their lips with ceremonious reverence; but, lord! they have gone through it all so often, they are so familiar with it, they don't look at it any longer; they gaze about listlessly, they would yawn if they were not too well bred for that. the others, meanwhile, the sainted pilgrims, the men whose journey over the sharp stones and among the pricking brambles of life's wilderness finds its final reward in this admission into the presence of the holiest, kneel one by one, with various expressions: one with the stupid delight of a religious sightseer; his vanity is satisfied, he will next draw a rosary from his pocket and get it blessed by christ himself; he will recount it all to his friends at home. another is dull and gaping, a clown who has walked barefoot from valencia to rome, and got imbecile by the way; yet another, prim and dapper; the rest indifferent looking restlessly about them, at each other, at their feet and hands, perhaps exchanging mute remarks about the length of time they are kept waiting; those at the end of the kneeling procession, st. peter martyr and st. giovanni gualberto especially, have the bored, listless, devout look of the priestlets in the train of a bishop. all these figures, the standing ones who introduce and the kneeling ones who are being introduced, are the most perfect types of various states of dull, commonplace, mediocre routinist superstition; so many camerlenghi on the one hand, so many passionist or propagandists on the other: the first aristocratic, bland and bored; the second, dull, listless, mumbling, chewing latin prayers which never meant much to their minds, and now mean nothing; both perfectly reverential and proper in behaviour, with no more possibility of individual fervour of belief than of individual levity of disbelief: the church, as it exists in well-regulated decrepitude. and thus does the last of the giottesques, the painter of glorified madonnas and dancing angels, the saint, represent the saints admitted to behold the supreme tragedy of the redemption. thus much for the giottesques. the tuscans of the early renaissance developed up to the utmost, assisted by the goldsmiths and sculptors, who taught them modelling and anatomy, that realistic element of giottesque painting. its ideal decorative part had become impossible. painting could no longer be a decoration of architecture, and it had not yet the means of being ornamental in itself; it was an art which did not achieve, but merely studied. among its exercises in anatomy, modelling, perspective, and so forth, always laborious and frequently abortive, its only spontaneous, satisfactory, mature production was its portrait work, portraits of burghers in black robes and hoods; of square-jawed youths with red caps stuck on to their fuzzy heads, of bald and wrinkled scholars and magnificoes; of thinly bearded artizans; people who stand round the preaching baptist or crucified saviour, look on at miracle or martyrdom, stolid, self-complacent, heedless, against their background of towered, walled, and cypressed city--of buttressed square and street; ugly but real, interesting, powerful among the grotesque agglomerations of bag-of-bones nudities, bunched and taped-up draperies and out-of-joint architecture of the early renaissance frescoes; at best among its picture-book and noah's-ark prettinesses of toy-box cypresses, vine trellises, inlaid house fronts, rabbits in the grass, and peacocks on the roofs; for the early renaissance, with the one exception of masaccio, is in reality a childish time of art, giving us the horrors of school-hour blunders and abortions varied with the delights of nursery wonderland: maturity, the power of achieving, the perception of something worthy of perception, comes only with the later generation, the one immediately preceding the age of raphael and michael angelo; with ghirlandajo, signorelli, filippino, botticelli, perugino, and their contemporaries. but this period is not childish, is not immature in everything. or, rather, the various arts which exist together at this period are not all in the same stage of development. while painting is in this immature ugliness, and ideal sculpture, in works like verrocchio's and donatello's david, only a cleverer, more experienced, but less legitimate kind of painting, painting more successful in the present, but with no possible future; the almost separate art of portrait-sculpture arises again where it was left by græco-roman masters, and, developing to yet greater perfection, gives in marble the equivalent of what painting will be able to produce only much later: realistic art which is decorative; beautiful works made out of ugly materials. the vicissitudes of renaissance sculpture are strange: its life, its power, depend upon death; it is an art developed in the burying vault and cloister cemetery. during the middle ages sculpture had had its reason, its vital possibility, its something to influence, nay, to keep it alive, in architecture; but with the disappearance of gothic building disappears also the possibility of the sculpture which covers the portals of chartres and the belfry of florence. the pseudo-classic colonnades, entablatures, all the thin bastard ionic and corinthian of aberti and bramante, did not require sculpture, or had their own little supply of unfleshed ox-skulls, greengrocer's garlands, scallopings and wave-linings, which, with a stray siren and one or two bloated emperors' heads, amply sufficed. on the other hand, mediæval civilization and christian dogma did not encourage the production of naked of draped ideal statues like those which antiquity stuck on countless temple fronts, and erected at every corner of square, street, or garden. the people of the middle ages were too grievously ill grown, distorted, hideous, to be otherwise than indecent in nudity; they may have had an instinct of the kind, and, ugly as they knew themselves to be, they must yet have found in forms like those of verrocchio's david insufficient beauty to give much pleasure. besides, if the middle ages had left no moral room for ideal sculpture once freed from the service of architecture; they had still less provided it with a physical place. such things could not be set up in churches, and only a very moderate number of statues could be wanted as open-air monuments in the narrow space of a still gothic city; and, in fact, ideal heroic statues of the early renaissance are fortunately not only ugly, but comparatively few in number. there remained, therefore, for sculpture, unless contented to dwindle down into brass and gold miniature work, no regular employment save that connected with sepulchral monuments. during the real middle ages, and in the still gothic north, the ornamentation of a tomb belonged to architecture: from the superb miniature minsters, pillared and pinnacled and sculptured, cathedrals within the cathedral, to the humbler foliated arched canopy, protecting a simple sarcophagus at the corner of many a street in lombardy. the sculptor's work was but the low relief on the church flags, the timidly carved, outlined, cross-legged knight or praying priest, flattened down on his pillow as if ashamed even of that amount of prominence, and in a hurry to be trodden down and obliterated into a few ghostly outlines. but to this humiliated prostrate image, to this flat thing doomed to obliteration, came the sculptor of the renaissance, and bade the wafer-like simulacrum fill up, expand, raise itself, lift itself on its elbow, arise and take possession of the bed of state, the catafalque raised high above the crowd, draped with brocade, carved with rich devices of leaves and beasts of heraldry, roofed over with a daïs, which is almost a triumphal arch, garlanded with fruits and flowers, upon which the illustrious dead were shown to the people; but made eternal, and of eternal magnificence, by the stone-cutter, and guarded, not for an hour by the liveried pages or chaunting monks, but by winged genii for all eternity. some people, i know, call this a degradation, and say that it was the result of corrupt pride, this refusal to have the dear or illustrious dead scraped out any longer by the shoe-nails of every ruffian, rubbed out by the knees of every kitchen wench; but to me it seems that it was due merely to the fact that sculpture had lost its former employment, and that a great art cannot (thank heaven!) be pietistically self-humiliating. be this as it may, the sculpture of the renaissance had found a new and singularly noble line of work, the one in which it was great, unique, unsurpassed, because untutored. it worked here without models, to suit modern requirements, with modern spirit; it was emphatically-modern sculpture; the only modern sculpture which can be talked of as something original, genuine, valuable, by the side of antique sculpture. greek antiquity had evaded death, and neglected the dead; a garland of mænads and fauns among ivy leaves, a battle of amazons or centaurs; in the late semi-christian, platonic days, some orphic emblem, or genius; at most, as in the exquisite tombs of the keramikos of athens, a figure, a youth on a prancing steed, like the phidian monument of dexileus; a maiden, draped and bearing an urn; but neither the youth nor the maiden is the inmate of the tomb: they are types, living types, no portraits. nay, even where antiquity shows us death or hermes, gently leading away the beloved; the spirit, the ghost, the dead one, is unindividual. "sarkophagen und urnen bekränzte der heide mit leben," said goethe; but it was the life which was everlasting because it was typical: the life not which had been relinquished by the one buried there, but the life which the world danced on, forgetful, round his ashes. the romans, on the contrary, graver and more retentive folk than the greeks, as well as more domestic, less coffee-house living, appear to have inherited from the etruscans a desire to preserve the effigy of the dead, a desire unknown to the greeks. but the etrusco-roman monuments, where husband and wife stare forth togaed and stolaed, half reduced to a conventional crop-headedness, grim and stiff as if sitting unwillingly for their portrait; or reclining on the sarcophagus-lid, neither dead, nor asleep, nor yet alive and awake, but with a hieratic mummy stare, have little of æsthetic or sympathetic value. the early renaissance, then, first bethought it of representing the real individual in the real death slumber. and i question whether anything more fitting could be placed on a tomb than the effigy of the dead as we saw them just before the coffin-lid closed down; as we would give our all to see them but one little moment longer; as they continue to exist for our fancy within the grave; for to any but morbid feelings the beloved can never suffer decay. whereas a portrait of the man in life, as the throning popes in st. peter's, seems heartless and derisive; such monuments striking us as conceived and ordered by their inmates while alive, like michael angelo's pope julius, and browning's bishop, who was so preoccupied about his tomb in st. praxed's church. the renaissance, the late middle ages, felt better than this: on the extreme pinnacle, high on the roof, they might indeed place against the russet brick or the blue sky, amid the hum of life and the movement of the air, the living man, like the scaligers, the mailed knight on his charger, lance in rest: but in the church below, under the funereal pall, they could place only the body such as it may have lain on the bier. and that figure on the bier was the great work of renaissance sculpture. inanimate and vulgar when in heroic figures they tried to emulate the ancients, the sculptors of the fifteenth century have found their own line. the modesty, the simplicity, the awful and beautiful repose of the dead; the individual character cleared of all its conflicting meannesses by death, simplified, idealized as it is in the memory of the survivors--all these are things which belong to the renaissance. as the greeks gave the strong, smooth life-current circulating through their heroes; so did these men of the fifteenth century give the gentle and harmonious ebbing after-life of death in their sepulchral monuments. things difficult to describe, and which must be seen and remembered. there is the monument, now in the museum at ravenna, by a sculptor whose name, were it known, would surely be among the greatest, of the condottiere, braccioforte: the body prone in its heavy case of armour, not yet laid out in state, but such as he may have been found in the evening, when the battle was over, under a tree where they had carried him to die while they themselves went back to fight; the head has fallen back, side-ways, weighed down by the helmet, which has not even been unbuckled, only the face, the clear-cut, austere features, visible beneath the withdrawn vizor; the eyes have not been closed; and there are few things more exquisite and solemn at once in all sculpture, than the indication of those no longer seeing eyes, of that broken glance, beneath the half-closed lids. there is rossellino's cardinal of portugal at s. miniato a monte: the slight body, draped in episcopal robes, lying with delicate folded hands, in gracious decorum of youthful sanctity; the strong delicate head, of clear feature and gentle furrow of suffering and thought, a face of infinite purity of strength, strength still ungnarled by action: a young priest, who in his virginal dignity is almost a noble woman. and there is the ilaria guinigi of jacopo della quercia (the man who had most natural affinity with the antique of all these sculptors, as one may see from the shattered remains of the fonte gaia of siena), the lady stretched out on the rose-garlanded bed of state in a corner of lucca cathedral, her feet upon her sleeping dog, her sweet, girlish head, with wavy plaits of hair encircled by a rose-wreathed, turban-like diadem, lying low on round cushions; the bed gently giving way beneath the beautiful, ample-bosomed body, round which the soft robe is chastely gathered, and across which the long-sleeved arms are demurely folded; the most beautiful lady (whose majestic tread through the palace rooms we can well imagine) that the art of the fifteenth century has recorded. there is, above all, the carlo marsuppini of desiderio da settignano, the humanist secretary of the commonwealth, lying on the sarcophagus, superb with shell fretwork and curling acanthus, in santa croce of florence. for the youthful beauty of the cardinal of portugal and of the lady ilaria are commonplace compared with the refinement of this worn old face, with scant wavy hair and thin, gently furrowed, but by no means ploughed-up features. the slight figure looks as if in life it must have seemed almost transparent; and the hands are very pathetic: noble, firm hands, subtle of vein and wrist, crossed simply, neither in prayer nor in agony, but in gentle weariness, over the book on his breast. that book is certainly no prayer-book; rather a volume of plato or cicero: in his last moments the noble old man has longed for a glance over the familiar pages; they have placed the book on his breast, but it has been too late; the drowsiness of death has overtaken him, and with his last sigh he has gently folded his hands over the volume, with the faint, last clinging to the things beloved in this world. such is that portrait sculpture of the early renaissance, its only sculpture, if we except the exquisite work in babies and angels just out of the nursery of the robbias, which is a real achievement. but how achieved? this art is great just by the things which antiquity did not. and what are those things? shall we say that it is sentiment? but all fine art has tact, antique art most certainly; and as to pathos, why, any quiet figure of a dead man or woman, however rudely carved, has pathos; nay, there is pathos in the poor puling hysterical art which makes angels draw the curtains of fine ladies' bedchambers, and fine ladies, in hoop or limp grecian dress, faint (the smelling bottle, betty!) over their lord's coffin; there is pathos, to a decently constituted human being, wherever (despite all absurdities) we can imagine that there lies some one whom it was bitter to see departing, to whom it was bitter to depart. pathos, therefore, is not the question; and, if you choose to call it sentiment, it is in reality a sentiment for line and curve, for stone and light. the great question is, how did these men of the renaissance make their dead people look beautiful? for they were not all beautiful in life, and ugly folk do not grow beautiful merely because they are dead. the cardinal of portugal, the beautiful ilaria herself, were you to sketch their profile and place it by the side of no matter what ordinary antique, would greatly fall short of what we call sculpturesque beauty; and many of the others, old humanists and priests and lawyers, are emphatically ugly: snub or absurdly hooked noses, retreating or deformedly overhanging foreheads, fleshy noses, and flabby cheeks, blear eyes and sunk-in mouths; and a perfect network of wrinkles and creases, which, hard as it is to say, have been scooped out not merely by age, but by low mind, fretting and triumphant animalism. now, by what means did the sculptor--the sculptor, too unacquainted with sculptural beauty (witness his ugly ideal statues), to be able, like the man who turned the successors of alexander into a race of leonine though crazy demi-gods--to insidiously idealize these ugly and insignificant features; by what means did he turn these dead men into things beautiful to see? i have said that he took up art where græco-roman antiquity had left it. remark that i say græco-roman, and i ought to add much more roman than greek. for greek sculpture, nurtured in the habit of perfect form, art to whom beauty was a cheap necessity, invariably idealized portrait, idealized it into beauty or inanity. but when greek art had run its course; when beauty of form had well-nigh been exhausted or begun to pall; certain artists, presumably greeks, but working for romans, began to produce portrait work of quite a new and wonderful sort: the beautiful portraits of ugly old men, of snub little boys, work which was clearly before its right time, and was swamped by idealized portraits, insipid, nay, inane, from the elegant revivalist busts of hadrian and marcus aurelius down to the bonnet blocks of the lower empire. of this roman portrait art, of certain heads of half-idiotic little cæsar brats, of sly and wrinkled old men, things which ought to be so ugly and yet are so beautiful, we say, at least, perhaps unformulated, we think, "how renaissance!" and the secret of the beauty of these few græco-roman busts, which is also that of renaissance portrait sculpture, is that the beauty is quite different in kind from the beauty of greek ideal sculpture, and obtained by quite different means. it is, essentially, that kind of beauty which i began by saying belonged to realistic art, to the art which is not squeamish about the object which it represents, but is squeamish about the manner and medium in which that indifferent object is represented; it is a kind of beauty, therefore, more akin to that of rembrandt and velasquez than to that of michael angelo or raphael. it is the beauty, not of large lines and harmonies, beauty residing in the real model's forms, beauty real, wholesale, which would be the same if the man were not marble but flesh, not in a given position but moving; but it is a beauty of combinations of light and surface, a beauty of texture opposed to texture, which would probably be unperceived in the presence of the more regal beauty of line and colour harmonies, and which those who could obtain this latter would employ only as much as they were conducive to such larger beauties. and this beauty of texture opposed to texture and light combined with surface is a very real thing; it is the great reality of renaissance sculpture: this beauty, resulting from the combination, for instance, in a commonplace face, of the roughness and coarser pore of the close shaven lips and chin with the smoothness of the waxy hanging cheeks; the one catching the light, the other breaking it into a ribbed and forked penumbra. the very perfection of this kind of work is benedetto da maiano's bust of pietro mellini in the bargello at florence. the elderly head is of strongly marked osseous structure, yet fleshed with abundant and flaccid flesh, hanging in folds or creases round the mouth and chin, yet not flobbery and floppy, but solid, though yielding, creased, wrinkled, crevassed rather as a sandy hillside is crevassed by the trickling waters; semi-solid, promising slight resistance, waxy, yielding to the touch. but all the flesh has, as it were, gravitated to the lower part of the face, conglomerated, or rather draped itself, about the mouth, firmer for sunken teeth and shaving; and the skin has remained alone across the head, wrinkled, yet drawn in tight folds across the dome-shaped skull, as if, while the flesh disappeared, the bone also had enlarged. and on the temples the flesh has once been thick, the bone (seemingly) slight; and now the skin is being drawn, recently, and we feel more and more every day, into a radiation of minute creases, as if the bone and flesh were having a last struggle. now in this head there is little beauty of line (the man has never been good-looking), and there is not much character in the sense of strongly marked mental or moral personality. i do not know, nor care, what manner of man this may have been. the individuality is one, not of the mind but of the flesh. what interests, attaches, is not the character or temperament, but the bone and skin, the creases and folds of flesh. and herein also lies the beauty of the work. i do not mean its interest or mere technical skill, i mean distinctly visible and artistic beauty. thus does the sculptor of the renaissance get beauty, visible beauty, not psychologic interest, out of a plain human being; but the beauty (and this is the distinguishing point of what i must call realistic decorative art) does not exist necessarily in the plain human being: he merely affords the beginning of a pattern which the artist may be able to carry out. a person may have in him the making of a really beautiful bust and yet be ugly; just as the same person may afford a subject for a splendid painting and for an execrable piece of sculpture. the wrinkles and creases in a face like that of benedetto da maiano's mellini would probably be ugly and perhaps disgusting in the real reddish, flaccid, discoloured flesh; while they are admirable in the solid and supple-looking marble, in its warm and delicate bistre and yellow. material has an extraordinary effect upon form; colour, though not a positive element in sculpture, has immense negative power in accentuating or obliterating the mere line. all form becomes vague and soft in the dairy flaccidness of modern ivory; and clear and powerful in the dark terra cotta, which can ennoble even the fattest and flattest faces with its wonderful faculty for making mere surface markings, mere crowsfeet, interesting. thus also with bronze: the polished, worked bronze, of fine chocolate burnish and reddish reflections, mars all beauty of line; how different the unchased, merely rough cast, greenish, with infinite delicate greys and browns, making, for instance, the head of an old woman like an exquisite withered, shrivelled, veined autumnal leaf. it is moreover, as i have said, a question of combination of surface and light, this art which makes beautiful busts of ugly men. the ideal statue of the greeks intended for the open air; fit to be looked at under any light, high or low, brilliant or veiled, had indeed to be prepared to look well under any light; but to look well under any light means not to use any one particular relation of light as an ally; the surface was kept modestly subordinated to the features, the features which must needs look well at all moments and from all points of view. but the renaissance sculptor knew where his work would be placed; he could calculate the effect of the light falling invariably through this or that window; he could make a fellow-workman of that light, present for it to draw or to obliterate what features he liked, bid it sweep away such or such surfaces with a broad stream, cut them with a deep shadow, caress their smooth chiselling or their rough grainings, mark as with a nail the few large strokes of the point which gave the firmness to the strained muscle or stretched skin. out of this model of his, this plain old burgess, he and his docile friend the light, could make quite a new thing; a new pattern of bosses and cavities, of smooth sweeps and tracked lines, of creases and folds of flesh, of pliable linen and rough brocade of dress: something new, something which, without a single feature being straightened or shortened, yet changed completely the value of the whole assemblage of features; something undreamed of by nature in moulding that ugly old merchant or humanist. with this art which produced works like desiderio da settignano's carlo marsuppini and benedetto da maiano's pietro mellini, is intimately connected the art of the great medallists of the renaissance--pasti, guacialotti, niccolò fiorentino, and, greatest of all, pisanello. its excellence depends precisely upon its independence of the ideal work of antiquity; nay, even upon the fact that, while the ancients, striking their coins in chased metal dies, obtained an astonishing minuteness and clearness of every separate little stroke and dint, and were therefore forced into an almost more than sculptural perfection of mere line, of mere profile and throat and elaborately composed hair, a sort of sublime abstraction of the possible beauty of a human face, as in the coins of syracuse and also of alexander; the men of the fifteenth century employed the process of casting the bronze in a concave mould obtained by the melting away of a medallion in wax; in wax, which taking the living impress of the artist's finger, and recalling in its firm and yet soft texture the real substance of the human face, insensibly led the medallist to seek, not sharp and abstract lines, but simple, strongly moulded bosses; not ideal beauty, but the real appearance of life. it is, moreover, a significant fact that while the men who, half a century or so later, made fine, characterless die-stamped medals in imitation of the antique, caradossi and benvenuto for instance, were goldsmiths and sculptors, workers with the chisel, artists seeking essentially for abstract elegance of line; the two greatest medallists of the early renaissance, vittore pisano and matteo di pasti, were both of them painters; and painters of the northern italian school, to whom colour and texture were all important, and linear form a matter of indifference. and indeed, if we look at the best work of what i may call the wax mould medallists of the fifteenth century, even at the magnificent marble medallions of the laurel-wreathed head of sigismund malatesta on the pillars of his church at rimini, modelled by pasti, we shall see that these men were preoccupied almost exclusively with the almost pictorial effect of the flesh in its various degrees of boss and of reaction of the light; and that the character, the beauty even, which they attained, is essentially due to a skilful manipulation of texture, and surface, and light--one might almost say of colour. we all know pisanello's famous heads of the malatesti of rimini: the saturnine sigismund, the delicate dapper novello, the powerful yet beautiful isotta; but there are other renaissance medals which illustrate my meaning even better, and connect my feelings on the subject of this branch of art more clearly with my feelings towards such work as benedetto's pietro mellini. foremost among these is the perhaps somewhat imperfect and decidedly grotesque, but astonishingly powerful, naïf and characteristic lorenzo dei medici by niccolò real grandeur of whose conception of this coarse yet imaginative head may be profitably contrasted with the classicizing efforts after the demi-god or successor of alexander in pollaiolo's famous medal of the pazzi conspiracy. next to this i would place a medal by guacialotti of bishop niccolò palmieri, with the motto, "nudus egressus sic redibo"--singularly appropriate to the shameless fleshliness of the personage, with his naked fat chest and shoulders, his fat, pig-like cheeks and greasy-looking bald head; a hideous beast, yet magnificent in his bestiality like some huge fattened porker. these medals give us, as does the bust of pietro mellini, beauty of the portrait despite ugliness of the original. but there are two other medals, this time by pisanello, and, as it seems to me, perhaps his masterpieces, which show the quite peculiar way in which this homely charm of portraiture amalgamates, so as to form a homogeneous and most seemingly simple whole, with the homely charm of certain kinds of pure and simple youthful types. one of these (the reverse of which fantastically represents the four elements, the wooded earth, the starry sky, the rippled sea, the sun, all in one sphere) is the portrait of don inigo d'avalos; the other that of cecilia gonzaga. this slender beardless boy in the spanish shovel hat and wisp of scarf twisted round the throat; and this tall, long-necked girl, with sloping shoulders and still half-developed bosom; are, so to speak, brother and sister in art, in pisanello's wonderful genius. the relief of the two medals is extremely low, so that in certain lights the effigies vanish almost completely, sink into the pale green surface of the bronze; the portraits are a mere film, a sort of haze which has arisen on the bronze and gathered into human likeness; but in this film, this scarce perceptible relief, we are made to perceive the slender osseous structure, the smooth, sleek, childish blond flesh and hair, the delicate, undecided pallor of extreme youth and purity, even as we might in some elaborate portrait by velasquez, but with a spring-like healthiness which velasquez, painting his lymphatic hapsburgs, rarely has. such is this renaissance art of medals, this side branch of the great realistic portraiture in stone of the benedettos, desiderios, and rossellinos; a perfect thing in itself; and one which, if we muse over it in connection with the more important works of fifteenth century sculpture, will perhaps lead us to think that, as the sculpture of antiquity, in its superb idealism, its devotion to the perfect line and curve of beauty, achieved the highest that mere colourless art can achieve--thanks to the very purity, sternness, and narrowness of its sculpturesque feeling--so also, perhaps, modern sculpture, should it ever re-arise, must be a continuation of the tendencies of the renaissance, must be the humbler sister of painting, must seek for the realistic portrait and begin, perhaps, with the realistic medal. ii. this kind of realism, where only the model is ugly, while the portrait is beautiful; which seeks decorative value by other means than the intrinsic excellence of form in the object represented, this kind of realism is quite different in sort from the realisms of immature art, which, aiming at nothing beyond a faithful copy, is content with producing an ugly picture of an ugly thing. now this latter kind of realism endured in painting some time after decorative realism such as i have described had reached perfection in sculpture. nor was it till later, and when the crude scholastic realism had completely come to an end, that there became even partially possible in painting decorative realism analogous to what we have noticed in sculpture; while it was not till after the close of the italian renaissance period that the painters arose in spain and the netherlands who were able to treat their subjects with the uncompromising decorative realism of desiderio or rosellino or benedetto da maiano. for the purely imitative realism of the painters of the early renaissance was succeeded in italy by idealism, which matured in the great art of intrinsically beautiful linear form of michael angelo and raphael, and the great art of intrinsically beautiful colour form of giorgione and titian. these two schools were bound to be, each in its degree, idealistic. complete power of mere representation in tint and colour having been obtained through the realistic drudgery of the early renaissance, selection in the objects thus to be represented had naturally arisen; and the study of the antique had further hastened and directed this movement of art no longer to study but to achieve, to be decorative once more, decorative no longer in subservience to architecture, but as the separate and self-sufficing art of painting. selection, therefore, which is the only practical kind of idealism, had begun as soon as painting was possessed of the power of representing objects in their relations of line and colour, with that amount of light and shadow requisite to the just appreciation of the relations of form and the just relations of colour. now art which stops short at this point of representation must inevitably be, if decorative at all, idealistically decorative; it must be squeamish respecting the objects represented, respecting their real structure, colour, position, and grouping. for, of the visible impressions received from an object, some are far more intrinsic than others. suppose we see a woman, beautiful in the structure of her body, and beautiful in the colour of her person and her draperies, standing under a light which is such as we should call beautiful and interesting: of these three qualities one will be intrinsic in the woman, the second very considerably so, the third not at all. for, let us call that woman away and replace her immediately by another woman chosen at random. we shall immediately perceive that we have lost one pleasurable impression, that of beautiful bodily structure: the woman has taken away her well-shapen body. next we shall perceive a notable diminution in the second pleasurable impression: the woman has taken with her, not indeed her well-tinted garments, which we may have bestowed on her successor, but her beautifully coloured skin and hair, so that of the pleasing colour-impression will remain only as much as was due to, and may have been retained with, the original woman's clothes. but if we look for our third pleasurable impression, our beautiful light, we shall find that unchanged, whether it fall upon a magnificently arrayed goddess or upon a sordid slut and, conversely, the beautiful woman, when withdrawn from that light and placed in any other, will be equally lovely in form, even if we cast her in plaster, and lose the colour of her skin and hair; or if we leave her not only the beautiful tints of her flesh and hair, but her own splendidly coloured garments, we shall still have, in whatsoever light, a magnificent piece of colour. but if we recall the poor ugly creature who has succeeded her from out of that fine effect of light, we shall have nothing but a hideous form invested in hideous colour. this rough diagram will be sufficient to explain my thought respecting the relative degree to which the art dealing with linear form, that dealing with colour and that dealing with light, with the medium in which form and colour are perceived; is each respectively bound to be idealistically or realistically decorative. now painting was æsthetically mature, possessed the means to achieve great beauty, at a time when of the three modes of representation there had as yet developed only those of linear form and colour; and the very possibility and necessity of immediately achieving all that could be achieved by these means delayed for a long time the development of the third mode of representation: the representation of objects as they appear with reference to the light through which they are seen. a beginning had indeed been made. certain of correggio's effects of light, even more an occasional manner of treating the flesh and hair, reducing both form and colour to a kind of vague boss and vague sheen, such as they really present in given effects of light, a something which we define roughly as eminently modern in the painting of his clustered cherubs; all this is certainly a beginning of the school of velasquez. still more so is it the case with andrea del sarto, the man of genius whom critics love to despatch as a mediocrity, because his art, which is art altogether for the eyes, and in which he innovated more than any of his contemporaries, does not afford any excuse for the irrelevancies of ornamental criticism; with him the appearance of form and colour, acted upon by light, the relative values of which flesh and draperies consist with reference to the surrounding medium, all this becomes so evident a preoccupation and a basis for decorative effects, as to give certain of his works an almost startling air of being modern. but this tendency comes to nothing: the men of the sixteenth century appear scarcely to have perceived wherein lay the true excellence of this "andrea senza errori," deeming him essentially the artist of linear perfection; while the innovations of correggio in the way of showing the relations of flesh tones and light ended in the mere coarse gala illuminations in which his successors made their seraphs plunge and sprawl. there was too much to be done, good and bad, in the way of mere linear form and mere colour; and as art of mere linear form and colour, indifferent of all else, did the art of the italian renaissance run to seed. i said at the beginning of this paper that the degree to which any art is strictly idealistic, can be measured by the terms which it will make with portrait. for as portrait is due to the desire to represent a person quite apart from that person affording material for decoration, it is evident that only the art which can call in the assistance of decorative materials, independent of the represented individual, can possibly make a beautiful picture out of an ugly man; while the art which deals only with such visible peculiarities as are inherent in the individual, has no kind of outlet, is cornered, and can make of a repulsive original only a repulsive picture. the analogy to this we have already noticed in sculpture: antique sculpture, considering only the linear bosses which existed equally in the living man and in the statue, could not afford to represent plain people; while renaissance sculpture, extracting a large amount of beauty out of combinations of surface and light, was able, as long as it could arrange such an artificial combination, to dispense with great perfection in the model. nay, if we except renaissance statuary as a kind of separate art, we may say that this independence of the object portrayed is a kind of analytic test, enabling us to judge at a glance, and by the degree of independence from the model, the degree to which any art is removed from the mere line and boss of antique sculpture. in the statue standing free in any light that may chance to come, every form must be beautiful from every point; but in proportion as the new elements of painting enter, in proportion as the actual linear form and boss is marked and helped out by grouping, colour, and light and shade, does the actual perfection of the model become less important; until, under the reign of light as the chief factor, it becomes altogether indifferent. in this fact lies the only rational foundation for the notion, made popular by hegel, that painting is an art in which beauty is of much less account than in sculpture; failing to understand that the sum total of beauty remained the same, whether dependent upon the concentration of a single element or obtained by the co-operation of several consequently less singly important elements. but to return to the question of portrait art. from what we have seen, it is clear that art which requires perfection of form will be reduced to ugliness if cramped in the obtaining of such perfection, whereas art which can obtain beauty by other means will still have a chance when reduced to imitate ugly object? hence it is that while the realistically decorative art of the seventeenth century can make actually beautiful things of the portraits of ugly people, the idealistically decorative art of the renaissance produces portraits which are cruelly ugly in proportion as the art is purely idealistic. yet even in idealism there are degrees: the more the art is confined to mere linear form, to the exclusion of colour, the uglier will be the portraits. with michael angelo the difficulty was simplified to impossibility: he could not paint portrait at all; and in his sculptured portraits of the two medicean dukes at s. lorenzo he evaded all attempt at likeness, making those two men into scarcely more than two architectural monsters, half-human cousins of the fantastic creatures who keep watch on the belfries and gurgoyles of a gothic cathedral. it is almost impossible to think of michael angelo attempting portrait: the man's genius cannot be constrained to it, and what ought to be mere ugliness would come out idealized into grandiose monstrosity. men like titian and tintoret are at the other end of the scale of ideal decoration: they are bordering upon the domain of realism. hence they can raise into interest, by the mere power of colour, many an insignificant type; yet even they are incapable of dealing with absolute ugliness, with absence of fine colour, or, if they do deal with it, there is an immediate improvement upon the model, and the appearance of truthfulness goes. between the absolute incapacity for dealing with ugliness of michael angelo, and the power of compromising with it of titian and tintoret, raphael stands half-way: he can call in the assistance of colour just sufficiently to create a setting of carefully harmonized draperies and accessories, beautiful enough to allow of his filling it up with the most cruelly ugly likeness which any painter ever painted. far too much has been written about raphael in general, but not half enough about raphael as a portrait-painter; for by the side of the eclectic idealist, who combined and balanced beauty almost into insipidity, is the most terribly, inflexibly veracious portrait-painter that ever was. compared with those sternly straightforward portraits of his florentine and roman time, where ugliness and baseness are never attenuated by one tittle, and alloyed nobility or amiability, as with his finer models, like the two donis, husband and wife, and bibbiena, is never purified of its troubling element; compared with them the venetian portraits are mere insincere, enormously idealized pieces of colour-harmony; nay, the portraits of velasquez are mere hints--given rapidly by a sickened painter striving to make those scrofulous hapsburgs no longer mere men, but keynotes of harmonies of light--of what the people really are. for velasquez seems to show us the temperament, the potentiality of his people, and to leave us, with a kind of dignified and melancholy silence as to all further, to find out what life, what feelings and actions, such a temperament implies. but raphael shows us all: the temperament and the character, the real active creature, with all the marks of his present temper and habits, with all the indications of his immediate actions upon him: completely without humour or bitterness, without the smallest tendency to twist the reality into caricature or monstrosity, nay, perhaps without much psychologic analysis to tell him the exact meaning of what he is painting, going straight to the point, and utterly ruthless from sheer absence of all alternative of doing otherwise than he does. there is nothing more cruelly realistic in the world, cruel not only to the base originals but to the feelings of the spectator, than the harmony of villainies, of various combinations of black and hog-like bestiality, and fox and wolf-like cunning and ferocity with wicked human thought and self-command, which raphael has enshrined in that splendid harmony of scarlet silk and crimson satin, and purple velvet and dull white brocade, as the portraits of leo x. and his cardinals rossi and dei medici. the idealistic painter, accustomed to rely upon the intrinsic beauty which he has hitherto been able to select or create; accustomed also to think of form as something quite independent of the medium through which it is seen, scarcely conscious of the existence of light and air in his habit of concentrating all attention upon a figure placed, as it were, in a sort of vacuum of indifference;--this idealistic artist is left without any resources when bid to paint an ugly man or woman. with the realistic artist, to whom the man or woman is utterly indifferent, to whom the medium in which they are seen is everything, the case is just reversed: let him arrange his light, his atmospheric effect, and he will work into their pattern no matter what plain or repulsive wretch. to velasquez the flaccid yellowish fair flesh, with its grey downy shadows, the limp pale drab hair, which is grey in the light and scarcely perceptibly blond in the shade, all this unhealthy, bloodless, feebly living, effete mass of humanity called philip iv. of spain, shivering in moral anæmia like some dog thorough bred into nothingness, becomes merely the foundation for a splendid harmony of pale tints. again, the poor little baby princess, with scarce visible features, seemingly kneaded (but not sufficiently pinched and modelled) out of the wet ashes of an _auto da fè_, in her black-and-white frock (how different from the dresses painted by raphael and titian!), dingy and gloomy enough for an abbess or a cameriera major, this childish personification of courtly dreariness, certainly born on an ash wednesday, becomes the principal strands for a marvellous tissue of silvery and ashy light, tinged yellowish in the hair, bluish in the eyes and downy cheeks, pale red in the lips and the rose in the hair; something to match which in beauty you must think of some rarely seen veined and jaspered rainy twilight, or opal-tinted hazy winter morning. ugliness, nay, repulsiveness, vanish, subdued into beauty, even as noxious gases may be subdued into health-giving substances by some cunning chemist. the difference between such portraits as these and the portraits by raphael does not however consist merely in the beauty: there is also the fact that if you take one of velasquez's portraits out of their frame, reconstitute the living individual, and bid him walk forth in whatsoever light may fall upon him, you will have something infinitely different from the portrait, and of which your only distinct feeling will be that a fine portrait might be made of the creature; whereas it is a matter of complete indifference whether you see raphael's leo x. in the flesh or in his gilded frame. whatever may fairly be said respecting the relative value of idealistic and realistic decorative art is really also connected with this latter point. considering that realistic art is merely obtaining beauty by attention to other factors than those which preoccupy idealistic art, that the one fulfils what the other neglects--taking the matter from this point of view, it would seem as if the two kinds of arts were, so to speak, morally equal; and that any vague sense of mysterious superior dignity clinging to idealistic art was a mere shred of long discarded pedantry. but it is not so. for realistic art does more than merely bring into play powers unknown to idealistic art: it becomes, by the possession of these powers, utterly indifferent to the intrinsic value of the forms represented: it is so certain of making everything lovely by its harmonies of light and atmosphere that it almost prefers to choose inferior things for this purpose. i am thinking at present of a picture by i forget what dutchman in our national gallery, representing in separate compartments five besotten-looking creatures, symbolical of the five senses: they are ugly, brutish, with i know not what suggestion of detestable temperament in their bloodshot flesh and vermilion lips, as if the whole man were saturated with his appetite. yet the dutchman has found the means of making these degraded types into something which we care to look at, and to look at on account of its beauty; even as, in lesser degree, rubens has always managed to make us feel towards his flaccid, veal-complexioned, fish-eyed women, something of what we feel towards the goddesses of the parthenon; towards the white-robed, long-gloved ladies, with meditative face beneath their crimped auburn hair, of titian. viewed in one way, there is a kind of nobility in the very fact that such realistic art can make us pardon, can redeem, nay almost sanctify, so much. but is it right thus to pardon, redeem, and sanctify; thus to bring the inferior on to the level of the superior? nay, is it not rather wrong to teach us to endure so much meanness and ugliness in creatures, on account of the nobility with which they are represented? is this not vitiating our feelings, blunting our desire for the better, our repugnance for the worse? a great and charitable art, this realistic art of the seventeenth century, and to be respected for its very tenderness towards the scorned and castaway things of reality; but accustoming us, perhaps too much, like all charitable and reclaiming impulses, to certain unworthy contacts: in strange contrast herein with that narrow but ascetic and aristocratic art of idealism, which, isolated and impoverished though it may be, has always the dignity of its immaculate purity, of its unswerving judgment, of its obstinate determination to deal only with the best. a hard task to judge between them. but be this as it may, it is one of the singular richnesses of the italian renaissance that it knew of both tendencies; that while in painting it gave the equivalent of that rigid idealism of the greeks which can make no compromise with ugliness; in sculpture it possessed the equivalent of the realism of velasquez, which can make beauty out of ugly things, even as the chemist can make sugar out of vitriol. * * * * * the school of boiardo. "le donne, i cavalieri, l' armi, gli amori." i. throughout the tales of charlemagne and his warriors, overtopping by far the crowd of paladins and knights, move two colossal mailed and vizored figures--roland, whom the italians call orlando and the spaniards roldan, the son of milon d'angers and of charlemagne's sister; and renaud or rinaldo, the lord of montauban, and eldest of the famous four sons of aymon. these are the two representative heroes, equal but opposed, the achilles and odysseus, the siegfried and dietrich, of the carolingian epic; and in each is personified, by the unconscious genius of the early middle ages, one of the great political movements, of the heroic struggles, of feudalism. for there existed in feudalism two forces, a centripetal and a centrifugal--a force which made for the supremacy of the kingly overlordship, and a force which made for the independence of the great vassals. hence, in the poetry which is the poetry of feudalism, two distinct currents of feeling, two distinct epics---the epic of the devoted loyalty of all the heroes of france to their wise and mighty emperor charlemagne, triumphant even in misfortune; and the epic of the hopeless resistance against a craven and capricious despot charles of the most righteous and whole-hearted among his feudatories: the epic of roland, and the epic of renaud. of the first there remains to us, in its inflexible and iron solemnity, an original rhymed narrative, "the chanson de roland," which we may read perhaps almost in the self-same words in which it was sung by the normans of william in their night watch before the great battle. the centripetal force of feudalism gained the upper hand, and the song of the great empire, of the great deeds of loyal prowess, was consecrated in the feudal monarchy. the case was different with the tale of resistance and rebellion. the story of renaud soon became a dangerous lesson for the great barons; it fell from the hands of the nobles to those of humbler folk; and it is preserved to us no longer in mediæval verse, but in a prose version, doubtless of the fifteenth century, under the name, familiar on the stalls of village fairs, of "the quatre fils aymon." but, as renaud is the equal of roland, so is this humble prose tale nevertheless the equal of the great song of roncevaux; and even now, it would be a difficult task to decide which were the grander, the tale of loyalty or the tale of resistance. in each of these tales,"the chanson de roland" and "the quatre fils aymon," there is contained a picture of its respective hero, which sums up, as it were, the whole noble character of the book; and which, the picture of the dying roland and the picture of the dying renaud, i would fain bring before you before speaking of the other roland and the other renaud, the orlando of ariosto and the rinaldo of boiardo. the traitor ganelon has enabled king marsile to overtake with all his heathenness the rear-guard of charlemagne between the granite walls of roncevaux; the franks have been massacred, but the saracens have been routed; roland has at last ceded to the prayers of oliver and of archbishop turpin; three times has he put to his mouth his oliphant and blown a blast to call back charlemagne to vengeance, till the blood has foamed round his lips and his temple has burst. oliver is dead, the archbishop is dying, roland himself is slowly bleeding to death. he goes down into the defile, heaped with corpses, and seeks for the bodies of the principal paladins, ivon and ivaire, the gascon engelier, gérier and gérin, bérenger and otho, anseis and salamon, and the old gerard of rousillon; and one by one drags them to where the archbishop lies dying. and then, when to these knights roland has at last added his own beloved comrade oliver, he bids the archbishop bless all the dead, before he die himself. then, when he has reverently crossed turpin's beautiful priestly hands over his breast, he goes forth to shatter his sword durendal against the rocks; but the good sword has cut the rock without shivering; and the coldness of death steals, over roland. he stretches himself upon a hillock looking towards spain, and prays for the forgiveness of his sins; then, with durendal and his ivory horn by his side, he stretches out the glove of his right hand to god. "he has stretched forth to god the glove of his right hand; st. gabriel has received it... then his head has sunk on his arm; he has gone, with clasped hands, to his end. god sends him one of his cherubim and st. michael of peril. st. gabriel has come with them. they carry the soul of the count: up to paradise." more solitary, and solemn and sad even, is the end of the other hero, of the great rebel renaud of montauban. at length, after a lifetime wasted in fruitless, attempts to resist the iniquity of the emperor, to baffle his power, to shame him by magnanimity into, justice, the four sons of aymon, who have given up their youth, their manhood, the dearest things to their heart, respect to their father and loyalty to their sovereign, rather than countenance the injustice of charlemagne to their kinsman, have at last obtained to be pardoned; to be pardoned, they, heroes, by this, dastardly tyrant, and to quietly sink, broken-hearted into nothingness. the eldest, renaud, returning from his exile and the holy land, finds that his wife clarisse has pined for him and died; and then, putting away his armour from him, and dressing in a pilgrim's frock made of the purple serge of the dead lady's robe, he goes forth to wander through the world; not very old in years, but broken-spirited; at peace, but in solitude of heart. and one evening he arrives at cologne. we can imagine the old knight, only half aware of the sunshine of the evening, the noise of the streets, the looks of the crowd, the great minster rising half-finished in the midst of the town by the rhine, the cries and noise and chipping of the masons; unconscious of all this, half away: with his brothers hiding in the ardennes, living on roots and berries, at bay before charlemagne; or wandering ragged and famishing through france; with king yon brilliant at toulouse, seeing perhaps for the first time his bride clarisse, or the towers of montauban rising under the workmen's hands; thinking perhaps of the frightful siege, when all, all had been eaten in the fortress, and his children aymonnet and yonnet, all thin and white, knelt down and begged him to slaughter his horse bayard that they might eat; perhaps of that journey, when he and his brothers, all in red-furred robes with roses in their hands, rode prisoners of king charles across the plain of vaucouleurs; perhaps of when he galloped up to the gallows at montfaucon, and cut loose his brother richard; or of that daring ride to paris, where he and his horse won the race, snatched the prize from before charlemagne and sped off crying out that the winner was renaud of montauban; or, perhaps, seeing once more the sad, sweet face of the lady clarisse, when she had burned all her precious stuffs and tires in the castle-yard, and lay dead without him to kiss her cold mouth; of seeing once more his good horse bayard, when he kissed him in his stall before giving him to be killed by charlemagne. thinking of all that past, seeing it all within his mind, and seeing but little of the present; as, in the low yellow light, he helped, for his bread, the workmen to heave the great beams, to carry the great stones of the cathedral, to split the huge marble masses while they stared in astonished envy; as he sat, unconscious of their mutterings, eating his dry bread and porridge in the building docks by the river. and then, when wearied, he had sunk to sleep in the hay-loft, dreaming perchance that all this evil life was but a dream and the awakening therefrom to happiness and strength; the jealous workmen came and killed him with their base tools, and cast him into the rhine. they say that the huge body floated on the water, surrounded by a great halo; and that when the men of the banks, seeing this, reverently fished it out, they found that the noble corpse was untouched by decay, and still surrounded by a light of glory. and thus, it seems to me, this renaud, this rebel baron of whose reality we know nothing, has floated surrounded by a halo of poetry down the black flood of the middle ages (in which so much has sunk); and when we look upon his face, and see its beauty and strength and solemness, we feel, like the people of the rhine bank, inclined to weep, and to say of this mysterious corpse, "surely this is some great saint." of each of these heroes thus shown us by the middle ages, the italian renaissance also, by the hand of two of her greatest poets, has given us a picture. and first, of roland. of him, of count orlando, we are told by messer lodovico ariosto, that in consequence of his having discovered, in a certain pleasant grotto among the ferns and maidenhair, words graven on the rock (interrupted, doubtless, by the lover's kisses) which revealed that the princess angelica of cathay had disdained him for medoro, the fair-haired page of the king of the moors; count orlando went straightway out of his mind, and hanging up his armour and stripping off his clothes, galloped about on his bare-backed horse, slaughtering cows and sheep instead of saracens; until it pleased god, moved by the danger of christendom and the prayers of charlemagne, to permit astolfo to ride on the hippogriffs back up to the moon, and bring back thence the wits of the great paladin contained in a small phial. we all know that merry tale. what the renaissance has to say of renaud of montauban is even stranger and more fantastic. one day, says matteo boiardo, in the fifteenth canto of the second part of his "orlando innamorato," as rinaldo of montalbano, the contemner of love, was riding in the ardennes, he came to a clearing in the forest, where, close to the fountain of merlin, a wonderful sight met his eyes. on a flowery meadow were dancing three naked damsels, and singing with them danced also a naked youth, dark of eyes and fair of hair, the first down on his lips, so that some might have said it was and others that it was not there. on rinaldo's approach they broke through their singing and dancing, and rushed upon him, pelting him with roses and hyacinths and violets from their baskets, and beating him with great sheaves of lilies, which burnt like flames through the plates of his armour to the very marrow of his bones. then when they had dragged him, tied with garlands, by the feet round and round the meadow; wings, eyed not with the eyes of a peacock but with the eyes of lovely damsels, suddenly sprouted out of their shoulders, and they flew off, leaving the poor baron, bruised on the grass, to meditate upon the vanity of all future resistance to love. such are the things which the middle ages and the renaissance found to tell us of the two great heroes of carolingian poetry. and the explanation of how it came to pass, that for the roland of the song of roncevaux was substituted the orlando of ariosto, and for the renaud of "the quatre fils aymon" the rinaldo of matteo boiardo--means simply that which i desire here to study: the metamorphoses of mediæval romance stuffs, and, more especially, the vicissitudes of the cycle of charlemagne. ii. we are apt to think of the middle ages as if they were the companion-piece to antiquity; but no such ideal correspondence exists between the two periods. antiquity is all of a piece, and the middle ages, on the contrary, are heterogeneous and chaotic. for antiquity is the steady and uniform development of civilization in one direction and with one meaning; there are great differences between its various epochs, but they are as the differences between the budding, the blossoming, and the fading stages of one plant: life varies, but is one. the middle ages, on the other hand, are a series of false starts, of interruptions and of new departures; a perpetual confusion. for, if we think over them, we shall see that these centuries called mediæval are occupied by the effort of one people, or one generation, to put to rights and settle down among as much as it can save of the civilization of antiquity. and the sudden overwhelming of this people or this generation by another, which puts all the elaborate arrangements into disarray, adds to the ruins of antiquity the ruins of more recent times; and then this destroying generation tries to put things straight, to settle down, and is in its turn interrupted by the advent of some new comer who begins the game afresh. as it is with peoples, so also is it with ideas; scarcely has a scheme of life or of philosophy or of art taken shape and consistence before, from out of the inexhaustible chaos of mediæval thought and feeling, there issue new necessities, new aspirations, which put into confusion all previous ones. the middle ages were like some financial crisis: a little time, a little credit, money will fructify, wealth will reappear, the difficult moment will be tided over; and so with civilization. but unfortunately the wealth of ideas began to accumulate in the storehouse only just long enough to bring down a rout of creditors, people who rifled the bank, and went home to consume or invest their money in order to be succeeded by others. hence, in the matter of civilization, the middle ages ended in an extraordinary slow ruin, a bankruptcy like that which overtook france before ' , and from which, as france was restored by the bold seizure and breaking up of property of the revolution, the world was restored by the bold breaking of feudal and spiritual mortmain, the restoring of wasted energies to utility, of that great double revolution, the renaissance and the reformation. be this as it may, mankind throughout the middle ages appears to have been in a chronic condition of packing up and unpacking, and packing up again; one after another a nation, a race, a philosophy, a political system came to the front and was pushed back again into limbo: germans and kelts and latins, french civilization of the day of abélard, provençal civilization of the days of the raymonds, brilliant and evanescent hohenstauffen supremacy, papacy at canossa and at avignon, templars triumphant and templars persecuted; scholasticism, mysticism, feudalism, democracy, communism: influences all these perpetually rising up and being trodden down, till they all rotted away in the great stagnation of the fifteenth century; and only in one part of the world, where the conflict was more speedily ended, where one set of tendencies early triumphed, where stability was temporarily obtained, in italy alone did civilization continue to be nurtured and developed for the benefit of all mankind. in such a state of affairs only such things could flourish and mature as were safe from what i have called, for want of a better expression, the perpetual unpacking and repacking, the perpetual being on the move, of the middle ages; and among such things foremost was art, the essential art of the times, architecture, which, belonging to the small towns, to the infinite minority of the democracy, who worked and made money and let the great changes pass over their heads, thrived almost as something too insignificant for notice. but it was different with literature. cathedrals once built cannot so easily be changed; new peoples, new ideas, must accept them. but poetry--the thing which every nation insists upon having to suit its own taste, the thing which every nation and every generation carries about with it hither and thither, the thing which can be altered to suit every passing whim--poetry was, of all the fluctuating things of the middle ages, perhaps the most fluctuating. and fluctuating also because, as none of these various nations, tendencies, aspirations, dominated sufficiently long to produce any highly organized art, there remained no standard works, nothing recognizedly perfect, which would be kept for its perfection and gather round it imitations, so as to form the nucleus of any homogeneous tradition. the middle ages, so full of fashions in literary matters, possessed no classics; the minnesingers knew nothing of the stern old teutonic war songs; the meistersängers had forgotten the minnesingers; the trouvères and troubadours knew nothing of "the chanson de roland," and villon knew nothing of them; only in italy, where the middle ages came to an end and the renaissance began with the lombard league, was there established a tradition of excellence, with men like dante, petrarch, and boccaccio, handed down from generation to generation; even as, while in the north there came about the strange modification which substituted the french of rabelais for the french of chrestien de troyes, the german of luther for the german of wolfram von eschenbach, the italian language, from ciullo d'alcamo almost to boiardo and lorenzo dei medici, remained virtually identical. the result of this, which i may call the heterogeneousness and instability of the middle ages was that not merely literary forms were for ever arising and being superseded, but literary subject matter was continually undergoing a process of transformation. while in antiquity the great epic and tragic stuffs remained well-nigh unaltered, and the stories of valerius flaccus and apollonius rhodius were merely the stories which had been current since the days of homer, during the course of the middle ages every epic cycle, and every tale belonging thereunto, was gradually adulterated, mingled with, swamped by, some other cycle or tale; nay, rather, every other, cycle and every other tale, the older ones trying to save their popularity by admixture with the more recent, till at last all mythical significance, all historical meaning, all national character, all psychological reality, were lost in the chaotic result. and meanwhile, in the absence of any stable language, of any durable literary fashion, the middle ages were unable to give to these epic stuffs, at any one period of their life of metamorphose, a form sufficiently artistically valuable to secure anything beyond momentary vogue, to secure for them the immortality of the great greek tales of adventure and warfare and love. thus it came about that the epic cycle of charlemagne, after supplanting in men's minds the grand sagas of the pagan north, was itself supplanted by the arthurian cycle; that the frankish stories absorbed the wholly discrepant elements of their more fortunate keltic rivals; that both cycles, having lost all character through fusion and through obliteration by time, became more meaningless generation by generation and year by year, until when the middle ages had come to an end, and the great poets of the renaissance were ready to give this old mediæval epic stuff a definitive and durable artistic shape, there came to the hands of boiardo and ariosto, of tasso and spenser, only a strange, trumpery material, muddled by jongleurs and romance writers, and reduced to mere fairy stuff, taken seriously only by don quixote, and by the authors of the volumes of insane twaddle called after amadis of gaul and all his kinsmen. such a condition of perpetual change as explains, in my belief, why the mediæval epic subjects were wanted, can be made clear only by examples. i shall therefore try to show the transformations which were undergone by one or two principal mediæval epic subjects as a result of a mixture with other epic cycles; of a gradual adaptation to a new state of civilization; and finally of their gradual separation from all kind of reality and real interests. first of all, let us look at the epic cycle, which, although known to us only in poems no older than those of the trouvères and minnesingers who sang of charlemagne and arthur, is in reality far more ancient, and on account of its antiquity and its consequent disconnection with mediæval religious and political interests, was thrown aside even by the nations to which it belonged, by the scandinavians who took to writing sagas about the wars of charlemagne against saracens, and by the germans who preferred to hear the adventures of welsh and briton, launcelots and tristrams. i am alluding to the stories connected with the family and life of the hero called sigurd by the scandinavians, and siegfried by the germans. of these we possess a norse version called the volsunga saga, magnificently done into english by mr. william morris; which, although written down at the end of the twelfth century, in the very time therefore of chrestien de troyes, wolfram von eschenbach, and gottfried von strassburg, and subsequently to the presumed writing of "the chanson de roland" and the nibelungenlied, shows us in reality the product of a people, the distant scandinavians of iceland, who were five or six hundred years behind the french, germans, and english of the twelfth century. in the volsunga saga, neither christianity nor feudalism is yet dreamed of; and it is for this reason that i wish to compare it with the nibelungenlied, in order to show how enormously the old epic stuff was altered by the new civilization. the whole social and moral condition of the two versions is different. in the old scandinavian civilization, where the viking is surrounded and served by clansmen, the feeling of blood relationship is the strongest in people's hearts; strangely and fearfully shown in the introductory tale of signy, who, in order to avenge her father volsung, killed by her husband, murders her children by the latter, and then, altered in face by magic arts, goes forth to the woods to her brother sigmund, that, un-wittingly, he may beget with her the only man fit to avenge the volsungs. and then she sends the boy sinfjotli to the man he has hitherto considered merely as his uncle, bidding the latter kill him if he prove unworthy of his incestuous birth, or train him to vengeance. the three together murder the husband and legitimate children of signy, and set the palace on fire; which, being done, the queen, having accomplished her duty to her kin, accomplishes that towards her husband, and calmly returns to die in the burning hall. here (and apparently again in the case of the children of sigurd and brynhilt) incest becomes a family virtue. this being the frightful preponderance of the feeling of blood relationship, it is quite natural that the scandinavian chriemhilt (called in the volsunga saga, gudrun) should not resent the murder of her husband siegfried or sigurd by her brothers at the instigation of the jealous brynhilt (who has in a manner been sigurd's wife before he made her over to chriemhilt's eldest brother); and that, so far from seeking any revenge against them, she should, when her second husband atli sends for her brothers in order to rob and murder them, first vainly warn them of the plot, and then, when they have been massacred, kill atli and her children by him in order to avenge her brothers. the slackening of the tribal feeling, the idea of fidelity in love and sanctity of marriage belonging to christianity and feudalism, rendered such a story unintelligible to the germans of the othos and henrys. in the nibelungenlied, the whole story of the massacre of the brothers is changed. chriemhilt never forgives the murder of siegfried, and it is not etzel--atli for the sake of plunder, but she herself for the sake of revenge, who decoys her brothers and murders them; it is she who with her own hand cuts off the head of gunther to expiate his murder of siegfried. to our feelings, more akin to those of the feudal christians of franconia than to those of the tribal scandinavians of the edda, the second version is far more intelligible and interesting--the story of this once gentle and loving chriemhilt, turned by the murder of her beloved into a fury, and plotting to avenge his death by the death of all his kinsfolk, must be much grander and more pathetic than the story of this strange gudrun, who sits down patiently beneath the injury done to her by her brothers, but savagely avenges them on her new husband, and her own and his innocent children; to us this persistence of tribal feeling, destroying all indignation and love, is merely unnatural, confusing, and repulsive. but this alteration for the better in one of the incidents of the tale is a mere fluke; and the whole main plot of the originally central figures are completely obliterated by the new state of civilization, and rendered merely trivial and grotesque. in the volsunga saga sigurd, overcome by enchantments, has forgotten his wife (or mistress, a vague mythical relationship); and, with all sense of the past obliterated, has made her over to the brother of his new wife gudrun; and brynhilt kills her faithless love to dissolve the second marriage and be reunited with him in death. in the nibelungenlied siegfried, although the flower of knighthood, conquers by foul play the amazon brunhilt to reward gunther for the hand of his sister; nay, in a comic and loathsome scene he forces her into the embraces of the craven gunther; and then he gets killed by brunhilt's machinations; when, after most unqueenly bickerings, the proud amazon is brutally told by siegfried's wife of the dirty trick which has given her to gunther. after this, it is impossible to realize, when siegfried is murdered and all our sympathies called on to his side, the utterly out-of-character, blackguardly behaviour which has brought the hero to his death. similarly the conception of the character and position of brynhilt is entirely disfigured and rendered inane in the nibelungenlied: of that superb demi-goddess of the scandinavians, burnt on the pyre with her falcons and dogs and horses and slaves, by the side of the demi-god sigurd, whom she has loved and killed, lest the door of valhalla, swinging after him, should shut her out from his presence; of her there remains in the german mediæval poem only a virago (more like the giantesses of the amadis romances) enraged at having been defeated and grotesquely and grossly pummelled into wedlock by a man not her husband, and then slanged like a fishwife by her envious sister-in-law. the old, consistent, grandly tragic tale of the mysterious incests and revenges of a race of demi-gods has lost its sense, its point in the attempt to arrange it to suit christian and feudal ideas. the really fine portions of the nibelungenlied are exactly those which have no real connection with the original story, gratuitous additions by mediæval poets. the delicately indicated falling in love of siegfried and chriemhilt, the struggles of markgraf rüdger between obedience to his feudal superior and fidelity towards his friends and guests; and, above all, the canto of the death of siegfried. this last is different, intensely different, from the rugged and dreary monotony of the rest; this most poetical, almost spenserian or ariostesque realization of the scene; this beautiful picture (though worked with the needle of the arras-worker rather than with pencil or brush) of the wood, the hunt, the solitary fountain in the odenwald, where, with his spear leaned against the lime-tree, siegfried was struck down into the clover and flowers, and writhed with hagen's steel through his back. this canto is certainly interpolated by some first-rate poet, at least a gottfried or a walther, to whom that passage of the savage old droning song of death had suggested a piece of new art; it is like the fragments of exquisitely chiselled leafage and figures which you sometimes find encrusted--by whom? wherefore?--quite isolated in the midst of the rough and lichen-stained stones of some rude lombard church. all the rest of the nibelungenlied gives an impression of effeteness; there is no definiteness of idea such as that of the volsunga saga; the battles are mere vague slaughter, no action, no realized movement, or (excepting rüdger) no realized motive of conduct. shape and colour would seem to have been obliterated by repetition and alteration. yet even these alterations could not make the tale of siegfried survive among the germans of the middle ages; nay, the more the alterations the less the interest; the want of consistency and colour due to rearrangement merely accelerated the throwing aside of a subject which, dating from pagan and tribal times, had become repugnant to the new generations. all the mutilations in the world could not make the old scandinavian tales of betrayed trust, of revenge and triumphant bloodshed, at all sympathetic to men whose religious and social ideals were those of forgiveness and fidelity; even stripped of its incestuous mysteries and of its fearful tribal love, the tale of sigurd and brynhilt, reduced to the tale of chriemhilt's revenge, was unpalatable: no more attempts were made at re-writing it, and the poems of walther, of gottfried, of wolfram, of ulrich, and of tannhäuser, full as they are of references to stories of the carolingian and arthurian cycles, nay, to antique and oriental tales, contain no allusion to the personages of the nibelungenlied. the old epic of the gothic races had been pushed aside by the triumphant epic of the obscure and conquered kelts. there are few phenomena in the history of ideas and forms more singular than that of the sudden conquest of the poetry of dominant or distant nations by the poetic subjects of a comparatively small race, sheared of all political importance, restricted to a trifling territory, and well-nigh deprived of their language; and of this there can be found no more striking example than the sudden ousting of the carolingian epic by the cycle of arthur. the kelts of britain and ireland possessed an epic cycle of their own, which came to notice only when they were dispossessed of their last strongholds by saxons and normans, and which immediately spread with astounding rapidity all over europe. the vanquished race became fashionable; themselves, their art and their poetry, began to be sought for as a precious and war-enhanced loot. the heroic tales of the kelts were transcribed in welsh, and translated into latin, by order of the norman and angevine kings, glad, it would seem, to oppose the old briton to the saxon element. the keltic songs were carried all over france by breton bards, to whose music and rhymes, with only a general idea of the subjects, the neo-latin-speaking franks listened with the sort of stolid satisfaction with which english or germans of a hundred years ago listened to italians singing metastasio's verses. but soon the songs and tales were translated; and french poets imitated in their language, northern and southern, the graceful metres of the keltic lays, and altered and arranged their subjects. so that, in a very short time, france, and through it germany, was inundated with keltic stories. this triumph of the vanquished race was not without reason. the kelts, early civilized by rome and christianity, had a set of stories and a set of heroes extremely in accordance with mediæval ideas, and requiring but very little alteration. the considerable age of their civilization had long obliterated all traces of pagan and tribal feeling in their tales. their heroes, originally, like those of all other people, divinities intimately connected with natural phenomena, had long lost all cosmic characteristics, long ceased to be gods, and, manipulated by the fancy of a race whose greatness was quite a thing of the past, had become a sort of golden age ideals--the men of a distant period of glory, which was adorned with every kind of perfection, till it became as unreal as fairyland. fairyland, in good sooth, was this country of the keltic tales; and there is a sort of symbolical significance in the fact of its lawgiver merlin, and its emperor arthur, being both of them not dead, like sigurd, like dietrich, like charlemagne and roland, but lying in enchanted sleep. long inaction and the day-dreaming of idleness had refined and idealized the heroes of this keltic race--a race of brilliant fancy and almost southern mobility, and softened for a long time by contact with roman colonists and christian priests. they were not the brutal combatants of an active fighting age, like the heroes of the edda and of the carolingian cycles; nor had they any particular military work to do, belonging as they did to a people huddled away into inactivity. their sole occupation was to extend abroad that ideal happiness which reigned in the ideal court of arthur; to go forth on the loose and see what ill-conditioned folk there might yet be who required being subdued or taught manners in the happy kingdom, which the poor insignificant kelts connected with some princelet of theirs who centuries before may have momentarily repelled the pagan saxons. hence in the keltic stories, such as they exist in the versions previous to the conquest by the norman kings, and previous also to any communications with other peoples, the distinct beginning of what was later to be called knight-errantry; of heroes, creations of an inactive nation, having no special military duties, going forth to do what good they may at random, unforced by any necessity, and following a mere æsthetico-romantic plan of perfecting themselves by deeds of valour to become more worthy of their god, their king, and their lady: religion, loyalty, and love, all three of them mere æsthetic abstractions, becoming the goal of an essentially æsthetic, unpractical system of self-improvement, such as was utterly incompatible with any real and serious business in life. idle poetic fancies of an inert people, the knights of the round table have no mission save that of being poetically perfect. such was the spirit of keltic poetry; and, as it happened, this spirit satisfied the imaginative wants of mediæval society just at the moment when political events diffused in other countries the knowledge of the arthurian legends. the old teutonic tales of sigurd, gudrun, and dietrich, had long ceased to appeal, in their mutilated and obliterated condition, to a society to whom tribal feeling and pagan heroism were odious, and whose religion distinctly reproved revenge. these semi-mythological tales had been replaced by another cycle: the purely realistic epic, which had arisen during the struggles between the christian west against the pagan north-east and the mohammedan south, and which, originating in the short battle-songs narrating the exploits of the predecessors and help-mates of charlemagne, had constituted itself into large narratives of which the "song of roland" represents artistic culmination. these narratives of mere military exploits, of the battles of a strong feudal aristocracy animated by feudal loyalty and half-religious, half-patriotic fury against invading heathenness, had perfectly satisfied the men of the earliest middle ages, of the times when feudalism was being established and the church being reformed; when the strong military princelets of the north were embarking with their barons to conquer new kingdoms in england and in italy and greece; when the whole of feudal europe hurled itself against asia in the first crusades. but the condition of things soon altered: the feudal hierarchy was broken up into a number of semi-independent little kingdoms or principalities, struggling, with the assistance of industrial and mercantile classes, to become absolute monarchies; princes who had been mere generals became stay-at-home diplomatists, studious of taxation and intrigue, surrounded no longer by armed vassals, but by an essentially urban court, in constant communication with the money-making burghers. religion, also, instead of being a matter of fighting with infidel invaders, turned to fantastic sectarianism and emotional mysticism. with the sense of futility, of disappointment, attendant on the later crusades, came also a habit of roaming in strange countries, of isolated adventure in search of wealth or information, a love of the distant, the half-understood, the equivocal; perhaps even a hankering after a mysterious compromise between the religion of europe and the religions of the east, such as appears to have existed among the templars and other franks settled in asia. there was, throughout feudal society, a sort of enervated languor, a morbid longing for something new, now that the old had ceased to be possible or had proved futile; after the great excitement of the crusades it was impossible to be either sedately idle or quietly active, even as it is with all of us during the days of weariness and restlessness after some long journey. to such a society the strongly realistic carolingian epic had ceased to appeal: the tales of the welsh and breton bards, repeated by trouvère and jongleur, troubadour and minnesinger, came as a revelation. the fatigued, disappointed, morbid, imaginative society of the later crusades recognized in this fairyland epic of a long refined, long idle, nay, effete race, the realization of their own ideal: of activity unhampered by aim or organization, of sentiment and emotion and action quite useless and unnecessary, purely subservient to imaginative gratification. these arthurs, launcelots, tristrams, kays, and gawains, fantastic phantoms, were also far more artistically malleable than the iron rolands, olivers, and renauds of earlier days; that unknown kingdom of britain could much more easily be made the impossible ideal, in longing for which squeamish and lazy minds might refuse all coarser reality. moreover, those who listened to the tales of chivalry were different from those who had listened to the carolingian stories; and, therefore, required something different. they were courtiers, and one half of them were women. now the carolingian tales, originally battle-songs, sung in camps and castles to mere soldiers, had at first possessed no female characters at all; and when gradually they were introduced, it was in the coarsest barrack or tap-room style. the keltic tales, on the contrary, whether from national tradition, or rather from longer familiarity with christian culture and greater idleness of life, naturally made women and women's love the goal of a great many adventures which an effete nation could no longer ascribe to patriotic movements. but this was not all. the religious feeling of the day was extremely inclined to mysticism, in which æsthetic, erotic, and all kinds of morbid and ill-defined tendencies were united, which was more than anything else tinged with a semi-asiatic quietism, a longing for the passive ecstasy of nirvâna. this religious side of mediæval life was also gratified by the arthurian romances. oddly enough, there existed an old welsh or breton tale about the boy peredur, who from a complete simpleton became the prince of chivalry, and his many adventures connected with a certain mysterious blood-dripping lance, and a still more mysterious basin or _grail_ (an allusion to which is said by m. de la villemarqué to be contained in the originally keltic name of percival), which possessed magic properties akin to those of the purse of fortunatus, or the pipkin in the story of "little pot, boil!" the story, whose original mythical meaning had been lost in the several centuries of christianity, was very decayed and obscure; and the fact of the blood on the lance being that of a murdered kinsman of peredur, and of the basin containing the head of the same person cut off by gloucester witches, was evidently insufficient to account for all the mystery with which these objects were surrounded. the french poets of the middle ages, strongly imbued with oriental legends brought back by the crusaders, saw at a glance the meaning of the whole story: the lance was the lance with which longinus had pierced the saviour's side; the grail was the cup which had received his blood, nay, it was the cup of the last supper. a tale about the preservation of these precious relics by joseph of arimathæa, was immediately connected therewith; a theory was set up (doubtless with the aid of quite unchristian, oriental legends) of a kind of kingdom of the keepers of the grail, of a vague half-material, half-spiritual state of bliss connected with the service of the grail, which fed its knights (and here the templars and their semi-oriental mysteries, for which they were later so frightfully misused, certainly come into play) with food which is at once of the body and of the soul. thus the keltic peredur, bent upon massacring the gloucester witches to avenge his uncle, was turned into a saintly knight, seeking throughout a more and more perfect life for the kingdom of the grail: the perceval of chrestien de troyes, the parzifal of wolfram von eschenbach, whom later romance writers (wishing to connect everything more closely with arthur's court) replaced by the sir galahad of the "morte d'arthur," while the guest of the grail became a sort of general mission of several knights, a sort of spiritual crusade to whose successful champions percival, bors, and galahad, the middle ages did not hesitate to add the arch-adulterer launcelot. thus did the arthurian tales answer the requirements of the languid, dreamy, courtly, lady-serving and religiously mystic sons and grandsons of those earlier crusaders whose aspirations had been expressed by the rough and solemn heroes of carolingian tales. the carolingian tales were thrown aside, or were kept by the noble mediæval poets only on condition of their original meaning being completely defaced by wholesale admixture of the manners and adventures belonging to the arthurian cycles. the paladins were forced to disport themselves in the same fairyland as the knights of the round table; and many mediæval poems the heroes of which, like ogier of denmark and huon of bordeaux, already existed in the carolingian tales, are in reality, with their romantic loves, their useless adventures, their morgana's castles and oberon's horns, offshoots of the keltic stories, which were as rich in every kind of supernatural (being, in fact, pagan myths turned into fairy tales) as the genuine carolingian subjects, whose origin was entirely historical, were completely devoid of such things. arthur and his ladies and knights: guenevere, elaine, enid, yseult, launcelot, geraint, kay, gawain, tristram, and percival-galahad, were the real heroes and heroines of the courtly nobles and the courtly poets of this second phase of mediæval life. the teuton charlemagne, roland and oliver were as completely forgotten of the poets who met in that memorable combat of the wartburg, as were the teuton sigurd and dietrich. and if the carolingian cycle survived, however much altered, i think it must have been thanks to the burghers and artizans of the netherlands and of provence, to whom the bluff, matter-of-fact heroism, the simple, gross, but not illegitimate amours of carolingian heroes, were more satisfactory than any mystic quest of the grail, any refined adultery of guenevere or yseult. but the inevitable fate of all mediæval epics awaited this triumphant arthurian cycle: the fate of being obliterated by passing from one nation and civilization to another, long before the existence of any poetic art adequate to its treatment. of this i will take as an example one of the mediæval poems which has the greatest reputation the masterpiece (according to most critics, with whom i find it difficult, in the presence of a poet like gottfried von strassburg, to agree) of probably the most really poetical and earnest school of poetry which the pre-dantesque middle ages possessed--the "parzifal" of wolfram von eschenbach. the paramount impression (i cannot say the strongest, for strong impressions are incompatible with such work as this) left by the masterpiece of wolfram von eschenbach, is that of the most astonishing vagueness, fluidity, haziness, vaporousness. in reading it one looks back to that rudely hewn and extremely obliterated nibelungenlied, as to something quite astonishingly clear, detailed and strongly marked as to something distinctly artistic. indeed by the side of "parzifal" everything seems artistic; hartmann von aue reads like chaucer, "aucassin et nicolette" is as living as "cymbeline," "chevy chase" seems as good as the battles of homer. it is not a narrative, but a vague mooning; a knight illiterate, not merely like his fellow minnesingers, in the way of reading and writing, but in the sense of complete absence of all habit of literary form; extremely noble and pure of mind, chaste, gentle, with a funny, puzzled sense of humour, reminding one distantly of jean paul in his drowsy moments; a hanger-on of courts, but perfectly simple-hearted and childlike; very poor and easily pleased: such is, for good and for bad, herr wolfram von eschenbach, the only real personality in his poem. and he narrates, in a mooning, digressive, good-natured, drowsy tone, with only a rare awaking of interest, a story which he has heard from some one else, and that some one else from a series of other some one elses (chrestien de troyes, a legendary provençal chiot or guyot, perhaps even the original welsh bard); all muddled, monotonous, and droning; events and persons ill-defined, without any sense of the relative importance of anything, without clear perception of what it is all about, or at least without the power of keeping the matter straight before the reader. a story, in point of fact, which is no story at all, but a mere series of rambling adventures (adventures which are scarcely adventures, having no point or plot) of various people with not much connection and no individuality--gachmuret, parzifal, gawain, loherangrein, anfortas, feirefis--pale ghosts of beings, moving in a country of kennaqwhere, aquitaine, anjou, brittany, wales, spain, and heaven knows what wondrous oriental places; a misty country with woods and towns and castles which are infinitely far apart and yet quite near each other; which seem to sail about like cloud castles round the only solid place in the book, plimizöl, where arthur's court, with round table constantly spread, is for ever established. a no place, nowhere; yet full of details; minute inventories of the splendid furniture of castles (castles where? how reached?); infinitely inferior in this matter even to the nibelungenlied, where you are made to feel so vividly (one of the few modern and therefore clear things therein) the long, dreary road from worms to bechlarn, and thence to etzelburg, though of none of them is there anything beyond a name. for the nibelungen story had been localized in what to narrator and audience was a reality, the country in which themselves lived, where themselves might seek out the abbey in which siegfried was buried, the well in the odenwald near which he was stabbed; where they knew from merchant and pilgrim the road taken by the nibelungs from santen to worms, by the burgundians from worms to hungary. but here in "parzifal" we are in a mere vague world of anywhere, the world of keltic and oriental romance become mere cloudland to the thuringian knight. and similarly have the heroes of other nations, the arthurs, gawains, gachmurets, of wales and anjou, become mere vague names; they have become liquified, lost all shape and local habitation. they are mere names, these ladies and knights of herr wolfram, names with fair pink and white faces, names magnificently draped in bejewelled oriental stuffs and embossed armour; they have no home, no work, nothing to do. this is the most remarkable characteristic of "parzifal," and what makes it so typical of the process of growing inane through overmuch alteration, which prevented the mediæval epics ever turning into an iliad or an odyssey; this that it is essentially idle and all about nothing. the feudal relations strongly marked in the german nibelungenlied have melted away like the distinctions of race: every knight is independent, not a vassal nor a captain, a volker or hagen, or roland or renaud followed by his men; but an isolated individual, without even a squire, wandering about alone through this hazy land of nowhere. knight-errantry, in the time of the great guelph and ghibelline struggles, every bit as ideal as that of spenser or cervantes; and with the difference that sir calidore and sir artegal have an appointed task, some blatant beast or other nuisance to overcome; and that don quixote has the general rescuing of all the oppressed princesse micomiconas, and the destruction of all windmills, and the capturing of all helmets of mambrino, and the establishing all over the world of the worship of dulcinea. but these knights of wolfram von eschenbach have no more this mission than they have the politico-military missions, missions of a rüdger or a roland. they are all riding about at random, without any particular pagans, necromancers, or dragons to pursue. the very service of the holy grail, which is the main interest of the poem, consists in nothing apparently except living virtuously at the castle of montselväsche, and virtuously eating and drinking the victuals provided miraculously. to be admitted to this service, no initiation, no mission, nothing preliminary seems required. parzifal himself merely wanders about vaguely, without doing any specified thing. the fact is that in this poem all has become purely ideal; ideal to the point of utter vacuity: there is no connection with any human business. of all the heroes and heroines we hear that they are perfectly chaste, truthful, upright; and they are never put into any situation to test these qualities: they are never placed in the way of temptation, never made to fight with evil, or to decide between it and good. the very religion of the holy grail consists in doing nothing: not a word about relieving the poor or oppressed, of tending the sick, of delivering the holy sepulchre, of defending that great injured one, christ. to be grail knight or even grail king means to be exactly the same as before. where in this vague dreamland of passive purity and heroism, of untempted chastity and untried honour, where are the earthly trials of tristram, of guenevere, of rüdger, of renaud? where the moral struggles of the middle ages? where is godfrey, or francis, or dominick? nowhere. all has disappeared, melted away; christianity and paganism themselves have melted away or into each other, as in the easy meeting of the pagan feirefis and the christian parzifal, and in the double marriage of gachmuret with the indian belakane and the welsh herzeloid; there remains only a kind of buddhistic nirvâna of vague passive perfection, but without any renunciation; and in a world devoid of evil and full of excellent brocade and armour and eatables, and lovely maidens who dress and undress you, and chastely kiss you on the mouth; a world without desire, aspiration, or combat, vacantly happy and virtuous. a world purely ideal, divorced from all reality, unsubstantial like the kingdom of gloriana, but, unlike spenser's, quite unshadowed by any puritan sadness, by any sense of evil, untroubled by allegorical vices; cheerful, serene, filled with flowers and song of birds, but as unreal as the illuminated arabesques of a missal. in truth, perhaps more to be compared with an eighteenth century pastoral, an ideal created almost in opposition to reality; a dream of passiveness and liberty (as of light leaves blown about) as the ideal of the fiercely troubled, struggling, tightly fettered feudal world. the ideal, perhaps, of only one moment, scarcely of a whole civilization; or rather (how express my feeling?) an accidental combination of an instant, as of spectre vapour arisen from the mixture of kelt and teuton, of frank and moslem. is it christian, pagan, mohammedan? none of all these. a simple-looking vaporous chaos of incongruous, but not conflicting, elements: a poem of virtue without object, of knighthood without work, of religion without belief; in this like its central interest, the grail: a mystery, a cup, a stone; a thing which heals, feeds, speaks; animate or inanimate? stone of the caaba or chalice of the sacrament? merely a mysterious holy of holies and good of goods, which does everything and nothings means nothing and requires nothing--is nothing. iii. thus was obliterated, in all its national and traditional meaning, the heroic cycle of arthur; and by the same process of slow adaptation to new intellectual requirements which had completely wiped out of men's memory the heroic tales of siegfried, which had entirely altered the originally realistic character of the epic of charlemagne. but unreal and ideal as had become the tales of the round table, and disconnected with any national tradition, the time came when even these were not sufficiently independent of reality to satisfy the capricious imagination of the later middle ages. at the end of the fourteenth century was written, most probably in portuguese by vasco de lobeira, the tale of "amadis de gaula," which was followed by some forty or fifty similar books telling the adventures of all the brothers, nephews, sons, grandsons sons, and great-grandsons, an infinite succession, of the original amadis; which, translated into all languages and presently multiplied by the press, seem to have usurped the place of the arthurian stories in feudal countries until well-nigh the middle of the sixteenth century; and which were succeeded by no more stories of heroes, but by the realistic comic novels of the type of "lazarillo de tormes," and the buffoon philosophic extravaganzas of "gargantua." further indeed it was impossible to go than did mediæval idealism in the amadises. compared with them the most fairy-tale-like arthurian stories are perfect historical documents. there remains no longer any connection whatsoever with reality, historical or geographical: the whole world seems to have been expeditiously emptied of all its contents, to make room for kingdoms of gaul, of rome, of the firm island, of sobradisa, etc., which are less like the land west of the moon and east of the sun than they are like sancho panza's island. all real mankind, past, present, and future, has similarly been swept away and replaced by a miraculous race of amadises, lisvarts, galaors, gradasilias, orianas, pintiquinestras, fradalons, and so forth, who flit across our vision, in company with the indispensable necromancers, fairies, dwarfs, giants, and duennas, like some huge ballet: things without character, passions, pathos; knights who are never wounded or killed, princesses who always end with marrying the right man, enchanters whose heads are always chopped off, foundlings who are always reinstated in their kingdom, inane paper puppets bespangled with impossible sentiment, tinsel and rags which are driven about like chaff by the wind-puffs of romance. the advent of the amadises is the coming of the kingdom of nonsense, the sign that the last days of chivalric romance have come; a little more, and the licentiate alonzo perez will take his seat in don quixote's library, and nicholas the barber light his faggots in the yard. but, as if in compensation of the usurpation of which they had been the victims, the carolingian tales, pushed out of the way by the arthurian cycle, were not destined to perish. thrown aside with contempt by the upper classes, engrossed with the round table and the holy grail, the tales of charlemagne and his paladins, largely adulterated with arthurian elements, were apparently cherished by a lower class of society: burgesses, artizans, and such-like, for whom that arthurian world was far too etherial and too delicately immoral; and to this circumstance is due the fact that the humiliated carolingian tales eventually received an artistic embodiment which was not given to the arthurian stories. while troubadours and minnesingers were busy with the court of arthur, and grave latinists like rusticiano of pisa wrote of launcelot and guenevere; the carolingian epics seem to have been mainly sung about by illiterate jongleurs, and to have busied the pens of prose hackwriters for the benefit of townsfolk. the free towns of the netherlands and of germany appear to have been full of this unfashionable literature: the carolingian cycle had become democratic. and, inasmuch as it was literature no longer for knights and courtiers, but for artizans and shopkeepers, it went, of course, to the pre-eminently democratic country of the middle ages--italy. this was at a time when italian was not yet a recognized language, and when the men and women who talked in tuscan, lombard, or venetian dialects, wrote in latin and in french; and while francesca and paolo read the story of launcelot most probably in good mediæval _langue d'oil_, as befitted people of high birth; the jongleurs, who collected crowds so large as to bar the streets and require the interference of the bolognese magistrates, sang of roland and oliver in a sort of _lingua franca_ of french lombard. french jongleurs singing in impossible french-italian; italian jongleurs singing in impossible french; paduan penny-a-liners writing carolingian cyclical novels in french, not of paris, assuredly, but of padua--a comical and most hideous jabber of hybrid languages--this was how the carolingian stories became popular in italy. meanwhile, the day came when the romantic arthurian tales had to dislodge in italy before the invasion of the classic epic. troy, rome, and thebes had replaced tintagil and cærleon in the interest of the cultured classes long before the beginning of the fifteenth century; when poggio, in the very midst of the classic revival, still told of the comically engrossed audience which surrounded the vagabonds singing of orlando and rinaldo. the effete arthurian cycle, superseded in spain and france by the amadis romances, was speedily forgotten in italy; but the carolingian stories remained; and when italian poetry arose once more after the long interregnum between petrarch and lorenzo dei medici, and looked about for subjects, it laid its hand upon them. but when, in the second half of the fifteenth century, those old tales of charlemagne received, after so many centuries of alterations and ephemeral embodiments, that artistic form which the middle ages had been unable to give them, the stories themselves, and the way in which they were regarded, were totally different from what they had been in the time of theroulde, or of the anonymous author of "the quatre fils aymon;" the renaissance, with its keen artistic sense, made out of the carolingian tales real works of art, but works of art which were playthings. to begin with, the carolingian stories had been saturated with arthurian colour: they had been furnished with all the knight-rrantry, all the gallantry, all the enchantments, the fairies, giants, and necromancers of the keltic legends; and, moreover, they had lost, by infinite repetition, all the political realism and meaning so striking in "the chanson de roland" and "the quatre fils aymon;" a confusion and unreality further increased by the fact that the italians had no original connection with those tales, that to them real men and plans were no better than imaginary ones, and that the minstrels who sang in the market-place, and the laborious prose-writers who compiled such collections as that called of the "reali di francia," were equally free in their alterations and adaptations, creating unknown relationships, inventing new adventures, suppressing essential historical points, with no object save amusing their audience or readers with new stories about familiar heroes. such was the condition of the stories themselves. the attitude of the public towards them was, by the middle of the fifteenth century, one of complete incredulity and frivolous amusement; the paladins were as unreal as the heroes of any granny's fairy tale. the people wanted to hear of wonderful battles and adventures, of enchantments and love-makings; but they wanted also to laugh; and, sceptical, practical, democratic, the artizans and shopkeepers of florence--to whom, paying, as they did, expensive mercenaries who stole poultry and never got wounded on any account, all chivalry or real military honour was the veriest nursery rubbish--such people as crowded round the _cantastoria_ of _mercato vecchio_, must indeed have found much to amuse them in these tales of so different an age. and into such crowds there penetrated to listen and watch (even as the magnificent lorenzo had elbowed among the carnival ragamuffins of florence, and had slid in among the holiday-making peasants of poggio a caiano) a learned man, a poet, an intimate of the medicis, of politian, ficino, and pico della mirandola, messer luigi pulci, the same who had written the semi-allegorical, semi-realistic poem about lorenzo dei medici's gala tournament. there was a taste in the house of the medici, together with those for platonic philosophy, classical erudition, religious hymns, and hebrew kabbala, for a certain kind of realism, for the language and mode of thinking of the lower classes, as a reaction from petrarchesque conventionality. as the magnificent lorenzo had had the fancy to string together in more artistic shape the quaint and graceful love poems, hyperbolical, realistic, tender, and abusive, of the tuscan peasantry; so also messer luigi pulci appears to have been smitten with the notion of trying his hand at a chivalric poem like those to which he and his friends had listened among the butchers and pork-shops, the fishmongers and frying booths of the market, and giving an impression, in its ideas and language, of the people to whom such strains were sung. but luigi pulci was vastly less gifted as a poet than lorenzo dei medici; florentine prentices are less æsthetically pleasing than tuscan peasants, and the "morgante maggiore" is a piece of work of a sort utterly inferior to the "nencia da barberino." still the "morgante maggiore" remains, and will remain, as a very remarkable production of grotesque art. just as lorenzo dei medici was certainly not without a deliberate purpose of selecting the quaintness and gracefulness of peasant life; even so, and perhaps more, luigi pulci must have had a deliberate intention of producing a ludicrous effect; in both cases the deliberate attempt is very little perceptible, in the "nencia da barberino" from the genius of lorenzo, in the "morgante maggiore" from the stolidity of pulci. the "morgante," of which parts were probably written as a mere sample to amuse a supper party, became interesting to pulci, in the mere matter of inventing and stringing together new incidents; and despite its ludicrous passages, it must have been more seriously written by him, and more seriously listened to by his friends, than would a similar production now-a-days. for the men of the renaissance, no matter how philosophized and cultured, retained the pleasure in mere incident, which we moderns seem to have given over to children and savages; and lorenzo, ficino, and politian probably listened to the adventures of luigi pulci's paladins and giants with much the same interest, and only a little more conscious sense of grotesqueness, with which the crowd in the market listened to cristofano dell' altissimo and similar story-tellers. the "morgante maggiore," therefore, is neither really comic nor really serious. it is not a piece of realistic grotesqueness like "gargantua" or "pantagruel," any more than it is a serious ideal work like "amadis de gaula:" the proportion of deliberately sought effects is small; the great bulk, serious or comic, seems to have come quite at random. it is not a caricatured reproduction of the poems of chivalry sung in the market, for they were probably serious, stately, and bald, with at most an occasional joke; it is the reproduction of the joint impression received from the absurd, harum-scarum, unpractical world of chivalry of the poet, and the real world of prose, of good-humoured buffoonish coarseness with which the itinerant poet was surrounded. the paladins are no don quixotes, the princesses no dulcineas, the battles are real battles; but the language is that of florentine wool-workers, housewives, cheese-sellers, and ragamuffins, crammed with the slang of the market-place, its heavy jokes and perpetual sententious aphorism. moreover the prominence given to food and eating is unrivalled except by rabelais: the poet must have lounged with delight through the narrow mediæval lanes, crowded with booths and barrows, sniffing with rapture the mingled scents of cheese, pork, fish, spices, and a hundred strange concomitant market smells. and the market, that classic _mercato vecchio_ (alas, finally condemned and destroyed by modern sanitary prudishness, and which only those who have seen can conceive in its full barbarous, nay, barbaric pantagruelian splendour of food, blood, and stenches) of florence, is what we think of throughout the poem. and, when messer luigi comes to narrate, with real gravity and after the due invocation of the virgin, the trinity, and the saints, the tremendous disaster of roncevaux, he uses such words and such similes, that above the neighing of horses and the clash of hurtling armour and the yells of the combatants we suddenly hear the nasal sing-song of florentine tripe-vendors and pumpkin-pod-sellers, the chaffer and oaths and laughter of the gluttonous crowd pouring through the lanes of calimala and pellicceria; nay (horrible and grotesque miracle), there seems to rise out of the confused darkness of the battle-filled valley, there seems to disengage itself (as out of a mist) from the chaos of heaped bodies, and the flash of steel among the whirlwinds of dust, a vision, more and more distinct and familiar, of the crowded square with its black rough-hewn, smoke-stained houses, ornamented with robbia-ware angels and lilies or painted madonnas; of its black butchers dens, outside which hang the ghastly disembowelled sheep with blood-stained fleeces, the huge red-veined hearts and livers; of the piles of cabbage and cauli-flowers, the rows of tin ware and copper saucepans, the heaps of maccaroni and pastes, of spices and drugs; the garlands of onions and red peppers and piles of apples; the fetid sliminess of the fish tressels; the rough pavement oozy and black, slippery with cabbage-stalks, puddled with bullock's blood, strewn with plucked feathers--all under the bright blue sky, with giotto's dove-coloured belfry soaring high above; a vision, finally, of one of those deep dens, with walls, all covered with majolica plates and dishes and flashing brass-embossed trenchers, in the dark depths of which crackles perennially a ruddy fire, while a huge spit revolves, offering to the flames now one now the other side of scores of legs of mutton, rounds of beef, and larded chickens, trickling with the butter unceasingly ladled by the white-dressed cooks. roncisvalle, charlemagne, the paladins, paganism, christendom--what of them? "i believe in capon, roast or boiled, and sometimes done in butter; in mead and in must; and i believe in the pasty and the pastykins, mother and children; but above all things i believe in good wine "--as margutte snuffles out in his catechism; and as to saracens and paladins, past, present, and future, a fig for them! but meanwhile, for all that florentine burgesses, artizans, and humorists may think, there is in this italy of the renaissance something besides florence; there is a school of poetry, disconnected with the realisms of lorenzo and pulci, with the ovidian petrarchisms of politian. there is ferrara. lying, as they do, between the northern apennine slopes of modena and the euganean hills, the dominions of the house of este appear at first sight merely as part and parcel of lombardy, and we should expect from them nothing very different from that which we expect from milan or bologna or padua. but the truth is different; all round ferrara, indeed, stretches the fertile flatness of lombard cornfields, and they produce, as infallibly as they produce their sacks of grain and tuns of wine and heaps of silk cocoon, the intellectual and social equivalents of such things in renaissance italy: industry, wealth, comfort, scepticism, art. but on either side, into the defiles of the euganean hills to the north, into the widening torrent valleys of the modenese apennines to the south, the marquisate of este stretches up into feudalism, into chivalry, into the imaginative kingdom of the middle ages. mediævalism, feudalism, chivalry, indeed, of a very modified sort; and as different from that of france and germany as differ from the poverty-stricken plains and forests and and moors of the north these italian mountain slopes, along which the vines crawl in long trellises, and the chestnuts rise in endlessly superposed tiers of terraces, cultivated by a peasant who is not the serf, but the equal sharer in profits with the master of the soil. and on one of those fertile hill-sides, looking down upon a narrow valley all a green-blue shimmer with corn and vine-bearing elms, was born, in the year , matteo maria boiardo, in the village which gave him the title, one of the highest in the estensian dominions, of count of scandiano. here, in the apennines, scandiano is a fortified village, also a castle, doubtless half turned into a renaissance villa, but mediæval and feudal nevertheless; but the name of scandiano belongs also, i know not for what reason, to a certain little red-brick palace on the outskirts of ferrara, beautifully painted with half-allegorical, half-realistic pageant frescoes by cosimo tura, and enclosing a sweet tangled orchard-garden; to all of which, being the place to which duke borso and duke ercole were wont to retire for amusement, the ferrarese have given the further name of schifanoia, which means, "fly from cares." this little coincidence of scandiano the feudal castle in the apennines, and scandiano the little pleasure palace at ferrara, seems to give, by accidental allegory, a fair idea of the double nature of matteo boiardo, of the ferrarese court to which he belonged, and of the school of poetry (including the more notable but less original work of ariosto) which the genius of the man and the character of the court succeeded together in producing. to understand boiardo we must compare him with ariosto; and to understand ariosto we must compare him with boiardo; both belong to the same school, and are men of very similar genius, and where the one leaves off the other begins. but first, in order to understand the character of this poetry which, in the main, is identical in boiardo and in his more successful but less fascinating pupil ariosto, let us understand ferrara. it was, in the late fifteenth and early sixteenth centuries, a chivalric town of ariostesque chivalry: feudalism turned courtly and elegant, and moreover, very liberal and comfortable by preponderance of democratic and industrial habits; a military court, of brave mercenary captains full of dash and adventure, not mere brigands and marauders having studied strategy, like the little umbrian chieftains; a court orderly, elegant, and brilliant: a prince not risen from behind a counter like medicis and petruccis, nor out of blood like baglionis and sforzas, but of a noble old house whose beginnings are lost in the mist of real chivalry and real paladinism; a duke with a pretence of feudal honour and decorum, at whose court men were all brave and ladies all chaste--with the little licenses of baseness and gallantry admitted by renaissance chivalry. a bright, brilliant court at the close of the fifteenth century; and more stable than the only one which might have rivalled it, the feltrian court of urbino, too small and lost among the umbrian bandits. a bright, brilliant town, also, this ferrara: not mercantile like florence, not mere barracks like perugia; a capital, essentially, in its rich green plain by the widened po, with its broad handsome streets (so different from the mediæval exchanges of bologna, and the feudal alleys of perugia), its well-built houses, so safe and modern, needing neither _bravi_ nor iron window bars, protected (except against some stray murder by one of the estensi themselves), by the duke's well-organized police; houses with well-trimmed gardens, like so many paris hôtels; and with the grand russet brick castle, military with its moat and towers, urban with its belvederes and balconies, in the middle, well placed to sweep away with its guns (the wonderful guns of the duke's own making) any riot, tidily, cleanly, without a nasty heap of bodies and slop of blood as in the narrow streets of other towns imagine this bright capital, placed, moreover, in the richest centre of lombardy, with glitter of chivalry from the euganean hills and apennines (castellated with este, monselice, canossa, and boiardo's own scandiano); with gorgeous rarities of commerce from venice and milan--a central, unique spot. it is the natural home of the chivalrous poets of the renaissance, boiardo, ariosto, tasso; as florence is of the politians and pulcis (hellenism and back-shopery); and venice of the literature of lust, jests, cynicism, and adventure, aretine, beolco, calmo, and poliphilo-colonna. in that garden, where the white butterflies crowd among the fruit trees bowed down to the tall grass of the palace of schifanoia--a garden neither grand nor classic, but elegiac and charming--we can imagine boiardo or ariosto reading their poems to just such a goodly company as giraldi cinthio (a ferrarese, and fond of romance, too) describes in the prologue of his "ecatomiti:" gentle and sprightful ladies, with the splendid brocaded robes, and the gold-filleted golden hair of dosso dossi's wonderful alcina circe; graceful youths like the princely st. john of benvenuto garofalo; jesters like dosso's at modena; brilliant captains like his st. george and st. michael; and a little crowd of pages with doublets and sleeves laced with gold tags, of sedate magistrates in fur robes and scarlet caps, of white-dressed maids with instruments of music and embroidery frames and hand looms, like those which cosimo tura painted for duke borso on the walls of this same schifanoia palace. such is the audience; now for the poems. the stuff of boiardo and ariosto is the same: that old mediæval stuff of the carolingian poems, coloured, scented with arthurian chivalry and wonder. the knight-errantry of the keltic tales is cleverly blended with the pseudo-historical military organization of the carolingian cycle. paladins and saracens are ingeniously manoeuvred about, now scattered in little groups of twos and threes, to encounter adventures in the style of sir launcelot or amadis; now gathered into a compact army to crash upon each other as at roncevaux; or else wildly flung up by the poet to alight in fairyland, to find themselves in the caverns of jamschid, in the isles where oberon's mother kept cæsar, and morgana kept ogier, in the boats, entering subterranean channels, of sindbad and huon of bordeaux; a constant alternation of individual adventure and wholesale organized campaigns, conceived and carried out with admirable ingenuity. so much for the deeds of arms. the deeds of love are also compounded of carolingian and arthurian, but flavoured with special renaissance feeling. there is a great deal of rapid love-making between too gallant knights and too impressionable ladies; licentious amours which we moderns lay at the door of boiardo and ariosto, not knowing that the licentiousness of the olivers and ogiers and guerins and huons of mediæval poetry, of the sentimental amadises, galaors, and lisvarts of the fourteenth century, whom the renaissance has toned down in rogers and rinaldos and ricciardettos, is by many degrees worse. a moral improvement also (for all the immorality of the renaissance) in the eschewing of the never-failing adultery of the arthurian romances, and the appropriation to legitimately faithful love of the poetical devotion which tristram and launcelot bear to other men's wives. to this are added, and more by ariosto than by boiardo, two essentially italian elements: something of the nobility of passion of the platonic sonneteers; and a good dose of the ironical, scurrilous, moralizing immoral anecdote gossiping of boccaccio and sacchetti. such is the stuff. the conception, though rarely comic, and sometimes _bond fide_ serious, is never earnest. all this is a purely artistic world, a world of decorative arabesque incident, intended to please, scarcely ever to move, or to move, at most, like some decameronian tale of isabella and the basil plant, or constance and martuccio. on the other hand, there is none of the grotesque irreverence of pulci. boiardo and ariosto are not in earnest; they are well aware that their heroes and heroines are mere modern men and women tricked out in pretty chivalric trappings, driven wildly about from paris to cathay, and from spain to the orkneys--on tony lumpkin's principle of driving his mother round and round the garden plot till she thought herself on a heath six miles off--without ever really changing place. but they do not, like pulci, make fun of their characters. they write chivalry romances not for florentine pork-butchers and wool-carders, but for gallant ladies and gentlemen, to whom, with duels, tournaments, serenades, and fine speeches, chivalry is an admired name, though no longer a respected reality. the heroes of boiardo and of ariosto are always bold and gallant and glittering, the spirit of romance is in them; a giant sancho panza like morgante, redolent of sausage and cheese, would never be admitted into the society of a ferrarese orlando. the art of boiardo and of ariosto is eminently pageant art, in which sentiment and heroism are but as one element among many; there is no pretence at reality (although there is a good deal of incidental realism), and no thought of the interest in subject and persons which goes with reality. it is a masquerade, and one whose men and women must, i think, be imagined in a kind of artistic fancy costume: a mixture of the renaissance dress and of the antique, as we see it in the prints of contemporary pageants, and in venetian and ferrarese pictures; that circe of dosso's, in the borghese gallery of rome, seated in her stately wine-lees and gold half-heraldically and half-cabalistically patterned brocade, before the rose-bushes of the little mysterious wood, is the very ideal of the falerinas and alcinas, of the enchantresses of boiardo and ariosto. pageant people, these of the ferrarese poets; they only play at being in forests and deserts, as children play at being on volcanoes or in green-land by the nursery fire. it is a kind of dressing up, a masquerading of the fancy; not disguising in order to deceive, but rather laying hold of any pretty or brilliant impressive garb that comes to hand, and putting that on in conjunction with many odds and ends, as an artist's guests might do with the silks and velvets and oriental properties of a studio. these knights and ladies, for ever tearing about from scotland to india, never, in point of fact, get any further than the apennine slopes where boiardo was born, where ariosto governed the garfagnana. they ride for ever (while supposed to be in the ardennes or in egypt) across the velvet moss turf, all patterned with minute starry clovers and the fallen white ropy chestnut blossom, amidst the bracken beneath the slender chestnut trees, the pale blue sky looking in between their spreading branches; at most they lose their way in the intricacies of some seaside pineta, where the feet slip on the fallen needles, and the sun slants along the vistas of serried, red, scaly trunks, among the juniper and gorse and dry grass and flowers growing in the sea sand. into the vast mediæval forests of germany and france, boiardo and ariosto's fancy never penetrated. such is the school: a school represented in its typical character only by boiardo and ariosto, but to which belong, nevertheless, with whatever differences, tasso, spenser, camoens, all the poets of renaissance romance. now of the two leaders thereof. here i feel that i can speak only personally; tell only of my own personal impressions and preferences. comparing together boiardo and ariosto, i am, of course, aware of the infinite advantages of the latter. ariosto is a man of far more varied genius; he is an artist, while boiardo is an amateur; he is learned in arranging and ornamenting; he knows how to alternate various styles, how to begin and how to end. moreover, he is a scholarly person of a more scholarly time: he is familiar with the classics, and, what is more important, he is familiar with the language in which he is writing. he writes exquisitely harmonious, supple, and brilliant tuscan verse, with an infinite richness of diction; while poor boiardo jogs along in a language which is not the lombard dialect in which he speaks, and which is very uncouth and awkward, as is every pure language for a provincial; indeed, so much so, that the pedantic tuscans require berni to make tuscan, elegant, to _ingentilire_, with infinite loss to quaintness and charm, the "orlando innamorato" of poor ferrarese boiardo. moreover, ariosto has many qualities unknown to boiardo; wit, malice, stateliness, decided eloquence and power of simile and apostrophe; he is a symphony for full orchestra, and boiardo a mere melody played on a single fiddle, which good authorities (and no one dare contest with italians when they condemn anything not tuscan as jargon) pronounce to be no cremona. all these advantages ariosto certainly has; and i do not quarrel with those who prefer him for them. but many of them distinctly take away from my pleasure. i confess that i am bored by the beautifully written moral and allegorical preludes of ariosto's cantos; i would willingly give all his aphorism and all his mythology to get quickly to the story. also, i resent his admirable rhetorical flourishes about his patrons, his ercoles, ippolitos, and isabellas they ring false, dreadfully false and studied; and boiardo's quickly despatched friendly greeting of his friends, his courteous knights and gentle ladies, pleases me much better. moreover, the all-pervading consciousness of the existence of homer, virgil, nay, statius and lucan, every trumpery antique epic-monger, annoys me, giving an uncomfortable doubt as to whether ariosto did not try to make all this nonsense serious, and this romance into an epic; all this occasional virgilian stateliness, alternated with a kind of polished decameronian gossipy cynicism, diverts my attention, turns paladins and princesses too much into tutor-educated gentlemen, into bandello and cinthio-reading ladies of the sixteenth century. the picture painted by ariosto is finer, but you see too much of the painter; he and his patrons take up nearly the whole foreground, and they have affected, idealized faces and would-be dignified and senatorial poses. for these and many other reasons, i personally prefer boiardo; and perhaps the best reason for my preference is the irrational one that he gives me more pleasure. my preferences, my impressions, i have said, are in this matter, much less critical than personal. hence i can speak of boiardo only as he affects me. when first i read boiardo, i was conscious of a curious phenomenon in myself. i must confess to reading books usually in a very ardent or rather weary manner, either way in a hurry to finish them. as it happened, when i borrowed boiardo, i had a great many other things on hand which required my time and attention; yet i could not make up my mind to return the book until i had finished it, though my intention had been merely to satisfy my curiosity by a dip into it. i went on, without that eager desire to know what follows which one has in a novel; drowsily with absolute reluctance to leave off, like the reluctance to rise from the grass beneath the trees with only butterflies and shadows to watch, or the reluctance to put aside some fairy book of walter crane's. it was like strolling in some quaint, ill-trimmed, old garden, finding fresh flowers, fresh bits of lichened walls, fresh fragments of broken earthenware ornaments; or, rather, more like a morning in the cathedral library at siena, the place where the gorgeous choir books are kept, itself illuminated like missal pages by pinturicchio: amused, delighted, not moved nor fascinated; finding every moment something new, some charming piece of gilding, some sweet plumed head, some quaint little tree or town; making a journey of lazy discovery in a sort of world of prince charmings, the real realm of the "färy queen," quite different in enchantment from the country of spenser's gloriana, with its pale allegoric ladies and knights, half-human, half-metaphysical, and its make-believe allegorical ogres and giants. this is the real fairyland, this of boiardo: no mere outskirts of ferrara, with real, playfully cynical ferrarese men and women tricked out as paladins and amazons, and making fun of their disguise, as in ariosto; no wonderland of tasso, with enchanted gardens copied out of bolognese pictures and miraculous forests learned from theatre mechanicians, wonders imitated by a great poet from the cardboard and firework wonders of bianca cappello's wedding feasts. this is the real fairyland, the wonderland of mediæval romance and of persian and arabian tales, no longer solemn or awful, but brilliant, sunny, only half believed in; the fairyland of the renaissance, superficially artistic, with its lightest, brightest fancies, and its charming realities; its cloistered and painted courts with plashing fountains, its tapestried and inlaid rooms, its towered and belvedered villas, its quaint clipped gardens full of strange oriental plants and beasts; and all this transported into a country of wonders, where are the gardens of the hesperides, the fountain of merlin, the tomb of narcissus, the castle of morgan-le-fay; every quaint and beautiful fancy, antique and mediæval, mixed up together, as in some renaissance picture of botticelli or rosselli or filippino, where knights in armour descend from pegasus before roman temples, where swarthy white-turbaned turks, with oddly bunched-up trousers and jewelled caftans, and half-naked, oak-crowned youths, like genii descended, pensive and wondering, from some antique sarcophagus, and dapper princelets and stalwart knights, and citizens and monks, all crowd round the altar of some wonder-working macone or apolline or trevigante; some comic, dreadful, apish figure, mummed up in half-antique, half-oriental garb. or else we are led into some dainty, pale-tinted panel of botticelli, where the maidens dance in white clinging clothes, strewing flowers on to the flower-freaked turf; or into some of poliphilo's vignettes, where the gentle ladies, seated with lute and viol under vine-trellises, welcome the young gallant, or poet, or knight. such is the world of boiardo. spenser has once or twice peeped in, painted it, and given us exquisite little pictures, as that of malecasta's castle, all hung with mythological tapestries, that of the enchanted chamber of britomart, and those of sir calidore meeting the graces and of hellenore dancing with the satyrs; but spenser has done it rarely, trembling to return to his dreary allegories. equal to these single pictures by spenser, boiardo has only one or two, but he keeps us permanently in the world where such pictures are painted. boiardo is not a great artist like spenser: but he is a wizard, which is better. he leads us, unceasingly, through the little dreamy laurelwoods, where we meet crisp-haired damsels tied to pine-trees, or terrible dragons, or enchanted wells, through whose translucent green waters we see brocaded rooms full of fair ladies; he ferries us ever and anon across shallow streams, to the castles where _gentil donzelle_ wave their kerchiefs from the pillared belvedere; he slips us unseen into the camps and council-rooms of the splendidly trapped saracens, like so many figures out of filippino's frescoes; he conducts us across the bridges where giants stand warders, to the mysterious carved tombs whence issue green and crested snakes, who, kissed by a paladin, turn into lovely enchantresses; he takes us beneath the beds of rivers and through the bowels of the earth where kings and knights turned into statues of gold, sit round tables covered with jewels, illumined by carbuncles more wonderful than that of jamschid; or through the mazes of fairy gardens, where every ear of corn, cut off, turns into a wild beast, and every fallen leaf into a bird, where hydras watch in the waters and lamias rear themselves in the grass, where orlando must fill his helmet with roses lest he hear the voice of the sirens; where all the wonders of antiquity--the snake-women, the circes, the sirens, the hydras and fauns live, strangely changed into something infinitely quaint and graceful, still half-antique, yet already half-arabian or keltic, in the midst of the fairyland of merlin and of oberon--live, move, transform themselves afresh; where the golden-haired damsels and the stripling knights, delicate like pinturicchio's prince charmings, gallop for ever on their enchanted coursers, within enchanted armour, invincible, invulnerable, under a sky always blue, and through an unceasing spring, ever onwards to new adventures. adventures which the noble, gentle castellan of scandiano, poet and knight and humorist, philanthropical philosopher almost from sheer goodness of heart, yet a little crazy, and capable of setting all the church bells ringing in honour of the invention of the name of rodomonte relates not to some dully ungrateful alfonso or ippolito, but to his own guests, his own brilliant knights and ladies, with ever and anon an effort to make them feel, through his verse, some of those joyous spring-tide feelings which bubble up in himself; as when he remembers how, "once did i wander on a may morning in a fair flower-adorned field on a hillside overlooking the sea, which was all tremulous with light; and there, among the roses of a green thorn-brake, a damsel was singing of love; singing so sweetly that the sweetness still touches my heart; touches my heart, and makes me think of the great delight it was to listen;" and how he would fain repeat that song, and indeed an echo of its sweetness runs through his verse. meanwhile, stanza pours out after stanza, adventure grows out of adventure, each more wonderful, more gorgeous than its predecessor. to which listen the ladies, with their white, girdled dresses and crimped golden locks; the youths, with their soft beardless faces framed in combed-out hair, with their daggers on their hips and their plumed hats between their fingers; and the serious bearded men, in silken robes; drawing nearer the poet, letting go lute or violin or music-book as they listen on the villa terrace or in some darkened room, where the sunset sky turns green-blue behind the pillared window, and the roses hang over the trellise of the cloister. and as they did four hundred years ago, so do we now, rejoice. the great stalwart naked forms of greece no longer leap and wrestle or carry their well-poised baskets of washed linen before us; the mailed and vizored knights of the nibelungen no longer clash their armour to the sound of volker's red fiddle-bow; the glorified souls of dante no longer move in mystic mazes of light before the eyes of our fancy. all that is gone. but here is the fairyland of the renaissance. and thus matteo boiardo, count of scandiano, goes on, adding adventure to adventure, stanza to stanza, in his castle villa, or his palace at ferrara. but suddenly he stops and his bright fiddle and lute music jars and ends: "while i am singing, o redeeming god, i see all italy set on fire by these gauls, coming to ravage i know not what fresh place." and thus, with the earlier and more hopeful renaissance of the fifteenth century, matteo boiardo broke off with his "orlando innamorato." the perfect light-heartedness, the delight in play of a gentle, serious, eminently kindly nature, which gives half the charm to boiardo's work, seems to have become impossible after the ruin of italian liberty and prosperity the frightful showing up of italy's moral and social and political insignificance at the beginning of the sixteenth century. lombardy especially became a permanent battle-field, and its towns mere garrison places of french, german, spanish, and swiss barbarians, whose presence meant slaughter and pillage and every foulest outrage; and then, between the horrors of the unresisted invasions and the unresisted exactions, came plague and famine, and industry and commerce gradually died out. a few princes, subsidised and guarded by french or imperialists, kept up an appearance of cheerfulness, but the courts even grew more gloomy as the people grew more miserable. there is more joking, more resonant laughter in ariosto than in boiardo, but there is very much less serenity and cheerfulness; ever and anon a sort of bitterness, a dreary moralizing tendency, a still more dreary fit of prophesying future good in which he has no belief, comes over ariosto. berni, who rewrote the "orlando innamorato" in choice tuscan, and who underlined every faintly marked jest of boiardo's, with evident preoccupation of the ludicrous effects of the "morgante maggiore"--berni even could not keep up his spirits; into the middle of boiardo's serene fairyland adventures he inserted a description of the sack of rome which is simply harrowing. all real cheerfulness departed from the people, to be replaced only by pleasure in the debaucheries of the buffoonish obscenity of aretino, bandello, and so forth, to which the men of the dying italy of the renaissance listened as the roysterers of the plague of florence, with the mortal sickness almost upon them, may have listened to the filthy songs which they trolled out in their drunkenness. or at best, the poor starved, bruised, battered, humiliated nation may have tried to be cheerful on the principle of its harlequin playwright beolco, who, more honest than the ariostos and bibbienas, and aretines, came forward on his stage of planks at padua, and after describing the ruin and wretchedness of the country, the sense of dreariness and desolation, which made young folk careless of marriage, and the very nightingales (he thought) careless of song, recommended his audience, since they could not even cry thoroughly and to feel any the better for it, to laugh, if they still were able. boiardo was forgotten; his spirit was unsuited to the depression, gloomy brutality, gloomy sentimentality, which grew every day as italy settled down after its renaissance-shrovetide in the cinders and fasting of the long lent of spanish and jesuit rule. still the style of boiardo was not yet exhausted; the peculiar kind of fairy epic, the peculiar combination of chivalric and classic elements of which the "orlando innamorato" and the "orlando furioso," had been the great examples, still fascinated poets and public. the renaissance, or what remained of it, was now no longer confined to italy; it had spread, paler, more diluted, shallower, over the rest of europe. to follow the filiation of schools, to understand the intellectual relationships of individuals, of the latter half of the sixteenth century, it becomes necessary to move from one country to another. and thus the two brother poets of the family of boiardo, its two last and much saddened representatives, came to write in very different languages and under very different circumstances. these two are tasso and our own spenser. they are both poets of the school of the "orlando innamorato," both poets of a reaction, of a kind of purified renaissance: the one of the late italian renaissance emasculated by the council of trent and by spain; the other of the english renaissance, in its youth truly, but, in the individual case of spenser, timidly drawn aside from the excesses of buoyant life around. in the days of the semi-atheist dramatists, all flesh and blood and democracy, spenser steeps himself in christianity and chivalry, even as tasso does, following on the fleshly levity and scepticism of boiardo, berni, and ariosto. there is in both poets a paleness, a certain diaphanous weakness, an absence of strong tint or fibre or perfume; in tasso the pallor of autumn, in spenser the paleness of spring: autumn left sad and leafless by the too voluptuous heat and fruitfulness of summer; spring still pale and pinched by winter, with timid nipped grass and unripe stiff buds and catkins, which never suggest the tangle of bush, grasses, and magnificent flowers and fruits, sweet, splendid, or poisonous, which the sun will make out of them. the renaissance, in the past for tasso, in the proximate and very visible future for spenser, has frightened both; the cynicism and bestiality of men like machiavelli and aretino; the godless, muscular lustiness of marlowe, greene, and peele, seen in a glimpse by tasso and spenser, have given a shock to their sensitive nature, have made them turn away and hide themselves from a second sight of it. they both take refuge in a land of fiction, of romance, from the realities into which they dread to splash; a world unsubstantial, diaphanous, faint-hued, almost passionless, which they make out of beauty and heroism and purity, which they alembicize and refine, but into which there never enters any vital element, anything to give it flesh and bone and pulsing life: it is a mere soap bubble. and beautiful as is this world of their own making, it is too negative even for them; they move in it only in imagination, calm, serene, vacant, almost sad. there is in it, and in themselves, a something wanting; and the remembrance of that unholy-life of reality which jostled and splashed their delicate souls, comes back and haunts them with its evil thought. there is no laugh--what is worse, no smile --in these men. incipient puritanism, not yet the terrible brawny reality of bunyan, but a vague, grey spectre, haunts spenser; and the puritanism of don quixote, the vague, melancholy, fantastic reverting from the evil world of to-day to an impossible world of chivalry, is troubling the sight of tasso. he cannot go crazy like don quixote, and instead he grows melancholy; he cannot believe in his own ideals; he cannot give them life, any more than can spenser give life to his allegoric knights and ladies, because the life would have to be fetched by tasso out of the flesh of ariosto, and by spenser out of the blood of marlowe; and both tasso and spenser shrink at the thought of what might with it be inoculated or transfused; and they rest satisfied with phantoms. the phantoms of spenser are more shadowy much more utterly devoid of human character; they are almost metaphysical abstractions, and they do not therefore sadden us: they are too unlike living things to seem very lifeless. but the phantoms of tasso, he would fain make realities; he works at every detail of character, history, or geography, which may make his people real; they are not, as with spenser, elves and wizards flitting about in a nameless fairyland, characterless and passionless; they are historical creatures, captains and soldiers in a country mapped out by the geographer; but they are phantoms all the more melancholy, these beautiful and heroic clorindas and erminias and tancreds and godfreys--why? because the real world around tasso is peopled with brachianos and corombonas, and annabellas and giovannis, creatures for webster and ford; and because this world of chivalry is, in his italy, as false as the world of amadis and esplandian in toboso and barcelona for poor don quixote. melancholy therefore, and dreamy, both tasso and spenser, with nothing they can fully love in reality, because they see it tainted with reality and evil; without the cheerful falling back upon everyday life of ariosto and shakespeare, and with a strange fancy for fairyland, for the distant, for the happy islands, the st. brandan's isles, the country of the fountain of youth, the country of which vague reports have come back with the ships of raleigh and ponce de leon. tasso and spenser are happiest, in their calm, melancholy way, when they can let themselves go in day-dreams, and talk of things in which they do not believe, of diamond shields which stun monsters of ointments which cure all ills of body and of soul of enchanted groves whose trees sound with voices, and lutes, of boats in which, steered by fairies, we can glide across the scarcely rippled summer sea, and watching the ruins of the past, time and reality left behind, set sail for some strange land of bliss. and there is in the very sensuousness and love of beauty-of these men a vagueness and melancholy, a constant: sense of the fleeting and of the eternal, as in that passage, translated from the languidly sweet italian perfection of tasso into the timid, almost scentless, english of spenser--"cosi trapassa al trapassar d'un giorno." so passeth, in the passing of a day, of mortall life the leafe, the bud, the flowre no more doth florish after first decay, that earst was sought to deck both bed and bowre of many a lady, and many a paramowre. gather therefore the rose whilest yet is prime, for soone comes age that will her pride deflowre; gather the rose of love whitest yet is time, whitest loving thou mayest loved be withe equall crime. a sense of evanescence, of dreamlikeness, quite different from the thoughtless enjoyment of boiardo, from the bold and manly facing of the future, the solemn, strong sense of life and death as of waking realities, of the elizabethan dramatists, even of weaklings like massinger and beaumont. in tasso and in spenser there is no such joyousness, no such solemnity; only a dreamy watching, a regret which is scarcely a regret, at the evanescence of pale beauty and pale life, of joys feebly felt and evils meekly borne. with tasso and spenser comes to a close the school of boiardo, the small number of real artists who finally gave an enduring and beautiful shape to that strangely mixed and altered material of romantic epic left behind by the middle ages; comes to an end at least till our own day of appreciative and deliberate imitation and selection and rearrangement of the artistic forms of the past. until the revival (after much study and criticism) by our own poets of arthur and gudrun and the fortunate isles, the world had had enough of mediæval romance. chivalry had avowedly ended in chamberlainry; the devotion to women in the official routine of the _cicisbeo_; the last romance to which the late renaissance had clung, which made it sympathize with huon, ogier, orlando, and rinaldo, which had made it take delight still in the fairyland of oberon, of fallerina, of alcina, of armida, of acrasia, the romance of the new world, had also turned into prose, prose of blood-stained filth. the humanistic and rationalistic men of the renaissance had doubtless early begun to turn up their noses in dainty dilettantism or scientific contempt, at what were later to be called by montaigne, "ces lancelots du lac, ces amadis, ces huons et tels fatras di livres à quoy l'enfance s'amuse;" and by ben jonson: public nothings, abortives of the fabulous dark cloister, sent out to poison courts, and infect manners-- the public at large was more constant, and still retained a love for mediæval romance. but more than humanities, more than scientific scepticism and religious puritanism, did the slow dispelling of the illusion of eldorado and the fortunate isles. mankind set sail for america in brilliant and knightly gear, believing in fountains of youth and st. brandan's isles, with ariosto, tasso, and spenser still in its pockets. it returns from america either as the tattered fever-stricken ruffian, or as the vulgar, fat upstart of spanish comedy, returns without honour or shame, holding money (and next to money, negroes) of greater account than any insignia of paladinship or the round table; it is brutal, vulgar, cynical; at best very sad, and it gets written for its delectation the comic-tragic novels of rapscallions, panders, prostitutes, and card-sharpers, which from "lazarillo de tormes" to "gil blas," and from "gil blas" to "tom jones," finally replace the romances of the launcelots, galahads, rinaldos, and orlandos. thus did the mediæval romantic-epic stuffs suffer alteration, adulteration, and loss of character, throughout the long period of the middle ages, without ever receiving an artistic shape, such as should make all men preserve and cherish them for the only thing which makes men preserve and cherish such things--that never to be wasted quality, beauty. the middle ages were powerless to endow therewith their own subjects; so the subjects had to wait, altering more and more with every passing day, till the coming of the renaissance. and by that time these subjects had ceased to have any serious meaning whatever; the roland of the song of roncevaux had become the crazy orlando of ariosto; the renaud of "the quatre fils aymon," had become the rinaldo, thrashed with sheaves of lilies by cupid, of matteo boiardo. the renaissance took up the old epic-romantic materials and made out of them works of art; but works of art which, as i said before, were playthings gets written for its delectation the comic-tragic novels of rapscallions, panders, prostitutes, and card-sharpers, which, from "lazarillo de tormes" to "gil bias," and from "gil bias" to "tom jones," finally replace the romances of the launcelots, galahads, rinaldos, and orlandos. * * * * * medieval love. on laying down the "vita nuova" our soul is at first filled and resounding with the love of beatrice. whatever habits or capacities of noble loving may lurk within ourselves, have been awakened by the solemn music of this book, and have sung in unison with dante's love till we have ceased to hear the voice of his passion and have heard only the voice of our own. when the excitement has diminished, when we have grown able to separate from our own feelings the feelings of the man dead these five centuries and a half, and to realize the strangeness, the obsoleteness of this love which for a moment had seemed our love; then a new phase of impressions has set in, and the "vita nuova" inspires us with mere passionate awe: awe before this passion which we feel to be no longer our own, but far above and distant from us, as in some rarer stratum of atmosphere; awe before this woman who creates it, or rather who is its creation. even as dante fancied that the people of florence did when the bodily presence of this lady came across their path, so do we cast down our glance as the image of beatrice passes across our mind. nay, the glory of her, felt so really while reading the few, meagre words in the book, is stored away in our heart, and clothes with a faint aureole the lady--if ever in our life we chance to meet her--in whom, though dante tells us nothing of stature, features, eyes or hair, we seem to recognize a likeness to her on whose passage "ogni lingua divien tremando muta, e gli occhi non ardiscon di guardare." passion like this, to paraphrase a line of rossetti's, is genius; and it arouses in such as look upon it the peculiar sense of wonder and love, of awe-stricken raising up of him who contemplates, which accompanies the contemplation of genius. but it may be that one day we feel, instead of this, wonder indeed, but wonder mingled with doubt. this ideal love, which craves for no union with its object; which seeks merely to see, nay, which is satisfied with mere thinking on the beloved one, will strike us with the cold and barren glitter of the miraculous. this beatrice, as we gaze on her, will prove to be no reality of flesh and blood like ourselves; she is a form modelled in the semblance of that real, living woman who died six centuries ago, but the substance of which is the white fire of dante's love. and the thought will arise that this purely intellectual love of a scarce-noticed youth for a scarce-known woman is a thing which does not belong to life, neither sweetening nor ennobling any of its real relations; that it is, in its dazzling purity and whiteness, in fact a mere strange and sterile death light, such as could not and should not, in this world of ours, exist twice over. and, lest we should ever be tempted to think of this ideal love for beatrice as of a wonderful and beautiful, but scarcely natural or useful phenomenon, i would wish to study the story of its origin and its influence. i would wish to show that had it not burned thus strangely concentrated and pure, the poets of succeeding ages could not have taken from that white flame of love which dante set alight upon the grave of beatrice, the spark of ideal passion which has, in the noblest of our literature, made the desire of man for woman and of woman for man burn clear towards heaven, leaving behind the noisome ashes and soul-enervating vapours of earthly lust. i. the centuries have made us; forcing us into new practices, teaching us new habits, creating for us new capacities and wants; adding, ever and anon, to the soul organism of mankind features which at first were but accidental peculiarities, which became little by little qualities deliberately sought for and at lengths inborn and hereditary characteristics. and thus, in, what we call the middle ages, there was invented by the stress of circumstances, elaborated by half-conscious effort and bequeathed as an unalienable habit, a new manner of loving. the women of classical antiquity appear to us in poetry and imaginative literature as one of two things: the wife or the mistress. the wife, penelope, andromache, alkestis, nay, even the charming young bride in xenophon's "oeconomics," is, while excluded from many concerns, distinctly reverenced and loved in her own household capacity; but the reverence is of the sort which the man feels for his parents and his household gods, and the affection is calm and gently rebuking like that for his children. the mistress, on the other hand, is the object of passion which is often very vehement, but which is always either simply fleshly or merely fancifully æsthetic or both, and which entirely precludes any save a degrading influence upon the sensual and suspicious lover. even tibullus, in love matters one of the most modern among the ancients, and capable of painting many charming and delicate little domestic idyls even in connection with a mere bought mistress, is perpetually accusing his delia of selling herself to a higher bidder, and sighing at the high probability of her abandoning him for the illyrian prætor or some other rich amateur of pretty women. the barbarous north--whose songs have come down to us either, like the volsunga saga translated by mr. morris, in an original pagan version, or else, as the nibelungenlied, recast during the early middle ages--the north tells us nothing of the venal paramour, but knows nothing also beyond the wedded wife; more independent and mighty perhaps than her counterpart of classical antiquity, but although often bought, like brynhilt or gudrun, at the expense of tremendous adventures, cherished scarcely more passionately than the wives of odysseus and hector. thus, before the middle ages, there existed as a rule only a holy, but indifferent and utterly unlyrical, love for the women, the equals of their husbands, wooed usually of the family and solemnly given in marriage without much consultation of their wishes; and a highly passionate and singing, but completely profligate and debasing, desire for mercenary though cultivated creatures like the delias and cynthlas of tibullus and propertius, or highborn women, descended, like catullus' lesbia, in brazen dishonour to their level, women towards whom there could not possibly exist on the part of their lovers any sense of equality, much less of inferiority. to these two kinds of love, chaste but cold, and passionate but unchaste, the middle ages added, or rather opposed, a new manner of loving, which, although a mere passing phenomenon, has left the clearest traces throughout our whole mode of feeling and writing. to describe mediæval love is a difficult matter, and to describe it except in negations is next to impossibility. i conceive it to consist in a certain sentimental, romantic, idealistic attitude towards women, not by any means incompatible however with the grossest animalism; an attitude presupposing a complete moral, æsthetical, and social superiority on the part of the whole sex, inspiring the very highest respect and admiration independently of the individual's qualities; and reaching the point of actual worship, varying from the adoration of a queen by a courtier to the adoration of a shrine by a pilgrim, in the case of the one particular lady who happens to be the beloved; an attitude in the relations of the sexes which results in love becoming an indispensable part of a noble life, and the devoted attachment to one individual woman, a necessary requisite of a gentlemanly training. mediæval love is not merely a passion, a desire, an affection, a habit; it is a perfect occupation. it absorbs, or is supposed to absorb, the individual; it permeates his life like a religion. it is not one of the interests of life, or, rather, one of life's phases; it is the whole of life, all other interests and actions either sinking into an unsingable region below it, or merely embroidering a variegated pattern upon its golden background. mediæval love, therefore, never obtains its object, however much it may obtain the woman; for the object of mediæval love, as of mediæval religious mysticism, is not one particular act or series of acts, but is its own exercise, of which the various incidents of the drama between man and woman are merely so many results. it has not its definite stages, like the love of the men of classical antiquity or the heroic time of the north: its stages of seeking, obtaining, cherishing, guarding; it is always at the same point, always in the same condition of half-religious, half-courtier-like adoration, whether it be triumphantly successful or sighingly despairing. the man and the woman--or rather, i should say, the knight and the lady, for mediæval love is an aristocratic privilege, and the love of lower folk is not a theme for song--the knight and the lady, therefore, seem always, however knit together by habit, nay, by inextricable meshes of guilt, somehow at the same distance from one another. once they have seen and loved each other, their passion burns on always evenly, burns on (at least theoretically) to all eternity. it seems almost as if the woman were a mere shrine, a mysterious receptacle of the ineffable, a grail cup, a consecrated wafer, but not the ineffable itself. for there is always in mediæval love, however fleshly the incidents which it produces, a certain platonic element; that is to say, a craving for, a pursuit of, something which is an abstraction; an abstraction impossible to define in its constant shifting and shimmering, and which seems at one moment a social standard, a religious ideal, or both, and which merges for ever in the dazzling, vague sheen of the eternal feminine. hence, one of the most distinctive features of mediæval love, an extraordinary sameness of intonation, making it difficult to distinguish between the _bonâ fide_ passion for which a man risks life and honour, and the mere conventional gallantry of the knight who sticks a lady's glove on his helmet as a compliment to her rank; nay, between the impure adoration of an adulterous lamia like yseult, and the mystical adoration of a glorified mother of god; for both are women, both are ladies, and therefore the greatest poet of the early middle ages, gottfried von strassburg, sings them both with the same religious respect, and the same hysterical rapture. this mediæval love is furthermore a deliberately expected, sought-for, and received necessity in a man's life; it is not an accident, much less an incidental occurrence to be lightly taken or possibly avoided: it is absolutely indispensable to man's social training, to his moral and æsthetical self-improvement; it is part and parcel of manhood and knighthood. hence, where it does not arise of itself (and where a man is full of the notion of such love, it is rare that it does not come but too soon) it has to be sought for. ulrich von liechtenstein, in his curious autobiography written late in the twelfth century, relates how ever since his childhood he had been aware of the necessity of the loyal love service of a lady for the accomplishment of knightly duties; and how, as soon as he was old enough to love, he looked around him for a lady whom he might serve; a proceeding renewed in more prosaic days and with a curious pedantic smack, by lorenzo dei medici; and then again, perhaps for the last time, by the knight of la mancha, in that memorable discussion which ended in the enthronement as his heart's queen of the unrivalled dulcinea of toboso. _frowendienst,_ "lady's service," is the name given by ulrich von liechtenstein, a mediæval quixote, outshining by far the mad provençals rudel and vidal, to the memoirs very delightfully done into modern german by ludwig tieck; and "lady's service" is the highest occupation of knightly leisure, the subject of the immense bulk of mediæval poetry. "lady's service" in deeds of arms and song, in constant praise and defence of the beloved, in heroic enterprise and madcap mummery, in submission and terror to the wondrous creature whom the humble servant, the lover, never calls by her sacred name, speaking of her in words unknown to antiquity, _dompna, dame, frowe, madonna_--words of which the original sense has almost been forgotten, although there cleave to them even now ideas higher than those associated with the _puella_ of the ancients, the _wib_ of the heroic days--lady, mistress--the titles of the mother of god, who is, after all, only the mystical soul's paramour of the mediæval world. "lady's service"--the almost technical word, expressing the position, half-serf-like, half-religious, the bonds of complete humility and never-ending faithfulness, the hopes of reward, the patience under displeasure, the pride in the livery of servitude, the utter absorption of the life of one individual in the life of another; which constitute in provence, in france, in germany, in england, in italy, in the fabulous kingdoms of arthur and charlemagne, the strange new thing which i have named mediæval love. has such a thing really existed? are not these mediæval poets leagued together in a huge conspiracy to deceive us? is it possible that strong men have wept and fainted at a mere woman's name, like the count of nevers in "flamenca," or that their mind has swooned away in months of reverie like that of parzifal in eschenbach's poem; that worldly wise and witty men have shipped off and died on sea for love of an unseen woman like jaufre rudel; or dressed in wolf's hide and lurked and fled before the huntsmen-like peire vidal; or mangled their face and cut off their finger, and, clothing themselves in rags more frightful than nessus' robe, mixed in the untouchable band of lepers like ulrich von liechtenstein? is it possible to believe that the insane enterprises of the amadises, lisvarts and felixmartes of late mediæval romance, that the behaviour of don quixote in the sierra morena, ever had any serious models in reality? nay, more difficult still to believe--because the whole madness of individuals is more credible than the half-madness of the whole world--is it possible to believe that, as the poems of innumerable trouvères and troubadours, minnesingers and italian poets, as the legion of mediæval romances of the cycles of charlemagne, arthur, and amadis would have it, that during so long a period of time society could have been enthralled by this hysterical, visionary, artificial, incredible religion of mediæval love? it is at once too grotesque and too beautiful, too high and too low, to be credible; and our first impulse, on closing the catechisms and breviaries, the legendaries and hymn-books of this strange new creed, is to protest that the love poems must be allegories, the love romances solar myths, the courts of love historical bungles; that all this mediæval world of love is a figment, a misinterpretation, a falsehood. but if we seek more than a mere casual impression; if, instead of feeling sceptical over one or two fragments of evidence, we attempt to collect the largest possible number of facts together; if we read not one mediæval love story, but twenty--not half a dozen mediæval love poems, but several scores; if we really investigate into the origin of the apparent myth, the case speedily alters. little by little this which had been inconceivable becomes not merely intelligible, but inevitable; the myth becomes an historical phenomenon of the most obvious and necessary sort. mediæval love, which had seemed to us a poetic fiction, is turned into a reality; and a reality, alas, which is prosaic. let us look at it. mediæval love is first revealed in the sudden and almost simultaneous burst of song which, like the twitter and trill so dear to trouvères, troubadours, and minnesingers, fills the woods that yesterday were silent and dead, and greeted the earliest sunshine, the earliest faint green after the long winter numbness of the dark ages, after the boisterous gales of the earliest crusade. the french and provençals sang first, the germans later, the sicilians last; but although we may say after deliberate analysis, such or such a form, or such or such a story, was known in this country before it appeared in that one, such imitation or suggestion was so rapid that with regard to the french, the provençals, and the germans at least, the impression is simultaneous; only the sicilians beginning distinctly later, forerunners of the new love lyric, wholly different from that of trouvères, troubadours, and minnesingers, of the italians of the latter thirteenth century. and this simultaneous revelation of mediæval love takes place in the last quarter of the twelfth century, when northern france had already consolidated into a powerful monarchy, and paris, after the teachings of abélard, was recognized as the intellectual metropolis of europe; when south of the loire the brilliant angevine kings held the overlordship of the cultured raymonds of toulouse and of the reviving latin municipalities of provence \ when germany was welded as a compact feudal mass by the most powerful of the stauffens; and the papacy had been built up by gregory and alexander into a political wall against which frederick and henry vainly battered; when the italian commonwealths grew slowly but surely, as yet still far from guessing that the day would come when their democracy should produce a new civilization to supersede this triumphant mediæval civilization of the early capetiens, the angevines, and the hohenstauffens. europe was setting forth once more for the east; but no longer as the ignorant and enthusiastic hordes of peter the hermit: asia was the great field for adventure, the great teacher of new luxuries, at once the eldorado and the grand tour of all the brilliant and inquisitive and unscrupulous chivalry of the day. and, while into the west were insidiously entering habits and modes of thought of the east; throughout germany and provence, and throughout the still obscure free burghs of italy, was spreading the first indication of that emotional mysticism which, twenty or thirty years later, was to burst out in the frenzy of spiritual love of st. francis and his followers. the moment is one of the most remarkable in all history: the premature promise in the twelfth century of that intellectual revival which was delayed throughout northern europe until the sixteenth. it is the moment when society settled down, after the anarchy of eight hundred years, on its feudal basis; a basis fallaciously solid, and in whose presence no one might guess that the true and definitive renaissance would arise out of the democratic civilization of italy. such is the moment when we first hear the almost universal song of mediæval love. this song comes from the triumphantly reorganized portion of society, not from the part which is slowly working its way to reorganization; not from the timidly encroaching burghers, but from the nobles. the reign of town poetry, of fabliaux and meistersang, comes later; the poets of the early middle ages, trouvères, troubadours, and minnesingers are, with barely one or two exceptions, all knights. and their song comes from the castle. now, in order to understand mediæval love, we must reflect for a moment upon this feudal castle, and upon the kind of life which the love poets of the late twelfth and early thirteenth century--whether lords like bertram de born, and guillaume de poitiers, among the troubadours; the vidame de chartres, meurisses de craon, and the duke of brabant among the trouvères of northern france; like ulrich von liechtenstein among the minnesingers; or retainers and hangers-on like bernard de ventadour and armand de mareulh, like chrestiens de troyes, gaisses brulez, or quienes de béthune, like walther, wolfram, and tannhäuser--great or small, good or bad, saw before them and mixed with in that castle. the castle of a great feudatory of the early middle ages, whether north or south of the loire, in austria or in franconia, is like a miniature copy of some garrison town in barbarous countries: there is an enormous numerical preponderance of men over women; for only the chiefs in command, the overlord, and perhaps one or two of his principal kinsmen or adjutants, are permitted the luxury of a wife; the rest of the gentlemen are subalterns, younger sons without means, youths sent to learn their military duty and the ways of the world: a whole pack of men without wives, without homes, and usually without fortune. high above all this deferential male crowd, moves the lady of the castle: highborn, proud, having brought her husband a dower of fiefs often equal to his own, and of vassals devoted to her race. about her she has no equals; her daughters, scarcely out of the nurse's hands, are given away in marriage; and her companions, if companions they may be called, are the waiting ladies, poor gentlewomen situated between the maid of honour and the ladies' maid, like that brangwaine whom yseult sacrifices to her intrigue with tristram, or those damsels whom flamenca gives over to the squires of her lover guillems; at best, the wife of one of her husband's subalterns, or some sister or aunt or widow kept by charity. round this lady--the stately, proud lady perpetually described by mediæval poets--flutters the swarm of young men, all day long, in her path: serving her at meals, guarding her apartments, nay, as pages, admitted even into her most secret chamber; meeting her for ever in the narrowness of that castle life, where every unnecessary woman is a burden usurping the place of a soldier, and, if possible, replaced by a man. servants, lacqueys, and enjoying the privileges of ubiquity of lacqueys, yet, at the same time, men of good birth and high breeding, good at the sword and at the lute; bound to amuse this highborn woman, fading away in the monotony of feudal life, with few books to read or unable to read them, and far above all the household concerns which devolve on the butler, the cellarer, the steward, the gentleman, honourably employed as a servant. to them, to these young men, with few or no young women of their own age to associate, and absolutely no unmarried girls who could be a desirable match, the lady of the castle speedily becomes a goddess, the impersonation at once of that feudal superiority before which they bow, of that social perfection which they are commanded to seek, and of that womankind of which the castle affords so few examples. to please her, this lazy, bored, highbred woman, with all the squeamishness and caprice of high birth and laziness about her, becomes their ideal; to be favourably noticed, their highest glory; to be loved, these wretched mortals, by this divinity--that thought must often pass through their brain and terrify them with its delicious audacity; oh no, such a thing is not possible. but it is. the lady at first, perhaps most often, singles out as a pastime some young knight, some squire, some page; and, in a half-queenly, half-motherly way, corrects, rebukes his deficiencies, undertakes to teach him his duty as a servant. the romance of the "petit jehan de saintre," written in the fifteenth century, but telling, with a delicacy of cynicism worthy of balzac, what must have been the old, old story of the whole feudal middle ages, shows the manner in which, while feeling that he is being trained to knightly courtesy and honour, the young man in the service of a great feudal lady is gradually taught dissimulation, lying, intrigue; is initiated by the woman who looms above him like a saint into all the foulness of adultery. adultery; a very ugly word, which must strike almost like a handful of mud in the face whosoever has approached this subject of mediæval love in admiration of its strange delicacy and enthusiasm. yet it is a word which must be spoken, for in it is the explanation of the whole origin and character of this passion which burst into song in the early middle ages. this almost religious love, this love which conceives no higher honour than the service of the beloved, no higher virtue than eternal fidelity--this love is the love for another man's wife. between unmarried young men and young women, kept carefully apart by the system which gives away a girl without her consent and only to a rich suitor, there is no possibility of love in these early feudal courts; the amours, however licentious, between kings' daughters and brave knights, of the carolingian tales, belong to a different rank of society, to the prose romances made up in the fourteenth century for the burgesses of cities; the intrigues, ending in marriage, of the princes and princesses of the cycle of amadis, belong to a different period, to the fifteenth century, and to courts where feudal society scarcely exists; the squires, the young knights who hang about a great baronial establishment of the twelfth and thirteenth centuries, have still to make their fortune, and do not dream of marriage. the husband, on the other hand, the great lord or successful knightly adventurer, married late in life, and married from the necessity, for ever pressing upon the feudal proprietor, of adding on new fiefs and new immunities, of increasing his importance and independence in proportion to the hourly increasing strength and claims of the overlord, the king, who casts covetous eyes upon him--the husband has not married for love; he has had his love affairs with the wives of other men in his day, or may still have them; this lady is a mere feudal necessity, she is required to give him a dower and give him an heir, that is all. if the husband does not love, how much less can the wife; married, as she is, scarce knowing what marriage is, to a man much older than herself, whom most probably she has never seen, to whom she is a mere investment. nay, there is not even the after-marriage love of the ancients: this wife is not the housekeeper, the woman who works that the man's house may be rich and decorous; not even the nurse of his children, for the children are speedily given over to the squires and duennas; she is the woman of another family who has come into his, the stranger who must be respected (as that most typical mediæval wife, eleanor of guienne, was respected by her husbands) on account of her fiefs, her vassals, her kinsfolk; but who cannot be loved. can there be love between man and wife? there cannot be love between man and wife. this is no answer of mine, fantastically deduced from mediæval poetry. it is the answer solemnly made to the solemnly asked question by the court of love held by the countess of champagne in , and registered by master andrew the king of france's chaplain: "dicimus enim et stabilito tenore firmamus amorem non posse inter duos jugales suas extendere vires." and the reason alleged for this judgment brings us back to the whole conception of mediæval love as a respectful service humbly waiting for a reward: "for," pursues the decision published by andré le chapelain, "whereas lovers grant to each other favours freely and from no legal necessity, married people have the duty of obeying each other's wishes and of refusing nothing to one another." "no love is possible between man and wife," repeat the courts of love which, consisting of all the highborn ladies of the province and presided by some mighty queen or princess, represent the social opinions of the day. "but this lady," says a knight (miles) before the love tribunal of queen eleanor, "promised to me that if ever she should lose the love of her lover, she would take me in his place. she has wedded the man who was her lover, and i have come to claim fulfilment of her promise." the court discusses for awhile. "we cannot," answers queen eleanor, "go against the countess of champagne's decision that love cannot exist between man and wife. we therefore desire this lady to fulfil her promise and give you her love." again, there come to the court of love of the viscountess of narbonne a knight and a lady, who desire to know whether, having been once married, but since divorced, a love engagement between them would be honourable. the viscountess decides that "love between those who have been married together, but who have since been divorced from one another, is not to be deemed reprehensible; nay, that it is to be considered as honourable." and these courts of love, be it remarked, were frequently held on occasion of the marriage of great personages; as, for instance, of that between louis vii. and eleanor of poitiers in . the poetry of the early middle ages follows implicitly the decisions of these tribunals, which reveal a state of society to which the nearest modern approach is that of italy in the eighteenth century, when, as goldoni and parini show us, as stendhal (whose "de l'amour" may be taken as the modern "breviari d'amor") expounds, there was no impropriety possible as long as a lady was beloved by any one except her own husband. no love, therefore, between unmarried people (the cyclical romances, as before stated, and the amadises, belong to another time of social condition, and the only real exception to my rule of which i can think is the lovely french tale of "aucassin et nicolette"); and no love between man and wife. but love there must be; and love there consequently is; love for the married woman from the man who is not her husband. the feudal lady, married without being consulted and without having had a chance of knowing what love is, yet lives to know love; lives to be taught it by one of these many bachelors bound to flutter about her in military service or social duty; lives to teach it herself. and she is too powerful in her fiefs and kinsmen, too powerful in the public opinion which approves and supports her, to be hampered by her husband. the husband, indeed, has grown up in the same habits, has known, before marrying, the customs sanctioned by the courts of love; he has been the knight of some other man's wife in his day, what right has he to object? as in the days of italian _cecisbei_, the early mediæval lover might say with goldoni's don alfonso or don roberto, "i _serve_ your wife--such or such another serves mine, what harm can there be in it?" ("io servo vostra moglie, don eugenio favorisce la mia; che male c' e?" i am quoting from memory.) and as a fact, we hear little of jealousy; the amusement of en barral when peire vidal came in and kissed his sleeping wife; and the indignation of all provence for the murder of guillems de cabestanh (buried in the same tomb with the lady who had been made to eat of his heart)--showing from opposite sides how the society accustomed to courts of love looked upon the duties of husbands. such was the social life in those feudal courts whence first arises the song of mediæval love, and that this is the case is proved by the whole huge body of early mediæval poetry. we must not judge, as i have said, either by poems of much earlier date, like the nibelungen and the carolingian _chansons de geste_, which merely received a new form in the early middle ages; still less from the prose romances of mélusine, milles et amys, palemon and arcite, and a host of others which were elaborated only later and under the influence of the quite unfeudal habits of the great cities; and least of all from that strange late southern cycle of the amadises, from which, odd as it seems, many of our notions of chivalric love have, through our ancestors, through the satirists or burlesque poets of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, been inherited. we must look at the tales which, as we are constantly being told by trouvères, troubadours, and minnesingers, were the fashionable reading of the feudal classes of the twelfth and thirteenth centuries: the tales best known to us in the colourless respectability of the collection made in the reign of edward iv. by sir thomas malory, and called by him the "morte d'arthur"--of the ladies and knights of arthur's court; of the quest of the grail by spotless knights who were bastards and fathers of bastards; of the intrigues of tristram of lyoness and queen yseult; of launcelot and guenevere; the tales which francesca and paolo read together. we must look, above all, at the lyric poetry of france, provence, germany, and sicily in the early middle ages. vos qui très bien ameis i petit mentendeis por l'amor de ihesu les pucelles ameis. nos trouvons en escris de sainte auctoriteis ke pucelle est la fleur de loyaulment ameir. this strange entreaty to love the maidens for the sake of christ's love, this protest of a nameless northern french poet (wackernagel, altfranzösische lieder and leiche ix.) against the adulterous passion of his contemporaries, comes to us, pathetically enough, solitary, faint, unnoticed in the vast chorus, boundless like the spring song of birds or the sound of the waves, of poets singing the love of other men's wives. but, it may be objected--how can we tell that these love songs, so carefully avoiding all mention of names, are not addressed to the desired bride, to the legitimate wife of the poet? for several reasons; and mainly, for the crushing evidence of an undefinable something which tells us that they are not. the other reasons are easily stated. we know that feudal habits would never have allowed to unmarried women (and women were married when scarcely out of their childhood) the opportunities for the relations which obviously exist between the poet and his lady; and that, if by some accident a young knight might fall in love with a girl, he would address not her but her parents, since the middle ages, who were indifferent to adultery, were, like the southern nations among whom the married woman is not expected to be virtuous, extreme sticklers for the purity of their unmarried womankind. further, we have no instance of an unmarried woman being ever addressed during the early middle ages, in those terms of social respect--_madame, domna, frowe, madonna_--which essentially belong to the mistress of a household; nor do these stately names fit in with any theory which would make us believe that the lady addressed by the poet is the jealously guarded daughter of the house with whom he is plotting a secret marriage, or an elopement to end off in marriage. this is not the way that romeo speaks to juliet, nor even that the princesses in the cyclical romances and in the amadises are wooed by their bridegrooms. this is not the language of a lover who is broaching his love, and who hopes, however timidly, to consummate it before all the world by marriage. it is obviously the language of a man either towards a woman who is taking a pleasure in keeping him dangling without favours which she has implicitly or explicitly promised; or towards a woman who is momentarily withholding favours which her lover has habitually enjoyed. and in a large proportion of cases the poems of trouvères, troubadours, and minnesingers are the expression of fortunate love, the fond recollection or eager expectation of meetings with the beloved. all this can evidently not be connected with the wooing, however stealthy, however romeo-and-juliet-like of a bride; still less can it be explained in reference to love within wedlock. a man does not, however loving, worship his wife as his social superior; he does not address her in titles of stiff respect; he does not sigh and weep and supplicate for love which is his due, and remind his wife that she owes it him in return for loyal, humble, discreet service. above all, a man (except in some absurd comedy perhaps, where the husband, in an age of _cicisbeos_, is in love with his own wife and dares not admit it before the society which holds "that there can be no love between married folk ")--a husband, i repeat, does not beg for, arrange, look forward to, and recall with triumph or sadness, secret meetings with his own wife. now the secret meeting is, in nearly every aristocratic poet of the early poetry, the inevitable result of the humble praises and humble requests for kindness; it is, most obviously, _the_ reward for which the poet is always importuning. mediæval love poetry, compared with the love poetry of antiquity and the love poetry of the revival of letters, is, in its lyric form, decidedly chaste; but it is perfectly explicit; and, for all its metaphysical tendencies and its absence of clearly painted pictures, the furthest possible removed from being platonic. one of the most important, characteristic, and artistically charming categories of mediæval love lyrics is that comprising the provençal _serena_ and _alba,_ with their counterparts in the _langue d'oil_, and the so-called _wachtlieder_ of the minnesingers; and this category of love poetry may be defined as the drama, in four acts, of illicit love. the faithful lover has received from his lady an answer to his love, the place and hour are appointed; all the day of which the evening is to bring him this honour, he goes heavy hearted and sighing: "day, much do you grow for my grief, and the evening, the evening and the long hope kills me." thus far the _serena_, the evening song, of guiraut riquier. a lovely anonymous _alba,_ whose refrain, "oi deus, oi deus; de l' alba, tan tost ve!" is familiar to every smatterer of provençal, shows us the lady and her knight in an orchard beneath the hawthorn, giving and taking the last kisses while the birds sing and the sky whitens with dawn. "the lady is gracious and pleasant, and many look upon her for her beauty, and her heart is all in loving loyally; alas, alas, the dawn! how soon it: comes!--" "oi deus, oi deus; de l'alba, tan tost ve!" the real _alba_ is the same as the german _wachtlieder,_ the song of the squire or friend posted at the garden gate or outside the castle wall, warning the lovers to separate. "fair comrade (bel companho), i call to you singing. 'sleep no more, for i hear the birds announcing the day in the trees, and i fear that the jealous one may find you;' and in a moment it will be day, 'bel companho, come to the window and look at the signs in the sky! you will know me a faithful messenger; if you do it not, it will be to your harm" and in a moment it will be dawn (et ades sera l' alba)... bel companho, since i left you i have not slept nor raised myself from my knees; for i have prayed to god the son of saint mary, that he should send me: back my faithful comrade, and in a moment it will be dawn in this _alba_ of guiraut de borneulh, the lover comes at last to the window, and cries to his watching comrade that he is too happy to care either for the dawn or for the jealous one. the german _wachtlieder_ are even more explicit. "he must away at once and without delay," sings the watchman in a poem of wolfram, the austere singer of parzifal and the grail quest; "let him go, sweet lady; let him away from thy love so that he keep his honour and life. he trusted himself to me that i should bring him safely hence; it is day ..." "sing what thou wilt, watchman," answers the lady, "but leave him here." in a far superior, but also far less chaste poem of heinrich von morungen, the lady, alone and melancholy, wakes up remembering the sad white light of morning, the sad cry of the watchman, which separated her from her knight. still more frankly, and in a poem which is one of the few real masterpieces of minnesang, the lady in walther von der vogelweide's "under der linden an der heide" narrates a meeting in the wood. "what passed between us shall never be known by any! never by any, save him and me--yes, and by the little nightingale that sang _tandaradei_! the little bird will surely be discreet." the songs of light love for another's wife of troubadour, trouvère, and minnesinger, seem to have been squeezed together, so that all their sweet and acrid perfume is, so to speak, sublimated, in the recently discovered early provençal narrative poem called "flamenca." like the "tristram" of gottfried von strassburg, like all these light mediæval love _lyrics,_ of which i have been speaking, the rhymed story of "flamenca," a pale and simple, but perfect petalled daisy, has come up in a sort of moral and intellectual dell in the winter of the middle ages--a dell such as you meet in hollows of even the most wind-swept southern hills, where, while all round the earth is frozen and the short grass nibbled away by the frost, may be found even at christmas a bright sheen of budding wheat beneath the olives on the slope, a yellow haze of sun upon the grass in which the little aromatic shoots of fennel and mint and marigold pattern with greenness the sere brown, the frost-burnt; where the very leafless fruit trees have a spring-like rosy tinge against the blue sky, and the tufted little osiers flame a joyous orange against the greenness of the hill. such spots there are--and many--in the winter of the middle ages; though it is not in them, but where the rain beats, and the snow and the wind tugs, that grow, struggling with bitterness, the great things of the day: the philosophy of abélard, the love of man of st. francis, the patriotism of the lombard communes; nor that lie dormant, fertilized in the cold earth, the great things of art and thought, the great things to come. but in them arise the delicate winter flowers which we prize: tender, pale things, without much life, things either come too soon or stayed too late, among which is "flamenca;" one of those roses, nipped and wrinkled, but stained a brighter red by the frost, which we pluck in december or in march; beautiful, bright, scentless roses, which, scarce in bud, already fall to pieces in our hand. "flamenca" is simply the narrative of the loves of the beautiful wife of the bearish and jealous count archambautz, and of guillems de nevers, a brilliant young knight who hears of the lady's sore captivity, is enamoured before he sees her, dresses up as the priest's clerk, and speaks one word with her while presenting the mass book to be kissed, every holiday; and finally deceives the vigilance of the husband by means of a subterranean corridor, which he gets built between his inn and the bath-room of the lady at the famous waters of bourbon-les-bains. in this world of "flamenca," which is in truth the same world as that of the "romaunt of the rose," the "morte d'arthur," and of the love poets of early france and germany, conjugal morality and responsibility simply do not exist. it seems an unreal pleasure-garden, with a shadowy guardian--impalpable to us gross moderns--called honour, but where, as it seems, love only reigns. love, not the mystic and melancholy god of the "vita nuova," but a foppish young deity, sentimental at once and sensual, of fashionable feudal life: the god of people with no apparent duties towards others, unconscious of any restraints save those of this vague thing called honour; whose highest mission for the knight, as put in our english "romaunt of the rose" is to-- set thy might and alle thy witte wymmen and ladies for to plese, and to do thyng that may hem ese; while, for the lady, it is expressed with perfect simplicity of shamelessness by flamenca herself to her damsels, teaching them that the woman must yield to the pleasure of her lover. now love, when young, when, so to speak, but just born and able to feed (as a newborn child on milk, without hungering for more solid food) on looks and words and sighs; love thus young, is a fair-seeming godhead, and the devotion to him a pretty and delicate piece of æstheticism. and such it is here in "flamenca," where there certainly exists neither god nor christ, both complete absentees, whose priest becomes a courteous lover's valet, whose church the place for amorous rendezvous, whose sacrifice of mass and prayer becomes a means of amorous correspondence: cupid, in the shape of his slave guillems de nevers--become _patarin_(zealot) for love--peeping with shaven golden head from behind the missal, touching the lady's hand and whispering with the words of spiritual peace the declaration of love, the appointment for meeting. god and christ, i repeat, are absentees. where they are i know not; perhaps over the rhine with the lollards in their weavers' dens, or over the alps in the cell of st. francis; not here, certainly, or if here, themselves become the mere slaves of love. but this king love, as long as a mere infant, is a sweet and gracious divinity, surrounded by somewhat of the freshness and hawthorn sweetness of spring which seem to accompany his favourite guillems. guillems de nevers, "who could still grow," this brilliant knight and troubadour, in his white silken and crimson and purple garments and soundless shoes embroidered with flowers, this prince of tournaments and _tensos_, who hearing the sorrows of the beautiful flamenca, loves her unseen, sits sighing in sight of her prison bower, and faints like a hero of the arabian nights at her name, and has visions of her as st. francis has of christ; this younger and brighter sir launcelot, is an ideal little figure, whom you might mistake for love himself as described in the "romaunt of the rose;" love's avatar or incarnation, on whose appearance the year blooms into spring, the fruit trees blossom, the birds sing, the girls dance at eve round the maypoles; behind whom, while reading this poem, we seem to see the corn shine green beneath the olives, the white-blossomed branches slant across the blue sky. for is he not the very incarnation of chivalry, of beauty, and of love? so much for this king love while but quite young. unfortunately he is speedily weaned of his baby food of mere blushing glances and sighed-out names; and then his aspect, his kingdom's aspect, the aspect of his votaries, undergoes a change. the profane but charming game of the loving clerk and the missal is exchanged for the more coarse hide-and-seek of hidden causeways and tightened bolts, with jealous husbands guarding the useless door; guillems becomes but an ordinary don juan or lovelace, flamenca but a sorry, sneaking adulteress, and the gracious damsels mere common sluts, curtseying at the loan (during the interview of nobler folk) of the gallant's squires. for the scent of may, of fresh leaves and fallen blossoms, we get the nauseous vapours of the bath-room; and, alas, king love has lost his aureole and his wings and turned keeper of the hot springs, sought out by the gouty and lepers, of bourbon-les-bains; and in closing this book, so delightfully begun, we sicken at the whiff of hot and fetid moral air as we should sicken in passing over the outlet of the polluted hot water. "but where is the use of telling us all this?" the reader will ask; "every one knows that illicit passion existed and exists, and has its chroniclers, its singers in prose and in verse. but what has all this poetry of common adultery to do with a book like the 'vita nuova,' with that strange new thing, that lifelong worship of a woman, which you call mediæval love?" this much: that out of this illicit love, and out of it, gross as it looks, alone arises the possibility of the "vita nuova;" arises the possibility of the romantic and semi-religious love of the middle ages. or, rather, let us say that this mere loose love of the _albas_ and _wachtlieder_ and "flamenca," is the substratum, nay, is the very flesh and blood, of the spiritual passion to which, in later days, we owe the book of beatrice. it is a harsh thing to say, but one which all sociology teaches us, that as there exists no sensual relation which cannot produce for its ennoblement a certain amount of passion, so also does there exist no passion (and phædrus is there to prove it) so vile and loathsome as to be unable to weave about itself a glamour of ideal sentiment. the poets of the middle ages strove after the criminal possession of another man's wife. this, however veiled with fine and delicate poetic expressions, is the thing for which they wait and sigh and implore; this is the reward, the supremely honouring and almost sanctifying reward which the lady cannot refuse to the knight who has faithfully and humbly served her. the whole bulk of the love lyrics of the early middle ages are there to prove it; and if the allusions in them are not sufficiently clear, those who would be enlightened may study the discussions of the allegorical persons even in the english (and later) version of guillaume de lorris' "roman de la rose;" and turn to what, were it in _langue d'oc_, we should call a _tenso_ of guillaume li viniers among mätzner's "altfranzösische lieder-dichter." the catastrophe of ulrich von liechtenstein's "frowendienst," where the lady, the "virtuous," the "pure," as he is pleased to call her, after making him cut off his finger, dress in leper's clothes, chop off part of his upper lip, and go through the most marvellous quixotic antics dressed in satin and pearls and false hair as queen venus, and jousting in this costume with every knight between venice and styria, all for her honour and glory; pulls the gallant in a basket up to her window, and then lets him drop down into the moat which is no better than a sewer; this grotesque and tragically resented end of ulrich's first _love service_ speaks volumes on the point. the stones in nostradamus' "lives of the troubadours," the incidents in gottfried's "tristan und isolde," nay, the adventures even in our expunged english "morte d'arthur," relating to the birth of sir galahad, are as explicit as anything in brantôme or the queen of navarre; the most delicate love songs of provence and germany are cobwebs spun round decameronian situations. and all this is permitted, admitted, sanctioned by feudal society even as the _cecisbeos_ of the noble italian ladies were sanctioned by the society of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries. in the mediæval castle, where, as we have seen, the lady, separated from her own sex, is surrounded by a swarm of young men without a chance of marriage, and bound to make themselves agreeable to the wife of a military superior; the woman soon ceases to be the exclusive property of her husband, and the husband speedily discovers that the majority, hence public ridicule, are against any attempt at monopolizing her. thus adultery becomes, as we have seen, accepted as an institution under the name of _service_; and, like all other social institutions, developes a morality of its own--a morality within immorality, of faithfulness within infidelity. the lady must be true to her knight, and the knight must be true to his lady: the courts of love solemnly banish from society any woman who is known to have more than one lover. faithfulness is the first and most essential virtue of mediæval love; a virtue unknown to the erotic poets of antiquity, and which modern times have inherited from the middle ages as a requisite, even (as the reproaches of poets of the alfred de musset school teach us) in the most completely illicit love. tristram and launcelot, the two paragons of knighthood, are inviolably constant to their mistress: the husband may and must be deceived, but not the wife who helps to deceive him. yseult of brittany and elaine, the mother of galahad, do not succeed in breaking the vows made to yseult the fair and to queen guenevere. the beautiful lady in the hawthorn _alba_ "a son cor en amar lejalmens." but this loyal loving is for the knight who is warned to depart, certainly not for the husband, the _gilos_, in whose despite ("bels dous amios, baizem nos eu e vos--aval els pratzon chantols auzellos--_tot o fassam en despeit del gilos_") they are meeting. the ladies of the minnesingers are "pure," "good," "faithful" (and each and all are pure, good, and faithful, as long as they do not resist) from the point of view of the lover, not of the husband, if indeed a husband be permitted to have any point of view at all. and as fidelity is the essential virtue in these adulterous connections, so infidelity is the greatest crime that a woman (and even a man) can commit, the greatest misfortune which fate can send to an unhappy knight. that he leaves a faithful mistress behind him is the one hope of the knight who, taking the cross, departs to meet the scimitars of saladin's followers, the fevers, the plagues, the many miserable deaths of the unknown east. "if any lady be unfaithful," says quienes de béthune, "she will have to be unfaithful with some base wretch." et les dames ki castement vivront se loiauté font a ceus qui iront; et seles font par mal conseil folaje, a lasques gens et mauvais le feront, car tout li bon iront en cest voiage. "i have taken the cross on account of my sins," sings albrecht von johansdorf, one of the most earnest of the minnesingers; "now let god help, till my return, the woman who has great sorrow on my account, in order that i may find her possessed of her honour; let him grant me this prayer. but if she change her life (_i.e_., take to bad courses), then may god forbid my ever returning." the lady is bound (the courts of love decide this point of honour) to reward her faithful lover. "a knight," says a lady, in an anonymous german song published by bartsch, "has served me according to my will. before too much time elapse, i must reward him; nay, if all the world were to object, he must have his way with me" ("und waerez al der werlte leit, so muoz sîn wille an mir ergän"). but, on the other hand, the favoured knight is bound to protect his lady's good fame. se jai mamie en tel point mis, que tout motroit (m'octroit) sans esformer, tant doi je miex sonnor gaiter-- thus one of the interlocutors in a french _jeu-parti_, published by mätzner; a rule which, if we may judge from the behaviour of tristram and launcelot, and from the last remnants of mediæval love lore in modern french novels, means simply that the more completely a man has induced a woman to deceive her husband, the more stoutly is he bound to deny, with lies, rows, and blows, that she has ever done anything of the sort. here, then, we find established, as a very fundamental necessity of this socially recognized adultery, a reciprocity of fidelity between lover and mistress which antiquity never dreamed of even between husband and wife (agamemnon has a perfect right to briseis or chryseis, but clytæmnestra has no right to aegisthus); and which indeed could scarcely arise as a moral obligation except where the woman was not bound to love the man (which the wife is) and where her behaviour towards him depended wholly upon her pleasure, that is to say, upon her satisfaction with his behaviour towards her. this, which seems to us so obvious, and of which every day furnishes us an example in the relations of the modern suitor and his hoped-for wife, could not, at a time when women were married by family arrangement, arise except as a result of illegitimate love. horrible as it seems, the more we examine into this subject of mediæval love, the more shall we see that our whole code of grandisonian chivalry between lovers who intend marriage is derived from the practice of the launcelots and gueneveres, not from that of the married people (we may remember the manner in which gunther woos his wife brunhilt in the nibelungenlied) of former ages; nay, the more we shall have to recognize that the very feeling which constitutes the virtuous love of modern poets is derived from the illegitimate loves of the middle ages. let us examine what are the habits of feeling and thinking which grow out of this reciprocal fidelity due to the absence of all one-sided legal pressure in this illegitimate, but socially legitimated, love of the early middle ages; which are added on to it by the very necessities of illicit connection. the lover, having no right to the favours of his mistress, is obliged, in order to win and to keep them, to please her by humility, fidelity, and such knightly qualities as are the ideal plumage of a man: he must bring home to her, by showing the world her colours victorious in serious warfare, in the scarcely less dangerous play of tournaments, and by making her beauty and virtues more illustrious in his song than are those of other women in the songs of their lovers--he must bring home to her that she has a more worthy servant than her rivals; he must determine her to select him and to adhere to her selection. now mediæval husbands select their wives, instead of being selected; and once the woman and the dowry are in their hands, trouble themselves but little whether they are approved of or not. on the other hand, the mistress appears to her lover invested with imaginative, ideal advantages such as cannot surround her in the eyes of her husband: she is, in nearly every case, his superior in station and the desired of many beholders; she is bound to him by no tie which may grow prosaic and wearisome; she appears to him in no domestic capacity, can never descend to be the female drudge; her possession is prevented from growing stale, her personality from becoming commonplace, by the difficulty, rareness, mystery, adventure, danger, which even in the days of courts of love attach to illicit amours; above all, being for this man neither the housewife nor the mother, she remains essentially and continually the mistress, the beloved. similarly the relations between the knight and the lady, untroubled by domestic worries, pecuniary difficulties, and squabbles about children, remain, exist merely as love relations, relations of people whose highest and sole desire is to please one another. moreover, and this is an important consideration, the lady, who is a mere inexperienced, immature girl when she first meets her husband, is a mature woman, with character and passions developed by the independence of conjugal and social life. when she meets her lover, whatever power or dignity of character she may possess is ripe; whatever intensity of aspiration and passion may be latent is ready to come forth; for the first time there is equality in love. equality? ah, no. this woman who is the wife of his feudal superior, this woman surrounded by all the state of feudal sovereignty, this woman who, however young, has already known so much of life, this woman whose love is a free, gift of grace to the obscure, trembling vassal who has a right not even to be noticed; this lady of mediæval love must always remain immeasurably above her lover. and, in the long day-dreams while watching her, as he thinks unseen, while singing of her, as he thinks unheard, there cluster round her figure, mistily seen in his fancy, those vague and-mystic splendours which surround the new sovereign of the middle ages, the queen of heaven; there mingles in the half-terrified raptures of the first kind glance, the first encouraging word, the ineffable passion stored up in the christian's heart for the immortal beings who, in the days of bernard and francis, descend cloud-like on earth and fill the cells of the saints with unendurable glory. and thus, out of the baseness of habitual adultery, arises incense-like, in the early mediæval poetry, a new kind of love--subtler, more imaginative, more passionate, a love of the fancy and the heart, a love stimulating to the perfection of the individual as is any religion; nay, a religion, and one appealing more completely to the complete man, flesh and soul, than even the mystical beliefs of the middle ages. and as, in the fantastic song of ritter tannhäuser, whose liege lady, so legend tells, was dame venus herself, the lady bids the knight go forth and fetch her green water which has washed the setting sun, salamanders snatched from the flame, the stars out of heaven; so would it seem as if this new power in the world, this poetically worshipped woman, had sent forth mankind to seek wonderful new virtues, never before seen on earth. nay, rather, as the snowflakes became green leaves, the frost blossoms red and blue flowers, the winter wind a spring-scented breeze, when bernard de ventadorn was greeted by his mistress; so also does it seem as if, at the first greeting of the world by this new love, the mediæval winter had turned to summer, and there had budded forth and flowered a new ideal of manly virtue, a new ideal of womanly grace. but evil is evil, and evil is its fruit. out of circumstances hitherto unknown, circumstances come about for the first time owing to the necessities of illegitimate passion, have arisen certain new and nobler characters of sexual love, certain new and beautiful conceptions of manly and womanly nature. the circumstances to which these are owed are pure in themselves, they are circumstances which in more modern times have characterized the perfectly legitimate passion of lovers held asunder by no social law, but by mere accidental barriers--from romeo and juliet to the master of ravenswood and lucy ashton; and pure so far have been the spiritual results. but these circumstances were due, in the early middle ages, to the fact of adultery; and to the new ideal of love has clung, even in its purity, in its superior nobility, an element of corruption as unknown to gross and corrupt antiquity as was the delicacy and nobility of mediæval love. the most poetical and pathetic of all mediæval love stories, the very incarnation of all that is most lyric at once and most tragic in the new kind of passion, is the story, told and retold by a score of poets and prose writers, of the loves of yseult of ireland and of sir tristram who, as the knight was bringing the princess to his uncle and her affianced, king mark of cornwall drank together by a fatal mistake a philter which made all such as partook of it in common inseparable lovers even unto death. every one knows the result r: how yseult came to her husband already the paramour of tristram; how brangwaine, her damsel, feeling that this unhallowed passion was due to her having left-within reach the potion intended for the king and queen of cornwall, devoted herself, at the price of her maidenhood, to connive in the amours of the lovers whom she had made; how king mark was deceived, and doubted, and was deceived again; how tristram fled to brittany, but how, despite his seeming marriage with another and equally lovely yseult, he remained faithful to the queen of cornwall. one version tells that mark slew his nephew while he sat harping to queen yseult; another that tristram died of grief because his scorned though wedded wife told him that the white-sailed ship, bearing his mistress to meet him, bore the black sail which meant that she was not on board; but all versions, i think, agree in ending with the fact, that the briar-rose growing on the tomb of the one, slowly trailed its flowers and thorns along till it had reached also the grave of the other, and knit together, as love had knit together with its sweet blossoms and sharp spines, the two fated lovers. the middle ages were enthralled by this tale; but they were also, occasionally, a little shocked by it. poets and prose writers tampered every now and then with incidents and characters, seeking to make it appear that, owing to the substitution of the waiting-maid, and the neglect of the wedded princess of brittany, yseult had never belonged to any man save tristram, nor tristram to any woman save yseult; or that king mark had sent his nephew to woo the irish queen's daughter merely in hopes of his perishing in the attempt, and that his whole subsequent conduct was due to a mere unnatural hatred of a better knight than himself; touching up here and there with a view to justifying and excusing to some degree the long series of deceits which constituted the whole story. thus the more timid and less gifted. but when, in the very first years ( ) of the thirteenth century, the greatest mediæval poet that preceded dante, the greatest german poet that preceded goethe, meister gottfried von strassburg, took in hand the old threadbare story of "tristan und isolde," he despised all alterations of this sort, and accepted the original tale in its complete crudeness. for, consciously or unconsciously, gottfried had conceived this story as a thing wholly unknown in his time, and no longer subject to any of those necessities of constant rearrangement which tormented mediæval poets: he had conceived it not as a tale, but as a novel. gottfried himself was probably but little aware of what he was doing; the poem that he was writing probably fell for him into the very same category as the poems of other men; but to us, with our experience of so many different forms of narrative, it must be evident that "tristan und isolde" is a new departure, inasmuch as it is not the story of deeds and the people who did them, like the true epic from homer to the nibelungen; nor the story of people and the adventures which happened to them, like all romance poetry from "palemon and arcite," to the "orlando furioso;" but, on the contrary, the story of the psychological relations, the gradual metamorphosis of soul by soul, between two persons. the long introductory story of tristram's youth must not mislead us, nor all the minute narrations of the killing of dragons and the drinking of love philters: gottfried, we must remember, was certainly no deliberate innovator, and these thing's are the mere inevitable externalities of mediæval poetry, preserved with dull slavish care by the re-writer of a well-known tale, but enclosing in reality something essentially and startlingly modern: the history of a passion and of the spiritual changes which it brings about in those who are its victims. to meet again this purely psychological interest we must skip the whole rest of the middle ages, nay, skip even the great period of dramatic literature, not stopping till we come to the end of the seventeenth and beginning of the eighteenth century, to the "princesse de clèves," to "clarissa harlowe," nay, really, to "the nouvelle heloise." for even in shakespeare there is always interest and importance in the action and reaction of subsidiary characters, in the event, in the accidental; there is intrigue, chance, misunderstanding, fate--active agencies of which othello and hamlet, king lear and romeo, are helpless victims; there is, even in this psychological english drama of the elizabethans, fate in the shape of iago, in the shape of the ghost, in the shape of the brothers of webster's duchess; fate in the shape of a ring, a letter, a drug, but fate always. and in this "tristan und isolde" of gottfried von strassburg is there not fate also in the love potion intended for king mark, and given by the mistake of brangwaine to mark's bride and his nephew? to this objection, which will naturally occur to any reader who is not acquainted with the poem of gottfried, i simply answer, there is not. the love potion there is, but it does not play the same part as do, for instance, the drugs of friar laurence and his intercepted letter. suppose the friar's narcotic to have been less enduring in its action, or his message to have reached in safety, why then juliet would have been awake instead of asleep, or romeo would not have supposed her to be dead, and instead of the suicide of the two lovers, we should have had the successful carying off of juliet by romeo. not so with gottfried. the philter is there, and a great deal is talked about it; but it is merely one of the old, threadbare trappings of the original story, which he has been too lazy to suppress; it is merely, for the reader, the allegorical signal for an outburst of passion which all our subsequent knowledge of tristram and yseult shows us to be absolutely inevitable. in gottfried's poem, the drinking of the potion signifies merely that all the rambling, mediæval prelude, not to be distinguished from the stories of "morte d'arthur," and of half the romances of the middle ages, has come to a close and may be forgotten; and that the real work of the great poet, the real, matchless tragedy of the four actors--tristram, yseult, mark, and brangwaine--has begun. yet if we seek again to account to ourselves for this astonishing impression of modernness which we receive from gottfried's poem, we recognize that it is due to something far more important than the mere precocious psychological interest; nay, rather, that this psychological interest is itself dependent upon the fact which makes "tristan und isolde," so modern to our feelings. this fact is simply that the poem of gottfried is the earliest, and yet perhaps almost the completest, example of a literary anomaly which antiquity, for all its abominations, did not know: the glorification of fidelity in adultery, the glorification of excellence within the compass of guilt. older times --more distant from our own in spirit, though not necessarily in years--have presented us with many themes of guilt: the guilt which exists according to our own moral standard, but not according to that of the narrator, as the magnificently tragic icelandic incest story of sigmund and signy; the guilt which has come about no one well knows how, an unfortunate circumstance leaving the sinner virtually stainless, in his or her own eyes and the eyes of others, like the homeric helen; the heroic guilt, where the very heroism seems due to the self-sacrifice of the sinner's innocence, of judith; the struggling, remorseful guilt, hopelessly overcome by fate and nature, of phædra; the dull and dogged guilt, making the sinner scarce more than a mere physical stumbling-block for others, of the murderer hagen in the nibelungenlied; and, finally, the perverse guilt, delighting in the consciousness of itself, of demons like richard and iago, of libidinous furies like the heroines of tourneur and marston. the guilt theme of "tristan und isolde" falls into none of these special categories. this theme, unguessed even by shakespeare, is that of the virtuous behaviour towards one another of two individuals united in sinning against every one else. gottfried von strassburg narrates with the greatest detail how tristram leads to the unsuspecting king the unblushing, unremorseful woman polluted by his own embraces; how yseult substitutes on the wedding night her spotless damsel brangwaine for her own sullied self; then, terrified lest the poor victim of her dishonour should ever reveal it, attempts to have her barbarously murdered, and, finally, seeing that nothing can shake the heroic creature's faith, admits her once more to be the remorseful go-between in her amours. he narrates how tristram dresses as a pilgrim and carries the queen from a ship to the shore, in order that yseult may call on christ to bear witness by a miracle that she is innocent of adultery, never having been touched save by that pilgrim and her own husband; and how, when the followers of king mark have surrounded the grotto in the wood, tristram places the drawn sword between himself and the sleeping queen, as a symbol of their chastity which the king is too honest to suspect. he draws, with a psychological power truly extraordinary in the beginning of the thirteenth century, the two other figures in this love drama: king mark, cheated, dishonoured, oscillating between horrible doubt, ignominious suspicion and more ignominious credulity, his love for his wife, his trust in his nephew, his incapacity for conceiving ill-faith and fraud, the very gentleness and generosity of his nature, made the pander of guilt in which he cannot believe; and, on the other side, brangwaine, the melancholy, mute victim of her fidelity to yseult, the weak, heroic soul, rewarded only with cruel ingratitude, and condemned to screen and help the sin which she loathes and for which she assumes the awful responsibility. all this does gottfried do, yet without ever seeming to perceive the baseness and wickedness of this tissue of lies, equivocations, and perjuries in which his lovers hide their passion; without ever seeming to guess at the pathos and nobility of the man and the woman who are the mere trumpery obstacles or trumpery aids to their amours. he heaps upon tristram and yseult the most extravagant praises: he is the flower of all knighthood, and she, the kindest, gentlest, purest, and noblest of women; he insists upon the wickedness of the world which is for ever waging war upon their passion, and holds up to execration all those who seek to spy out their secret. gottfried is most genuinely overcome by the ideal beauty of this inextinguishable devotion, by the sublimity of this love which holds the whole world as dross; the crimes of the lovers are for him the mere culminating point of their moral grandeur, which has ceased to know any guilt save absence of love, any virtue save loving. and so serene is the old minnesinger's persuasion, that it obscures the judgment and troubles the heart even of his reader; and we are tempted to ask ourselves, on laying down the book, whether indeed this could have been sinful, this love of tristram and yseult which triumphed over everything in the world, and could be quenched only by death. that circle of hell where all those who had sinfully loved were whirled incessantly in the perse, dark, stormy air, appeared in the eyes even of dante as a place less of punishment than of glory; and, especially since the middle ages, all mankind looks upon that particular hell-pit with admiration rather than with loathing. and herein consists, more even than in any deceptions practised upon king mark or any ingratitude manifested towards brangwaine, the sinfulness of tristram and yseult: sinfulness which is not finite like the individual lives which it offends, but infinite and immortal as the heart and the judgment which it perverts. for such a tale, and so told, as the tale of gottfried von strassburg, makes us sympathize with this fidelity and devotion of a man and woman who care for nothing in the world save for each other, who are dragged and glued together by the desire and habit of mutual pleasure; it makes us admire their readiness to die rather than be parted, when their whole life is concentrated in their reciprocal sin, when their miserable natures enjoy, care for, know, only this miserable love. it makes us wink with leniency at the dishonour, the baseness, the cruelty, to which all this easy virtue is due. and such sympathy, such admiration, such leniency, for howsoever short a time they may remain in our soul, leave it, if they ever leave it completely and utterly less strong, less clean than it was before. we have all of us a lazy tendency to approve of the virtue which costs no trouble; to contemplate in ourselves or others, with a spurious moral satisfaction, the development of this or that virtuous quality in souls which are deteriorating in undoubted criminal self-indulgence. we have all of us, at the bottom of our hearts, a fellow feeling for all human affection; and the sinfulness of sinners like tristram and yseult lies largely in the fact that they pervert this legitimate and holy sympathy into a dangerous leniency for any strong and consistent love, into a morbid admiration for any irresistible mutual passion, making us forget that love has in itself no moral value, and that while self-indulgence may often be innocent, only self-abnegation can ever be holy. the great mediæval german poem of tristram and yseult remained for centuries a unique phenomenon; only john ford perhaps, that grander and darker twin spirit of gottfried von strassburg, reviving, even among the morbidly psychological and crime-fascinated followers of shakespeare, that new theme of evil--the heroism of unlawful love. but gottfried had merely manipulated with precocious analytical power a mode of feeling and thinking which was universal in the feudal middle ages; the great epic of adultery was forgotten, but the sympathetic and admiring interest in illegitimate passion remained; and was transmitted, wherever the renaissance or the reformation did not break through such transmission of mediæval habits, as an almost inborn instinct from father to son, from mother to daughter. and we may doubt whether the important class of men and women who write and read the novels of illicit love, could ever have existed, had not the psychological artists of modern times, from rousseau to george sand, and from stendhal to octave feuillet, found ready prepared for them in the countries not re-tempered by protestantism, an assoiation of romance, heroism, and ideality with mere adulterous passion, which was unknown to the corruption of antiquity and to the lawlessness of the dark ages, and which remained as a fatal alloy to that legacy of mere spiritual love which was left to the world by the love poets of early feudalism. ii. the love of the troubadours and minnesingers, of the arthurian tales, which show that love in narrative form, was, as we have seen, polluted by the selfishness, the deceitfulness, the many unclean necessities of adulterous passion. elevated and exquisite though it was, it could not really purify the relations of man and woman, since it was impure. nay, we see that through its influence the grave and simple married love of the earlier tales of chivalry, the love of siegfried for chriemhilt, of roland for his bride belle aude, of renaud for his wife clarisse, is gradually replaced in later fiction by the irregular love-makings of huon of bordeaux, ogier the dane, and artus of brittany; until we come at last to the extraordinary series of the amadis romances, where every hero without exception is the bastard of virtuous parents, who subsequently marry and discover their foundling: a state of things which, even in the corrupt renaissance, boiardo and ariosto found it necessary to reform in their romantic poems. with idealizing refinement, the chivalric love of the french, provençal, and german poets brings also a kind of demoralization which, from one point of view, makes the spotless songs of bernard de ventadour and armaud de mareulh, of ulrich von liechtenstein and frauenlob, less pure than the licentious poems addressed by the greeks and romans to women who, at least, were not the wives of other men. shall all this idealizing refinement, this almost religious fervour, this new poetic element of chivalric love remain useless; or serve only to subtly pollute while pretending to purify the great singing passion? not so. but to prevent such waste of what in itself is pure and precious, is the mission of another country, of another civilization; of a wholly different cycle of poets who, receiving the new element of mediæval love after it has passed through and been sifted by a number of hands, shall cleanse and recreate it in the fire of intellectual and almost abstract passion, producing that wonderful essence of love which, as the juices squeezed by alchemists out of jewels purified the body from all its ills, shall purify away all the diseases of the human soul. while the troubadours and minnesingers had been singing at the courts of angevine kings and hohenstauffen emperors, of counts of toulouse and dukes of austria; a new civilization, a new political and social system, had gradually been developing in the free burghs of italy; a new life entirely the reverse of the life of feudal countries. the italian cities were communities of manufacturers and merchants, into which only gradually, and at the sacrifice of every aristocratic privilege and habit, a certain number of originally foreign feudatories were gradually absorbed. each community consisted of a number of mercantile families, equal before the law, and illustrious or obscure according to their talents or riches, whose members, instead of being scattered over a wide area like the members of the feudal nobility, were most often gathered together under one roof--sons, brothers, nephews, daughters, sisters and daughters-in-law, forming a hierarchy attending to the business of factory or counting-house under the orders of the father of the family, and to the economy of the house-under the superintendence of the mother; a manner of living at once business-like and patriarchal, expounded pounded by the interlocutors in alberti's "governo della famiglia," and which lasted until the dissolution of the commonwealths and almost to our own times. such habits imply a social organization, an intercourse between men and women, and a code of domestic morality the exact opposite to those of feudal countries. here, in the italian cities, there are no young men bound to loiter, far from their homes, round the wife of a military superior, to whom her rank and her isolation from all neighbours give idleness and solitude. the young men are all of them in business, usually with their own kinsfolk; not in their employer's house, but in his office; they have no opportunity of seeing a woman from dawn till sunset. the women, on their side, are mainly employed at home: the whole domestic arrangement depends upon them, and keeps their hands constantly full; working, and working in the company of their female relatives and friends. men and women are free comparatively little, and then they are free all together in the same places; hence no opportunities for _tête-à-tête_. early italian poetry is fond of showing us the young poet reading his verses or explaining his passion to those gentle, compassionate women learned in love, of whom we meet a troop, beautiful, vague, half-arch, half-melancholy faces, consoling dante in the "vita nuova," and reminding guido cavalcanti of his lady far off at toulouse. but such women almost invariably form a group; they cannot be approached singly. such a state of society inevitably produces a high and strict morality. in these early italian cities a case of in' fidelity is punished ruthlessly; the lover banished or killed; the wife for ever lost to the world, perhaps condemned to solitude and a lingering death in the fever tracts, like pia dei tolomei. a complacent deceived husband is even more ridiculous (the deceived husband is notoriously the chief laughing stock of all mediæval free towns) than is a jealous husband among the authorized and recognized _cicisbeos_ of a feudal court. indeed the respect for marriage vows inevitable in this busy democratic mediæval life is so strong, that long after the commonwealths have turned into despotisms, and every social tie has been dissolved in the renaissance, the wives and daughters of men stained with every libidinous vice, nay, of the very despots themselves --tiberiuses and neros on a smaller scale--remain spotless in the midst of evil; and authorized adultery begins in italy only under the spanish rule in the late sixteenth century. such were the manners and morals of the italian commonwealths when, about the middle of the thirteenth century, the men of tuscany, now free and prosperous, suddenly awoke to the consciousness that they had a soul which desired song, and a language which was spontaneously singing. it was the moment when painting was beginning to claim for the figures of real men and women the walls and vaulted spaces whence had hitherto glowered, with vacant faces and huge ghostlike eyes, mosaic figures, from their shimmering golden ground; the moment when the pisan artists had sculptured solemnly draped madonnas and kings not quite unworthy of the carved sarcophagi which stood around them; the moment when, merging together old byzantine traditions and northern examples, the architects of florence, siena, and orvieto conceived a style which made cathedrals into marvellous and huge reliquaries of marble, jasper, alabaster, and mosaics. the mediæval flowering time had come late, very late, in italy; but the atmosphere was only the warmer, the soil the richer, and italy put forth a succession of exquisite and superb immortal flowers of art when the artistic sap of other countries had begun to be exhausted. but the italians, the tuscans, audacious in the other arts, were diffident of themselves with regard to poetry. architecture, painting, sculpture, had been the undisputed field for plebeian craftsmen, belonging exclusively to the free burghs and disdained by the feudal castles; but poetry was essentially the aristocratic, the feudal art, cultivated by knights and cultivated for kings and barons. it was probably an unspoken sense of this fact which caused the early tuscan poets to misgive their own powers and to turn wistfully and shyly towards the poets of provence and of sicily. there, beyond the seas, under the last lords of toulouse and the brilliant mongrel hohenstauffen princes, were courts, knights, and ladies; there was the tradition of this courtly art of poetry; and there only could the sons of florentine or sienese merchants, clodhoppers in gallantry and song, hope to learn the correct style of thing. hence the history of the italian lyric before dante is the history of a series of transformations which connect a style of poetry absolutely feudal and feudally immoral, with the hitherto unheard-of platonic love subtleties of the "vita nuova." and it is curious, in looking over the collections of early italian lyrists, to note the alteration in tone as sicily and the feudal courts are left further and further behind. ciullo d' alcamo, flourishing about , is the only italian-writing poet absolutely contemporaneous with the earlier and better trouvères, troubadours, and minnesingers; and he is also the only one who resembles them very closely. his famous _tenso_, beginning "rosa fresca aulentissima" (a tolerably faithful translation heads the beautiful collection of the late mr. d.g. rossetti), is indeed more explicitly gross and immoral than the majority of provençal and german love-songs: loose as are many of the _albas, serenas, wachtlieder_, and even many of the less special forms of german and provençal poetry, i am acquainted with none of them which comes up to this singular dialogue, in which a man, refusing to marry a woman, little by little wins her over to his wishes and makes her brazenly invite him to her dishonour. between ciullo d' alcamo and his successors there is some gap of time, and a corresponding want of gradation. yet the sicilian poets of the courts of hohenstauffen and anjou, recognizable by their name or the name of their town, inghilfredi, manfredi, ranieri and ruggierone da palermo, tommaso and matteo da messina, guglielmotto d' otranto, rinaldo d'aquino, peir delle vigne, either maintain altogether unchanged the tone of the troubadours, or only gradually, as in the remarkable case of the notary of lentino, approximate to the platonic poets of tuscany. the songs of the archetype of sicilian singers, the emperor frederick ii., are completely provençal in feeling as in form, though infinitely inferior in execution. with him it is always the pleasure which he hopes from his lady, or the pleasure which he has had--"quando ambidue stavamo in allegranza alla dolce fera;" "pregovi donna mia--per vostra cortesia--e pregovi che sia--quello che lo core disia." again: "sospiro e sto in rancura--ch' io son si disioso--e pauroso--mi fate penare--ma tanto m' assicura--lo suo viso amoroso--e lo gioioso--riso e lo sguardare--e lo parlare--di questa criatura--che per paura--mi fate penare--e di morare--tant' è fina e pura--tanto è saggia e cortese--non credo che pensasse--nè distornasse--di ciò he m' impromise." it is, this earliest italian poetry, like the more refined poetry of troubadours and minnesingers, eminently an importuning of highborn but loosely living women. from sicily and apulia poetry goes first, as might be expected (and as probably sculpture went) to the seaport pisa, thence to the neighbouring lucca, considerably before reaching florence. and as it becomes more italian and urban, it becomes also, under the strict vigilance of burgher husbands, considerably more platonic. in bologna, the city of jurists, it acquires (the remark is not mine merely, but belongs also to carducci) the very strong flavour of legal quibbling which distinguishes the otherwise charming guido guinicelli; and once in florence, among the most subtle of all subtle tuscans, it becomes at once what it remained even for dante, saturated with metaphysics: the woman is no longer paramount, she is subordinated to love himself; to that personified abstraction amor, the serious and melancholy son of pagan philosophy and christian mysticism. the tuscans had imported from provence and sicily the new element of mediæval love, of life devotion, soul absorption in loving; if they would sing, they must sing of this; any other kind of love, at a time when italy still read and relished her would-be provençals, lanfranc cicala and sordel of mantua, would have been unfashionable and unendurable. but in these italian commonwealths, as we have seen, poets are forced, nilly-willy, to be platonic; an importuning poem found in her work-basket may send a tuscan lady into a convent, or, like pia, into the maremma; an _alba_ or a _serena_ interrupted by a wool-weaver of calimara or a silk spinner of lucca, may mean that the imprudent poet be found weltering in blood under some archway the next morning. the chivalric sentimentality of feudalism must be restrained; and little by little, under the pressure of such very different social habits, it grows into a veritable platonic passion. poets must sing, and in order that they sing, they must adore; so men actually begin to seek out, and adore and make themselves happy and wretched about women from whom they can hope only social distinctions; and this purely æsthetic passion goes on by the side nay, rather on the top, of their humdrum, conjugal life or loosest libertinage. petrarch's bastards were born during the reign of madonna laura; and that they should have been, was no more a slight or infidelity to her than to the other madonna, the one in heaven. laura had a right to only ideal sentiments ideal relations; the poet was at liberty to carry more material preferences elsewhere. but could such love as this exist, could it be genuine? to my mind, indubitably. for there is, in all our perceptions and desires of physical and moral beauty, an element of passion which is akin to love; and there is, in all love that is not mere lust, a perception of, a craving for, beauty, real or imaginary which is identical with our merely æsthetic perceptions and cravings; hence the possibility, once the wish for such a passion present, of a kind of love which is mainly æsthetic, which views the beloved as gratifying merely to the wish for physical or spiritual loveliness, and concentrates upon one exquisite reality all dreams of ideal perfection. moreover there comes, to all nobler natures, a love dawning: a brightening and delicate flushing of the soul before the actual appearance of the beloved one above the horizon, which is as beautiful and fascinating in its very clearness, pallor, and coldness, as the unearthly purity of the pale amber and green and ashy rose which streaks the heavens before sunrise. the love of the early tuscan poets (for we must count guinicelli, in virtue of his language, as a tuscan) had been restrained, by social necessities first, then by habit and deliberate æsthetic choice, within the limits of this dawning state; and in this state, it had fed itself off mere spiritual food, and acquired the strange intensity of mere intellectual passions. we give excessive weight, in our days, to spontaneity in all things, apt to think that only the accidental, the unsought, can be vital; but it is true in many things, and truest in all matters of the imagination and the heart, that the desire to experience any sentiment will powerfully conduce to its production, and even give it a strength due to the long incubation of the wish. thus the ideal love of the tuscan poets was probably none the weaker, but rather the stronger, for the desire which they felt to sing such passion; nay, rather to hear it singing in themselves. the love of man and wife, of bride and bridegroom, was still of the domain of prose; adulterous love forbidden; and the tradition of, the fervent wish for, the romantic passion of the troubadours consumed them as a strong artistic craving. platonic love was possible, doubly possible in souls tense with poetic wants; it became a reality through the strength of the wish for it. nor was this all. in all imaginative passions, intellectual motives are so much fuel; and in this case the necessity of logically explaining the bodiless passion for a platonic lady, of understanding why they felt in a manner so hitherto unknown to gross mankind, tended greatly to increase the love of these tuscans, and to bring it in its chastity to the pitch of fervour of more fleshly passions, by mingling with the æsthetic emotions already in their souls the mystical theorizings of transcendental metaphysics, and the half-human, half-supernatural ecstasy of mediæval religion. for we must remember that italy was a country not merely of manufacturers and bankers, but of philosophers also and of saints. among the italians of the thirteenth century the revival of antique literature was already in full swing; while in france, germany, and provence there had been, in lyric poetry at least, no trace of classic lore. whereas the trouvères and troubadours had possessed but the light intellectual luggage of a military aristocracy; and the minnesingers had, for the most part, been absolutely ignorant of reading and writing (wolfram says so of himself, and ulrich von liechtenstein relates how he carried about his lady's letter for days unread until the return of his secretary); the poets of italy, from brunetto latini to petrarch, were eminently scholars; men to whom, however much they might be politicians and ringleaders, like cavalcanti, donati, and dante, whatever existed of antique learning was thoroughly well known. such men were familiar with whatever yet survived of the transcendental theories of plato and plotinus; and they seized at once upon the mythic metaphysics of an antenatal condition, of typical ideas, of the divine essence of beauty, on all the mystic discussions on love and on the soul, as a philosophical explanation of their seemingly inexplicable passion for an unapproachable woman. the lady upon whom the poetic fervour, the mediæval love, inherited from provence and france, was now expended, and whom social reasons placed quite beyond the reach of anything save the poet's soul and words, was evidently beloved for the sake of that much of the divine essence contained in her nature; she was loved for purely spiritual reasons, loved as a visible and living embodiment of virtue and beauty, as a human piece of the godhead. so far, therefore, from such an attachment being absurd, as absurd it would have seemed to troubadours and minnesingers, who never served a lady save for what they called a reward; it became, in the eyes of these platonizing italians, the triumph of the well-bred soul; and as such, soon after, a necessary complement to dignities, talents, and wealth, the very highest occupation of a liberal mind. thus did their smattering of platonic and neo-platonic philosophy supply the tuscan poets with a logical reality for this otherwise unreal passion. but there was something more. in this democratic and philosophizing italy, there was not the gulf which separated the chivalric poets, men of the sword and not of books, from the great world of religious mysticism; for, though the minnesingers especially were extremely devout and sang many a strange love-song to the virgin; they knew, they could know, nothing of the contemplative religion of eckhardt and his disciples--humble and transcendental spirits, whose words were treasured by the sedentary, dreamy townsfolk of the rhine, but would have conveyed no meaning even to the poet of the grail epic, with its battles and feasts, its booted and spurred slapdash morality, wolfram von eschenbach. in the great manufacturing cities of italy, such religious mysticism spread as it could never spread in feudal courts; it became familiar, both in the mere passionate sermons and songs of the wandering friars, and in the subtle dialectics of the divines; above all, it became familiar to the poets. now the essence of this contemplative theology of the middle ages, which triumphantly held its own against the cut-and-dry argumentation of scholastic rationalism, was love. love which assuredly meant different things to different minds; a passionate benevolence towards man and beast to godlike simpletons like francis of assisi; a mere creative and impassive activity of the divinity to deep-seeing (so deep as to see only their own strange passionate eyes and lips reflected in the dark well of knowledge) and almost pantheistic thinkers like master eckhardt; but love nevertheless, love. "amor, amore, ardo d' amore," st. francis had sung in a wild rhapsody, a sort of mystic dance, a kind of furious _malagueña_ of divine love; and that he who would wish to know god, let him love--"qui vult habere notitiam dei, amet," had been written by hugo of st. victor, one of the subtlest of all the mystics. "amor oculus est," said master eckhardt; love, love--was not love then the highest of all human faculties, and must not the act of loving, of perceiving god's essence in some creature which had virtue, the soul's beauty, and beauty, the body's virtue, be the noblest business of a noble life? thus argued the poets; and their argument, half-passionate, half-scholastic, mixing phædrus and bonaventura, the schools of alexandria and the courts of love of provence, resulted in adding all the fervid reality of philosophical and religious aspiration to their clear and cold phantom of disembodied love of woman. little by little therefore, together with the carnal desires of provençals and sicilians, the tuscan poets put behind them those little coquetries of style and manner, complications of metre and rhythm learned and fantastic as a woman's plaited and braided hair; those metaphors and similes, like bright flowers or shining golden ribbons dropped from the lady's bosom and head and eagerly snatched by the lover, which we still find, curiously transformed and scented with the rosemary and thyme of country lanes, in the peasant poetry of modern tuscany. little by little does the love poetry of the italians reject such ornaments; and cloth itself in that pale garment, pale and stately in heavy folds like a nun's or friar's weeds, but pure and radiant and solemn as the garment of some painted angel, which we have all learned to know from the "vita nuova." to describe this poetry of the immediate precursors and contemporaries of dante is to the last degree difficult: it can be described only by symbols, and symbols can but mislead us. dante rossetti himself, after translating with exquisite beauty the finest poems of this school, showed how he had read into them his own spirit, when he drew the beautiful design for the frontispiece of his collection. these two lovers--the youth kneeling in his cloth of silver robe, lifting his long throbbing neck towards the beloved; the lady stooping down towards him, raising him up and kissing him; the mingled cloud of waving hair, the four tight-clasped hands, the four tightly glued lips, the profile hidden by the profile, the passion and the pathos, the eager, wistful faces, nay, the very splendour of brocade robes and jewels, the very sweetness of blooming rose spaliers; all this is suitable to illustrate this group of sonnets or that of the "house of life;" but it is false, false in efflorescence and luxuriance of passion, splendour and colour of accessory, to the poetry of these early tuscans. imaginative their poetry certainly is, and passionate; indeed the very concentration of imaginative passion; but imagination and passion unlike those of all other poets; perhaps because more rigorously reduced to their elements: imagination purely of the heart, passion purely of the intellect, neither of the senses: love in its most essential condition, but, just because an essence, purged of earthly alloys, rarefied, sublimated into a cultus or a philosophy. these poems might nearly all have been written by one man, were it possible for one man to vary from absolute platitude to something like genius, so homogeneous is their tone: everywhere do we meet the same simplicity of diction struggling with the same complication and subtlety of thought, the same abstract speculation strangely mingled with most individual and personal pathos. the mode of thinking and feeling, the conception of all the large characteristics of love, and of all its small incidents are, in this _cycle_ of poets, constantly the same; and they are the same in the "vita nuova;" dante having, it would seem, invented and felt nothing unknown to his immediate predecessors and contemporaries, but merely concentrated their thoughts and feelings by the greater intenseness of his genius. this platonic love of dante's days is, as i have said, a passion sublimated into a philosophy and a cultus. the philosophy of love engages much of these poets' attention; all have treated of it, but guido cavalcanti, dante's elder brother in poetry, is love's chief theologian. he explains, as eckhardt or bonaventura might explain the mysteries of god's being and will, the nature and operation of love. "love, which enamours us of excellence, arises out of pure virtue of the soul, and equals us to god," he tells us; and subtly developes his theme. this being the case, nothing can be more mistaken than to suppose, as do those of little sense, that love is blind, and goes blindly about ("da sentir poco, e da credenza vana--si move il dir di cotal grossa gente--ch' amor fa cieco andar per lo suo regno"). love is omniscient, since love is born of the knowledge and recognition of excellence. such love as this is the only true source of happiness, since it alone raises man to the level of the divinity. cavalcanti has in him not merely the subtlety but the scornfulness of a great divine. his wrath against all those who worship or defend a different god of love knows no bounds. "i know not what to say of him who adores the goddess born of saturn and sea-foam. his love is fire: it seems sweet, but its result is bitter and evil. he may indeed call himself happy; but in such delights he mingles himself with much baseness." such is this god of love, who, when he descended into dante's heart, caused the spirit of life to tremble terribly in his secret chamber, and trembling to cry, "lo, here is a god stronger than myself, who coming will rule over me. ecce deus fortior me, qui veniens dominabitur mihi!" the god, this chaste and formidable archangel amor, is the true subject of these poets' adoration; the woman into whom he descends by a mystic miracle of beauty and of virtue becomes henceforward invested with somewhat of his awful radiance. she is a gentle, gracious lady; a lovable and loving woman, in describing whose grey-green eyes and colour as of snow tinted with pomegranate, the older tuscans would fain linger, comparing her to the new-budded rose, to the morning star, to the golden summer air, to the purity of snowflakes falling silently in a serene sky; but the sense of the divinity residing within her becomes too strong. from her eyes dart spirits who strike awe into the heart; from her lips come words which make men sigh; on her passage the poet casts down his eyes; notions, all these, with which we are familiar from the "vita nuova;" but which belong to cavalcanti, lapo gianni, nay, even to guinicelli, quite as much as to dante. the poet bids his verse go forth to her, but softly; and stand before her with bended head, as before the mother of god. she is a miracle herself, a thing sent from heaven, a spirit, as dante says in that most beautiful of all his sonnets, the summing up of all that the poets of his circle had said of their lady--"tanto gentile e tanto onesta pare." "she passes along the street so beautiful and gracious," says guinicelli, "that she humbles pride in all whom she greets, and makes him of our faith if he does not yet believe. and no base man can come into her presence. and i will tell you another virtue of her: no man can think ought of evil as long as he looks upon her." "the noble mind which i feel, on account of this youthful lady who has appeared, makes me despise baseness and vileness," says lapo gianni. the women who surround her are glorified in her glory, glorified in their womanhood and companionship with her. "the ladies around you," says cavalcanti, "are dear to me for the sake of your love; and i pray them as they are courteous, that they should do you all honour." she is, indeed, scarcely a woman, and something more than a saint: an avatar, an incarnation of that amor who is born of virtue and beauty, and raises men's minds to heaven; and when cavalcanti speaks of his lady's portrait behind the blazing tapers of orsanmichele, it seems but natural that she should be on an altar, in the madonna's place. the idea of a mysterious incarnation of love in the lady, or of a mystic relationship between her and love, returns to these poets. lapo gianni tells us first that she is amor's sister, then speaks of her as amor's bride; nay, in this love theology of the thirteenth century, arises the same kind of confusion as in the mystic disputes of the nature of the godhead. a sienese poet, ugo da massa, goes so far as to say, "amor and i are all one thing; and we have one will and one heart; and if i were not, amor were not; mind you, do not think i am saying these things from subtlety ('e non pensate ch' io 'l dica per arte'); for certainly it is true that i am love, and he who should slay me would slay love." together with the knowledge of public life and of scholastic theories, together with the love of occult and cabalistic science, and the craft of provençal poetry, dante received from his florence of the thirteenth century the knowledge of this new, this exotic and esoteric intellectual love. and, as it is the mission of genius to gather into an undying whole, to model into a perfect form, the thoughts and feelings and perceptions of the less highly endowed men who surround it, so dante moulded out of the love passion and love philosophy of his day the "vita nuova." whether the story narrated in this book is fact; whether a real woman whom he called beatrice ever existed; some of those praiseworthy persons, who prowl in the charnel-house of the past, and put its poor fleshless bones into the acids and sublimates of their laboratory, have gravely doubted. but such doubts cannot affect us. for if the story of the "vita nuova" be a romance, and if beatrice be a mere romance heroine, the real meaning and value of the book does not change in our eyes; since, to concoct such a tale, dante must have had a number of real experiences which are fully the tale's equivalent; and to conceive and create such a figure as beatrice, and such a passion as she inspires her poet, he must have felt as a poignant reality the desire for such a lady, the capacity for such a love. a tale merely of the soul, and of the soul's movements and actions, this "vita nuova;" so why should it matter if that which could never exist save in the spirit, should have been but the spirit's creation? it is, in its very intensity, a vision of love; what if it be a vision merely conceived and never realized? hence the futility of all those who wish to destroy our faith and pleasure by saying "all this never took place." fools, can you tell what did or did not take place in a poet's mind? be this as it may, the "vita nuova," thank heaven, exists; and, thank heaven, exists as a reality to our feelings. the longed-for ideal, the perfection whose love, said cavalcanti, raises us up to god, has seemed to gather itself into a human shape; and a real being has been surrounded by the halo of perfection emanated from the poet's own soul. the vague visions of glory have suddenly taken body in this woman, seen rarely, at a distance; the woman whom, as a child, the poet, himself a child, had already looked at with the strange, ideal fascination which we sometimes experience in our childhood. people are apt to smile at this opening of the "vita nuova;" to put aside this narrative of childish love together with the pathetic little pedantries of learned poetry and kabbala, of the long gloses to each poem, and the elaborate calculations of the recurrence and combination of the number nine (and that curious little bit of encyclopædic display about the syrian month _tismin_) as so much pretty local colouring or obsolete silliness. but there is nothing at which to laugh in such childish fascinations; the wonderful, the perfect, is more open to us as children than it is afterwards: a word, a picture, a snatch of music will have for us an ineffable, mysterious meaning; and how much more so some human being, often some other, more brilliant child from whose immediate contact we are severed by some circumstance, perhaps by our own consciousness of inferiority, which makes that other appear strangely distant, above us, moving in a world of glory which we scarcely hope to approach; a child sometimes, or sometimes some grown person, beautiful, brilliant, who sings or talks or looks at us, the child, with ways which we do not understand, like some fairy or goddess. no indeed, there is nothing to laugh at in this, in this first blossoming of that love for higher and more beautiful things, which in most of us is trodden down, left to wither, by our maturer selves; nothing to make us laugh; nay, rather to make us sigh that later on we see too well, see others too much on their real level, scrutinize too much; too much, alas, for what at best is but an imperfect creature. and in this state of fascination does the child dante see the child beatrice, as a strange, glorious little vision from a childish sphere quite above him; treasuring up that vision, till with his growth it expands and grows more beautiful and noble, but none the less fascinating and full of awfulness. when, therefore, the grave young poet, full of the yearning for paradise (but paradise vaguer, sweeter, less metaphysic and theological than the paradise of his manhood); as yet but a gracious, learned youth, his terrible moral muscle still undeveloped by struggle, the noble and delicate dreamer of giotto's fresco, with the long, thin, almost womanish face, marked only by dreamy eyes and lips, wandering through this young florence of the middle ages--when, i say, he meets after long years, the noble and gentle woman, serious and cheerful and candid; and is told that she is that same child who was the queen and goddess of his childish fancies; then the vague glory with which his soul is filled expands and enwraps the beloved figure, so familiar and yet so new. and the blood retreats from his veins, and he trembles; and a vague god within him, half allegory, half reality, cries out to him that a new life for him has begun. beatrice has become the ideal; beatrice, the real woman, has ceased to exist; the beatrice of his imagination only remains, a piece of his own soul embodied in a gracious and beautiful reality, which he follows, seeks, but never tries to approach. of the real woman he asks nothing; no word throughout the "vita nuova" of entreaty or complaint, no shadow of desire, not a syllable of those reproaches of cruelty which petrarch is for ever showering upon laura. he desires nothing of beatrice, and beatrice cannot act wrongly; she is perfection, and perfection makes him who contemplates humble at once and proud, glorifying his spirit. once, indeed, he would wish that she might listen to him; he has reason to think that he has fallen in her esteem, has seemed base and uncourteous in her eyes, and he would explain. but he does not wish to address her; it never occurs to him that she can ever feel in any way towards him; it is enough that he feels towards her. let her go by and smile and graciously salute her friends: the sight of her grave and pure regalness, nay, rather divinity, of womanhood, suffices for his joy; nay, later the consciousness comes upon him that it is sufficient to know of her existence and of his love even without seeing her. and, as must be the case in such ideal passion, where the action is wholly in the mind of the lover, he is at first ashamed, afraid; he feels a terror lest his love, if known to her, should excite her scorn; a horror lest it be misunderstood and befouled by the jests of those around him, even of those same gentle women to whom he afterwards addresses his praise of beatrice. he is afraid of exposing to the air of reality this ideal flower of passion. but the moment comes when he can hide it no longer; and, behold, the passion flower of his soul opens out more gloriously in the sunlight of the world. he is proud of his passion, of his worship; he feels the dignity and glory of being the priest of such a love. the women all round, the beautiful, courteous women, of whom, only just now, he was so dreadfully afraid, become his friends and confidants; they are quite astonished (half in love, perhaps, with the young poet) at this strange way of loving; they sympathize, admire, are in love with his love for beatrice. and to them he speaks of her rather than to men, for the womanhood which they share with his lady consecrates them in his eyes; and they, without jealousy towards this ideal woman, though perhaps not without longing for this ideal love, listen as they might listen to some new and unaccountably sweet music, touched and honoured, and feeling towards dante as towards some beautiful, half-mad thing. he talks of her, sings of her, and is happy; the strangest thing in this intensely real narrative of real love is this complete satisfaction of the passion in its own existence, this complete absence of all desire or hope. but this happiness is interrupted by the sudden, terrible thought that one day all this must cease; the horrible, logical necessity coming straight home to him, that one day she must die--"di necessità conviene che la gentilissima beatrice alcuna volta si muoia." there is nothing truer, more intensely pathetic, in all literature, than this frightful pang of evil, not real, but first imagined; this frightful nightmare vision of the end coming when reality is still happy. have we not all of us at one time felt the horrible shudder of that sudden perception that happiness must end; that the beloved, the living, must die; that this thing the present, which we clasp tight with our arms, which throbs against our breast, will in but few moments be gone, vanished, leaving us to grasp mere phantom recollections? compared with this the blow of the actual death of beatrice is gentle. and then, the truthfulness of his narration how, with yearning, empty heart, hungering after those poor lost realities of happiness, after that occasional glimpse of his lady, that rare catching of her voice, that blessed consciousness of her existence, he little by little lets himself be consoled, cradled to sleep like a child which has sobbed itself out, in the sympathy, the vague love, of another--the donna della finestra--with whom he speaks of beatrice; and the sudden, terrified, starting up and shaking off of any such base consolation, the wrath at any such mental infidelity to the dead one, the indignant impatience with his own weakness, with his baseness in not understanding that it is enough that beatrice has lived and that he has loved her, in not feeling that the glory and joy of the ineffaceable past is sufficient for all present and future. a revolution in himself which gradually merges in that grave final resolve, that sudden seeing how beatrice can be glorified by him, that solemn, quiet, brief determination not to say any more of her as yet; not till he can show her transfigured in paradise. "after this sonnet there appeared unto me a marvellous vision, in which i beheld things that made me propose unto myself to speak no more of this blessed one, until the time when i might more worthily treat of her. and that this may come to pass, i strive with all my endeavour, even as she truly knows it. thus, if it should please him, through whom all things do live, that my life continue for several more years, i hope to say of her such things as have never been said of any lady. and then may it please him, who is the lord of all courtesy, that my soul shall go forth to see the glory of its lady, that is to say, of that blessed beatrice, who gloriously looks up into the face of him, _qui est per omnia sæcula benedictus_" thus ends the "vita nuova;" a book, to find any equivalent for whose reality and completeness of passion, though it is passion for a woman whom the poet scarcely knows and of whom he desires nothing, we must go back to the merest fleshly love of antiquity, of sappho or catullus; for modern times are too hesitating and weak. so at least it seems; but in fact, if we only think over the matter, we shall find that in no earthly love can we find this reality and completeness: it is possible only in love like dante's. for there can be no unreality in it: it is a reality of the imagination, and leaves, with all its mysticism and idealism, no room for falsehood. any other kind of love may be set aside, silenced, by the activity of the mind; this love of dante's constitutes that very activity. and, after reading that last page which i have above transcribed, as those closing latin words echo through our mind like the benediction from an altar, we feel as if we were rising from our knees in some secret chapel, bright with tapers and dim with incense; among a crowd kneeling like ourselves; yet solitary, conscious of only the glory we have seen and tasted, of that love _qui est per omnia scecula benedictus._ iii. but is it right that we should feel thus? is it right that love, containing within itself the potentialities of so many things so sadly needed in this cold real world, as patience, tenderness, devotion, and loving-kindness--is it right that love should thus be carried away out of ordinary life and enclosed, a sacred thing for contemplation, in the shrine or chapel of an imaginary beatrice? and, on the other hand, is it right that into the holy places of our soul, the places where we should come face to face with the unattainable ideal of our own conduct that we may strive after something nobler than mere present pleasure and profit--is it right that into such holy places, destined but for an abstract perfection, there should be placed a mere half-unknown, vaguely seen woman? in short, is not this "vita nuova" a mere false ideal, one of those works of art which, because they are beautiful, get worshipped as holy? this question is a grave one, and worthy to make us pause. the world is full of instances of the fatal waste of feelings misapplied: of human affections, human sympathy and compassion, so terribly necessary to man, wasted in various religious systems, upon christ and god: of religious aspirations, contemplation, worship, and absorption, necessary to the improvement of the soul, wasted in various artistic or poetic crazes upon mere pleasant works, or pleasant fancies, of man; wastefulness of emotions, wastefulness of time, which constitute two-thirds of mankind's history and explain the vast amount of evil in past and present. the present question therefore becomes, is not this "vita nuova" merely another instance of this lamentable carrying off of precious feelings in channels where they result no longer in fertilization, but in corruption? the middle ages, especially, in its religion, its philosophy, nay, in that very love of which i am writing, are one succession of such acts of wastefulness. this question has come to me many a time, and has left me in much doubt and trouble. but on reflection i am prepared to answer that such doubts as these may safely be cast behind us, and that we may trust that instinct which, whenever we lay down the "vita nuova," tells us that to have felt and loved this book is one of those spiritual gains in our life which, come what may, can never be lost entirely. the "vita nuova" represents the most exceptional of exceptional moral and intellectual conditions. dante's love for beatrice is, in great measure, to be regarded as an extraordinary and exquisite work of art, produced not by the volition of man, but by the accidental combination of circumstances. it is no more suited to ordinary life than would a golden and ivory goddess of phidias be suited to be the wife of a mortal man. but it may not therefore be useless; nay, it may be of the highest utility. it may serve that high utilitarian mission of all art, to correct the real by the ideal, to mould the thing as it is in the semblance of the thing as it should be. herein, let it be remembered, consists the value, the necessity of the abstract and the ideal. in the long history of evolution we have now reached the stage where selection is no longer in the mere hands of unconscious nature, but of conscious or half-conscious man; who makes himself, or is made by mankind, according to not merely physical necessities, but to the intellectual necessity of realizing the ideal, of pursuing the object, of imitating the model, before him. no man will ever find the living counterpart of that chryselephantine goddess of the greeks; ivory and gold, nay, marble, fashioned by an artist, are one thing; flesh is another, and flesh fashioned by mere blind accident. but the man who should have beheld that phidian goddess, who should have felt her full perfection, would not have been as easily satisfied as any other with a mere commonplace living woman; he would have sought--and seeking, would have had more likelihood of finding--the woman of flesh and blood who nearest approached to that ivory and gold perfection. the case is similar with the "vita nuova." no earthly affection, no natural love of man for woman, of an entire human being, body and soul, for another entire human being, can ever be the counterpart of this passion for beatrice, the passion of a mere mind for a mere mental ideal. but if the old lust-fattened evil of the world is to diminish rather than to increase, why then every love of man for woman and of woman for man should tend, to the utmost possibility, to resemble that love of the "vita nuova." for mankind has gradually separated from brute kind merely by the development of those possibilities of intellectual and moral passion which the animal has not got; an animal man will never cease to be, but a man he can daily more and more become, until from the obscene goat-legged and goat-faced creature which we commonly see, he has turned into something like certain antique fauns: a beautiful creature, not noticeably a beast, a beast in only the smallest portion of his nature. in order that this may come to pass--and its coming to pass means, let us remember, the enormous increase of happiness and diminution of misery upon earth--it is necessary that day by day and year by year there should enter into man's feelings, emotions, and habits, into his whole life, a greater proportion of that which is his own, and is not shared by the animal; that his actions, preferences, the great bulk of his conscious existence, should be busied with things of the soul, truth, good, and beauty, and not with things of the body. hence the love of such a gradually improving and humanizing man for a gradually improving and humanizing woman, should become, as much as is possible, a connection of the higher and more human, rather than of the lower and more bestial, portions of their nature; it should tend, in its reciprocal stimulation, to make the man more a man, the woman more a woman, to make both less of the mere male and female animals that they were. in brief, love should increase, instead, like that which oftenest profanes love's name, of diminishing, the power of aspiration, of self-direction, of self-restraint, which may exist within us. now to tend to this is to tend towards the love of the "vita nuova;" to tend towards the love of the "vita nuova" is to tend towards this. say what you will of the irresistible force of original constitution, it remains certain, and all history is there as witness, that mankind--that is to say, the only mankind in whom lies the initiative of good, mankind which can judge and select--possesses the faculty of feeling and acting in accordance with its standard of feeling and action; the faculty in great measure of becoming that which it thinks desirable to become. now to have perceived the even imaginary existence of such a passion as that of dante for beatrice, must be, for all who can perceive it, the first step towards attempting to bring into reality a something of that passion: the real passion conceived while the remembrance of that ideal passion be still in the mind will bear to it a certain resemblance, even as, according to the ancients, the children born of mothers whose rooms contained some image of apollo or adonis would have in them a reflex, however faint, of that beauty in whose presence they came into existence. in short, it seems to me, that as the "vita nuova" embodies the utmost ideal of absolutely spiritual love, and as to spiritualize love must long remain one of the chief moral necessities of the world, there exists in this book a moral force, a moral value, a power in its unearthly passion and purity, which, as much as anything more deliberately unselfish, more self-consciously ethical, we must acknowledge and honour as holy. as the love of him who has read and felt the "vita nuova" cannot but strive towards a purer nature, so also the love of which poets sang became also nobler as the influence of the strange tuscan school of platonic lyrists spread throughout literature, bringing to men the knowledge of a kind of love born of that idealizing and worshipping passion of the middle ages; but of mediæval love chastened by the manners of stern democracy and passed through the sieve of christian mysticism and pagan philosophy. of this influence of the "vita nuova"--for the "vita nuova" had concentrated in itself all the intensest characteristics of dante's immediate predecessors and contemporaries, causing them to become useless and forgotten--of this influence of the "vita nuova," there is perhaps no more striking example than that of the poet who, constituted by nature to be the mere continuator of the romantically gallant tradition of the troubadours, became, and hence his importance and glory, the mediator between dante and the centuries which followed him; the man who gave to mankind, incapable as yet of appreciating or enduring the spiritual essence of the "vita nuova," that self-same essence of intellectual love in an immortal dilution. i speak, of course, of petrarch. his passion is neither ideal nor strong. the man is in love, or has been in love, existing on a borderland of loving and not loving, with the beautiful woman. his elegant, refined, half-knightly, half-scholarly, and altogether courtly mind is delighted with her; with her curly yellow hair, her good red and white beauty (we are never even told that dante's beatrice is beautiful, yet how much lovelier is she not than this laura, descended from all the golden-haired bright-eyed ladies of the troubadours!), with her manner, her amiability, her purity and dignity in this ecclesiastical babylon called avignon. he maintains a semi-artificial love; frequenting her house, writing sonnet after sonnet, rhetorical exercises, studies from the antique and the provençal, for the most part; he, who was born to be a mere troubadour like ventadour or folquet, becomes, through the influence of dante, the type of the poet abate, of the poetic _cavaliere servente_; a good, weak man with aspirations, who, failing to get the better of laura's virtue, doubtless consoles himself elsewhere, but returns to an habitual contemplation of it. he is, being constitutionally a troubadour, an italian priest turned partly provençal, vexed at her not becoming his mistress; then (having made up his mind, which was but little set upon her), quite pleased at her refusal: it turns her into a kind of beatrice, and him, poor man, heaven help him! into a kind of dante--a dante for the use of the world at large. he goes on visiting laura, and writing to her a sonnet regularly so many times a week, and the best, carefully selected, we feel distinctly persuaded, at regular intervals. it is a determined cultus, a sort of half-real affectation, something equivalent to lighting a lamp before a very well-painted and very conspicuous shrine. all his humanities, all his provençal lore go into these poems--written for whom? for her? decidedly; for she has no reason not to read the effusions of this amiable, weak priestlet; she feels nothing for him. for her; but doubtless also to be handed round in society; a new sonnet or canzone by that charming and learned man, the abate petrarch. there is considerable emptiness in all this: he praises laura's chastity, then grows impatient, then praises her again; adores her, calls her cruel, his goddess, his joy, his torment; he does not really want her, but in the vacuity of his feeling, thinks he does; calls her alternately the flat, abusive, and eulogistic names which mean nothing. he plays loud and soft with this absence of desire; he fiddle faddles in descriptions of her, not passionate or burning, but delicately undressed: he sees her (but with chaste eyes) in her bath; he envies her veil, &c.; he neither violently intellectually embraces, nor humbly bows down in imagination before her; he trifles gracefully, modestly, half-familiarly, with her finger tips, with the locks of her hair, and so forth. fancy dante abusing beatrice; fancy dante talking of beatrice in her bath; the mere idea of his indignation and shame makes one shameful and indignant at the thought. but this perfect laura is no beatrice, or only a half-and-half sham one. she is no ideal figure, merely a figure idealized; this is no imaginative passion, merely an unreal one. compare, for instance, the suggestion of laura's possible death with the suggestion of the possible death of beatrice. petrarch does not love sufficiently to guess what such a loss would be. then laura does die. here petrarch rises. the severing of the dear old habits, the absence of the sweet reality, the terrible sense that all is over, death, the great poetizer and giver of love philters, all this makes him love laura as he never loved her before. the poor weak creature, who cannot, like a troubadour, go seek a new mistress when the old one fails him, feels dreadfully alone, the world dreadfully dreary around him; he sits down and cries, and his crying is genuine, making the tears come also into our eyes. and laura, as she becomes a more distant ideal, becomes nobler, though noble with only a faint earthly graciousness not comparable to the glory of the living beatrice. and, as he goes on, growing older and weaker and more desolate, the thought of a glorified laura (as all are glorified, even in the eyes of the weakest, by death) begins to haunt him as dante was haunted by the thought of beatrice alive. yet, even at this very time, come doubts of the lawfulness of having thus adored (or thought he had adored) a mortal woman; he does not know whether all this may not have been vanity and folly; he tries to turn his thoughts away from laura and up to god. perhaps he may be called on to account for having given too much of his life to a mere earthly love. then, again, laura reappears beautified in his memory, and is again tremblingly half-conjured away. he is weak, and sad, and helpless, and alone; and his heart is empty; he knows not what to think nor how to feel; he sobs, and we cry with him. nowhere could there be found a stranger contrast than this nostalgic craving after the dead laura, vacillating and troubled by fear of sin and doubt of unworthiness of object, with that solemn ending of the "vita nuova," where the name of beatrice is pronounced for the last time before it be glorified in paradise, where dante devotes his life to becoming worthy of saying "such words as have never been said of any lady." the ideal woman is one and unchangeable in glory, and unchangeable is the passion of her lover; but of this sweet dead laura, whose purity and beauty and cruelty he had sung, without a tremor of self-unworthiness all her life, of her the poor weak petrarch begins to doubt, of her and her worthiness of all this love; and when? when she is dead and himself is dying. such a man is petrarch; and yet, by the irresistible purifying and elevating power of the "vita nuova,'" this man came to write not other _albas_ and _serenas,_ not other love-songs to be added to the love-songs of provence, but those sonnets and canzoni which for four centuries taught the world, too coarse as yet to receive dante's passion at first hand, a nobler and more spiritual love. after petrarch a gradual change takes place in the poetic conception of love: except in learned revivalisms or in loose buffooneries, the mere fleshly love of antiquity disappears out of literature; and equally so, though by a slower process of gradual transformation, vanishes also the adoring, but undisguisedly adulterous love of the troubadours and minnesingers. into the love instincts of mankind have been mingled, however much diluted, some drops of the more spiritual passion of dante. the _puella_ of antiquity, the noble dame of feudal days, is succeeded in latin countries, in italy, and france, and spain, and portugal, by the _gloriosa donna_ imitated from. petrarch, and imitated by petrarch from dante; a long-line of shadowy figures, veiled in the veil of madonna laura, ladies beloved of lorenzo and michael angelo, of ariosto, and tasso, and camoens, and cervantes, passes through the world; nay, even the sprightly-mistress of ronsard, half-bred pagan and troubadour has airs of dignity and mystery which make us almost think that in this dainty coquettish french body, of marie or helene or cassandrette, there really may be an immortal soul. but with the renaissance--that movement half of mediæval democratic progress, and half of antique revivalism, and to which in reality belongs not merely petrarch, but dante, and every one of the tuscan poets, guinicelli, lapo gianni, cavalcanti, who broke with the feudal poetry of provence and sicily--with the renaissance, or rather with its long-drawn-out end, comes the close, for the moment, of the really creative activity of the latin peoples in the domain of poetry. all the things for two centuries which italy and france and spain and portugal (which we must remember for the sake of camoens) continue to produce, are but developments of parts left untouched; or refinements of extreme detail, as in the case, particularly, of the french poets of the sixteenth century; but poetry receives from these races nothing new or vital, no fresh ideal or fruitful marriage of ideals. and here begins, uniting in itself all the scattered and long-dormant powers of northern poetry, the great and unexpected action of england. it had slept through the singing period of the middle ages, and was awakened, not by germany or provence, but by italy: boccaccio and petrarch spoke, and, as through dreams, england in chaucer's voice, made answer. again, when the renaissance had drawn to a close, far on in the sixteenth century, english poetry was reawakened; and again by italy. this time it was completely wakened, and arose and slept no more. and one of the great and fruitful things achieved by english poetry in this its final awakening was to give to the world the new, the modern, perhaps the definitive, the final ideal of love. england drank a deep draught--how deep we see from sidney's and spenser's sonnets--of petrarch; and in this pleasant dilution, tasted and felt the burning essence of the "vita nuova;" for though dante remained as the poet, the poet of heaven and hell, this happy half-and-half petrarch had for full two centuries completely driven into oblivion the young dante who had loved beatrice. for england, for this magnificent and marvellous outburst of all the manifold poetic energy stored up and quintupled during that long period of inertness, there could however be no foreign imported ideal of love; there was no possibility of a new series of spectral lauras, shadows projected by a shadow. already, long ago, at the first call of petrarch, chaucer, by the side of the merely mediæval love types--of brutish lust and doglike devotion--of the wife of bath and of griseldis, had rough-sketched a kind of modern love, the love which is to become that of romeo and hamlet, in his story of palemon and arcite. among the poetic material which existed in england at the close of the sixteenth century was the old, long-neglected, domestic love, quiet, undemonstrative, essentially unsinging, of the early northern (as indeed also of the greek and hindoo) epics; a domestic love which, in a social condition more closely resembling our own than any other, even than that of the italian democracies, which had preceded it; among a people who permitted a woman to choose her own husband, and forbade a man wooing another man's wife, had already, in ballads and folk poetry, begun a faint-twitter of song. to this love of the man and the woman who hope to marry, strong and tender, but still (as coleridge remarked of several of the lesser elizabethan playwrights) most outspokenly carnal, was united by the pure spirit of spenser, by the unerring genius of shakespeare, that vivifying drop of burning, spiritual love taken from out of the "vita nuova," which had floated, like some sovereign essential oil, on the top of petrarch's rose-water. henceforward the world possesses a new kind of love: the love of romeo, of hamlet, of bassanio, of viola, and of juliet; the love of the love poems of shelley, of tennyson, of browning and browning's wife. a love whose blindness, exaggeration of passion, all that might have made it foolish and impracticable, leads no longer to folly and sin, but to an intenser activity of mankind's imagination of the good and beautiful, to a momentary realization in our fancy of all our vague dreams of perfection; a love which, though it may cool down imperceptibly and pale in its intenseness, like the sunrise fires into a serene sky, has left some glory round the head of the wife, some glory in the heart of the husband, has been, however fleeting, a vision of beauty which has made beauty more real. and all this owing to the creation, the storing up, the purification by the platonic poets of tuscany, of that strange and seemingly so artificial and unreal thing, mediæval love; the very forms and themes of whose poetry, the _serena_ and the _alba_, which had been indignantly put aside by the early italian lyrists, being unconsciously revived, and purified and consecrated in the two loveliest love poems of elizabethan poetry: the _serena_, the evening song of impatient expectation in spenser's epithalamium; the _alba_, the dawn song of hurried parting, in the balcony scene of "romeo and juliet." let us recapitulate. the feudal middle ages gave to mankind a more refined and spiritual love, a love all chivalry, fidelity, and adoration, but a love steeped in the poison of adultery; and to save the pure and noble portions of this mediæval love became the mission of the tuscan poets of that strange school of platonic love which in its very loveliness may sometimes seem so unnatural and sterile. for, by reducing this mediæval love to a mere intellectual passion, seeking in woman merely a self-made embodiment of cravings after perfection, they cleansed away that deep stain of adultery; they quadrupled the intensity of the ideal element; they distilled the very essential spirit of poetic passion, of which but a few drops, even as diluted by petrarch, precipitated, when mingled with the earthly passion of future poets, to the bottom, no longer to be seen or tasted, all baser ingredients. and, while the poems of minnesingers and troubadours have ceased to appeal to us, and remain merely for their charm of verse and of graceful conceit; the poetry written by the italians of the thirteenth century for women, whose love was but an imaginative fervour, remains concentrated in the "vita nuova;" and will remain for all time the sovereign purifier to which the world must have recourse whenever that precipitate of baser instincts, which thickened like slime the love poetry of antiquity, shall rise again and sully the purity of the love poetry of to-day. epilogue. more than a year has elapsed since the moment when, fancying that this series of studies must be well-nigh complete, i attempted to explain in an introductory chapter what the nature of this book of mine is, or would fain be. i had hoped that each of these studies would complete its companions; and that, without need for explicit explanation, my whole idea would have become more plain to others than it was at that time even to myself. but instead, it has become obvious that the more carefully i had sought to reduce each question to unity, the more that question-subdivided and connected itself with other questions; and that, with the solution of each separate problem, had arisen a new set of problems which infinitely complicated the main lessons to be deduced from a study of that many-sided civilization to which, remembering the brilliant and mysterious offspring of faustus and helena, i have given the name of euphorion. hence, as it seems, the necessity for a few further words of explanation. in those introductory pages written some fifteen months ago, i tried to bring home to the reader a sense which has haunted me throughout the writing of this volume; namely, that instead of having deliberately made up my mind to study the renaissance, as one makes up one's mind to visit greece or egypt or the holy land; i have, on the contrary, quite accidentally and unconsciously, found myself wandering about in spirit among the monuments of this particular historic region, even as i might wander about in the streets of siena where i wrote last year, of florence whence i write at present; wandering about among these things, and little by little feeling a particular interest in one, then in another, according as each happened to catch my fancy or to recall some already known thing. now these, which for want of a better word i have just called monuments, and just now, less clearly, but also less foolishly, merely _things_--these things were in reality not merely individual and really existing buildings, books, pictures, or statues, individual and really registered men, women, and events; they were the mental conceptions which i had extracted out of these realities; the intellectual types made up (as the mediæval symbols of justice are made up of the visible paraphernalia, robe, scales and sword, for judging and weighing and punishing) of the impressions left on the mind by all those buildings, or books, or pictures, or statues, or men, women, and events. they were not the iniquities of this particular despot nor the scandalous sayings of that particular humanist, but the general moral chaos of the italian fifteenth and sixteenth centuries; not the poem of pulci, of boiardo, of ariosto in especial, but a vast imaginary poem made up of them all; not the mediæval saints of angelico and the pagan demi-gods of michael angelo, but the two tremendous abstractions: the spirit of mediævalism in art, and the spirit of antiquity; the interest in the distressed soul, and the interest in the flourishing body. and, as my thoughts have gone back to antiquity and onwards to our own times, their starting-point has nevertheless been the tuscan art of the fifteenth century, their nucleus some notes on busts by benedetto da maiano and portraits by raphael. my _dramatis persona_ have been modes of feeling and forms of art. i have tried to explain the life and character, not of any man or woman, but of the moral scepticism of italy, of the tragic spirit of our elizabethan dramatists; i have tried to write the biography of the romance poetry of the middle ages, of the realism of the great portrait painters and sculptors of the renaissance. but these, my _dramatis persona,_ are, let me repeat it, abstractions: they exist only in my mind and in the minds of those who think like myself. hence, like all abstractions, they represent the essence of a question, but not its completeness, its many-sidedness as we may see it in reality. hence it is that i have frequently passed over exceptions to the rule which i was stating, because the explanation of these exceptions would have involved the formulating of a number of apparently irrelevant propositions; so that any one who please may accuse me of inexactness; and, to give an instance, cover the margins of my essay on mediæval love with a whole list of virtuous love stories of the middle ages; or else ferret out of raynouard and von der hagen a dozen pages of mediæval poems in praise of rustic life. these objections will be perfectly correct, and (so far as my knowledge permitted me) i might have puzzled the reader with them myself; but it remains none the less certain that, in the main, mediæval love was not virtuous, and mediæval peasantry not admired by poets; and none the less certain, i think, also, that in describing the characteristics and origin of an abstract thing, such as mediæval love, or mediæval feeling towards the country and country folk, it was my business to state the rule and let alone the exceptions. there is another matter which gives me far greater concern. in creating and dealing with an abstraction, one is frequently forced, if i may use the expression, to cut a subject in two, to bring one of its sides into full light and leave the other in darkness; nay, to speak harshly of one side of an art or of a man without being able to speak admiringly of another side. this one-sidedness, this apparent injustice of judgment, has in some cases been remedied by the fact that i have treated in one study those things which i was forced to omit in another study; as, in two separate essays, i have pointed out first the extreme inferiority of renaissance sculpture to the sculpture of antiquity with regard to absolute beauty of form; and then the immeasurable superiority of renaissance over antique sculpture in the matter of that beauty and interest dependent upon mere arrangement and handling, wherein lies the beauty-creating power of realistic schools. but most often i have shown one side, not merely of an artist or an art, but of my own feeling, without showing the other; and in one case this inevitable one-sidedness has weighed upon me almost like personal guilt, and has almost made me postpone the publication of this book to the greek kalends, in hopes of being able to explain and to atone. i am alluding to fra angelico. i spoke of him in a study of the progress of mere beautiful form, the naked human form moreover, in the art of the renaissance; i looked at his work with my mind full of the unapproachable superiority of antique form; i judged and condemned the artist with reference to that superb movement towards nature and form and bodily beauty which was the universal movement of the fifteenth century; i lost patience with this saint because he would not turn pagan; i pushed aside, because he did not seek for a classic olympus, his exquisite dreams of a mediæval paradise. i had taken part, as its chronicler, with the art which seeks mere plastic perfection, the art to which angelico said, "retro me sathana." it was my intention to close even this volume with a study of the poetical conception of early renaissance painting, of that strange kind of painting in which a thing but imperfect in itself, a mere symbol of lovely ideas, brings home to our mind, with a rush of associations, a sense of beauty and wonder greater perhaps than any which we receive from the sober reality of perfect form. again, there are the german masters--the great engravers, kranach, altdorfer, aldegrever, especially; of whom, for their absolute pleasure in ugly women, for their filthy delight in horrors, i have said an immense amount of ill; and of whom, for their wonderful intuition of dramatic situation, their instinct of the poetry of common things, and their magnificently imaginative rendering of landscape, i hope some day to say an equal amount of good. i have spoken of the lesson which may be derived from studies even as humble as these studies of mine; since, in my opinion, we cannot treat history as a mere art--though history alone can gives us now-a-days tragedy which has ceased to exist on our stage, and wonder which has ceased to exist in our poetry--we cannot seek in it mere selfish enjoyment of imagination and emotion, without doing our soul the great injury of cheating it of some of those great indignations, some of those great lessons which make it stronger and more supple in the practical affairs of life. each of these studies of mine brings its own lesson, artistic or ethical, important or unimportant; its lesson of seeking certainty in our moral opinions, beauty in all and whatever our forms of art, spirituality in our love. but besides these i seem to perceive another deduction, an historical fact with a practical application; to see it as the result not merely perhaps of the studies of which this book is the fruit, but of those further studies, of the subtler sides of mediæval and renaissance life and art which at present occupy my mind and may some day add another series of essays to this: a lesson still vague to myself, but which, satisfactorily or unsatisfactorily, i shall nevertheless attempt to explain; if indeed it requires to be brought home to the reader. of the few forms of feeling and imagination which i have treated--things so different from one another as the feeling for nature and the chivalric poem, as modern art, with its idealism and realism, and modern love--of these forms, emotional and artistic, which antiquity did not know, or knew but little, the reader may have observed that i have almost invariably traced the origin deep into that fruitful cosmopolitan chaos, due to the mingling of all that was still unused of the remains of antiquity with all that was untouched of the intellectual and moral riches of the barbarous nations, to which we give the name of middle ages; and that i have, as invariably, followed the development of these precious forms, and their definitive efflorescence and fruit-bearing, into that particular country where certain mediæval conditions had ceased to exist, namely italy. in other words, it has seemed to me that the things which i have studied were originally produced during the middle ages, and consequently in the mediæval countries, france, germany, provence; but did not attain maturity except in that portion of the middle ages which is mediæval no longer, but already more than half modern, the renaissance, which began in italy not with the establishment of despotisms and the coming of greek humanists, but with the independence of the free towns and with the revival of roman tradition. why so? because, it appears to me, after watching the lines of my thought converging to this point, because, with a few exceptions, the middle ages were rich in great beginnings (indeed a good half of all that makes up our present civilization seems to issue from them): but they were poor in complete achievements; full of the seeds of modern institutions, arts, thoughts, and feelings, they yet show us but rarely the complete growth of any one of them: a fruitful nile flood, but which must cease to drown and to wash away, which must subside before the germs that it has brought can shoot forth and mature. the sense of this comes home to me most powerfully whenever i think of mediæval poetry and mediæval painting. the songs of the troubadours and minnesingers, what are they to our feelings? they are pleasant, even occasionally beautiful, but they are empty, lamentably empty, charming arrangements of words; poetry which fills our mind or touches our heart comes only with the tuscan lyrists of the thirteenth century. the same applies to mediæval narrative-verse: it is, with one or two exceptions or half exceptions, such as "the chanson de roland" and gottfried's "tristan und isolde," decidedly wearisome; a thing to study, but scarcely a thing to delight in. i do not mean to say that the old legends of wales and scandinavia, subsequently embodied by the french and german poets of the middle ages, are without imaginative or emotional interest; nothing can be further from my thoughts. the nibelung story possesses, both in the norse and in the middle high german version, a tragic fascination; and a quaint fairy-tale interest, every now and then rising to the charm of a decameronian _novella_, is possessed by many of the keltic tales, whether briefly told in the mabinogion or lengthily detailed by chrestien de troyes and wolfram von eschenbach. but all this is the interest of the mere story, and you would enjoy it almost as much if that story were related not by a poet but by a peasant; it is the fascination of the mere theme, with the added fascination of our own unconscious filling up and colouring of details. and the poem itself, whence we extract this theme, remains, for the most part, uninteresting. the figures are vague, almost shapeless and colourless; they have no well-understood mental and moral anatomy, so that when they speak and act the writer seems to have no clear conception of the motives or tempers which make them do so; even as in a child's pictures, the horses gallop, the men run, the houses stand, but without any indication of the muscles which move the horse, of the muscles which hold up the man, of the solid ground upon which is built, nay rather, into which is planted, the house. hatred of hagen, devotion of rüdger, passionate piety of parzival--all these are things of which we do not particularly see the how or why; we do not follow the reasons, in event or character, which make these men sacrifice themselves or others, weep, storm, and so forth; nay, even when these reasons are clear from the circumstances, we are not shown the action of the mechanism, we do not see how brunhilt is wroth, how chriemhilt is revengeful, how herzeloid is devoted to parzival. there is, in the vast majority of this mediæval poetry, no clear conception of the construction and functions of people's character, and hence no conception either of those actions and reactions of various moral organs which, after all, are at the bottom of the events related. herein lies the difference between the forms of the middle ages and those of antiquity; for how perfectly felt, understood, is not every feeling and every action of the homeric heroes, how perfectly indicated! we can see the manner and reason of the conflict of achilles and agamemnon, of the behaviour of the returned odysseus, as clearly as we see the manner and reason of the movements of the fighting centaurs and lapithæ, or the amazons; nay, even the minute mood of comparatively unimportant figures, as helen, brisei's, and nausicaa, is indicated in its moral anatomy and attitude as distinctly as is the manner in which the maidens of the parthenon frieze slowly restrain their steps, the boys curb their steeds, or the old men balance their oil jars. nothing of this in mediæval literature, except perhaps in "flamenca" and "tristan," where the motive of action, mere imaginative desire, is all-permeating and explains everything. these people clearly had no interest, no perception, connected with character: a valorous woman, a chivalrous knight, an insolent steward, a jealous husband, a faithful retainer; things recognized only in outline, made to speak and act only according to a fixed tradition, without knowledge of the internal mechanism of motive; these sufficed. hence it is that mediæval poetry is always like mediæval painting (for painting continued to be mediæval with giotto's pupils long after poetry had ceased to be mediæval with dante and his school), where the virgin sits and holds the child without body wherewith to sit or arms wherewith to hold; where angels flutter forward and kneel in conventional greeting, with obviously no bended knees beneath their robes, nay, with knees, waist, armpits, all anywhere; where men ride upon horses without flat to their back; where processions of the blessed come forth, guided by fiddling seraphs, vague, faint faces, sweet or grand, heads which might wave like pieces of cut-out paper upon their necks, arms and legs here and there, not clearly belonging to any one; creatures marching, soaring, flying, singing, fiddling, without a bone or a muscle wherewith to do it all. and meanwhile, in this mediæval poetry, as in this mediæval painting, there are yards and yards of elaborate preciousness: all the embossed velvets, all the white-and-gold-shot brocades, all the silks and satins, and jewel-embroidered stuffs of the universe cast stiffly about these phantom men and women, these phantom horses and horsemen. it is not until we turn to italy, and to the northern man, chaucer, entirely under italian influence, that we obtain an approach to the antique clearness of perception and comprehension; that we obtain not only in dante something akin to the muscularities of signorelli and michael angelo; but in boccaccio and chaucer, in cavalca and petrarch, the equivalent of the well-understood movement, the well-indicated situation of the simple, realistic or poetic, sketches of filippino and botticelli. this, you will say, is a mere impression; it is no explanation, still less such an explanation as may afford a lesson. not so. this strange inconclusiveness in all mediæval things, till the moment comes when they cease to be mediæval; this richness in germs and poverty in mature fruit, cannot be without its reason. and this reason, to my mind, lies in one word, the most terrible word of any, since it means suffering and hopelessness; a word which has haunted my mind ever since i have looked into mediæval things: the word wastefulness. wastefulness; the frightful characteristic of times at once so rich and so poor, the explanation of the long starvation and sickness that mankind, that all mankind's concerns--art, poetry, science, life--endured while the very things which would have fed and revived and nurtured, existed close at hand, and in profusion. wastefulness, in this great period of confusion, of the most precious things that we possess: time, thought, and feeling refused to the realities of the world, and lavished on the figments of the imagination. why this vagueness, this imperfection in all mediæval representations of life? because even as men's eyes were withdrawn, by the temporal institutions of those days, from the sight of the fields and meadows which were left to the blind and dumb thing called serf; so also the thoughts of mankind, its sympathy and intentions, were withdrawn from the mere earthly souls, the mere earthly wrongs and woes of men by the great self-organized institution of mediæval religion. pity of the body of christ held in bondage by the infidel; love of god; study of the unknowable things of heaven: such are the noblest employments of the mediæval soul; how much of pity, of love, may remain for man; how much of study for the knowable? to wastefulness like this--to misapplication of mind ending almost in palsy--must we ascribe, i think, the strange sterility of such mediæval art as deals not merely with pattern, but with the reality of man's body and soul. and we might be thankful, if, during our wanderings among mediæval things, we had seen the starving of only art and artistic instincts; but the soul of man has lain starving also; starving for the knowledge which was sought only of divine things, starving for the love which was given only to god. the explanation, therefore, and its lesson, may thus be summed up in the one word wastefulness. and the fruitfulness of the renaissance, all that it has given to us of art, of thought, of feeling (for the "vita nuova" is its fruit), is due, as it seems to me, to the fact that the renaissance is simply the condition of civilization when, thanks to the civil liberty and the spiritual liberty inherited from rome and inherited from greece, man's energies of thought and feeling were withdrawn from the unknowable to the knowable, from heaven to earth; and were devoted to the developing of those marvellous new things which antiquity had not known, and which had lain neglected and wasted during the middle ages. florence, _january_, . appendix. i have seen the pictures and statues and towns which i have described, and i have read the books of which i attempt to give an impression; but here my original research, if such it may be called, comes to an end. i have trusted only to myself for my impressions; but i have taken from others everything that may be called historical fact, as distinguished from the history of this or that form of thought or of art which i have tried to elaborate. my references are therefore only to standard historical works, and to such editions of poets and prose writers as have come into my hands. how much i am endebted to the genius of michelet; nay, rather, how much i am, however unimportant, the thing made by him, every one will see and judge. with regard to positive information i must express my great obligations to the works of jacob burckhardt, of prof. villari, and of mr. j.a. symonds in everything that concerns the political history and social condition of the renaissance. mr. symonds' name i have placed last, although this is by no means the order of importance in which the three writers appear in my mind, because vanity compels me to state that i have deprived myself of the pleasure and profit of reading his volumes on italian literature, from a fear that finding myself doubtless forestalled by him in various appreciations, i might deprive my essays of what i feel to be their principal merit, namely, the spontaneity and wholeness of personal impression. with regard to philological lore, i may refer, among a number of other works, to m. gaston paris' work on the cycle of charlemagne, m. de la villemarqué's companion volume on keltic romances, and professor rajna's "fonti dell' ariosto." my knowledge of troubadours, trouvères, and minnesingers is obtained mainly from the great collections of raynouard, wackernagel, mätzner, bartsch, and von der hagen, and from bartsch's and simrock's editions and versions of gottfried von strassburg, hartmann von aue, and wolfram von eschenbach. "flamenca" i have read in professor paul meyer's beautiful edition, text and translation; "aucassin et nicolette," in an edition published, if i remember rightly, by janet; and also in a very happy translation contained in delvau's huge collection of "romans de chevalerie," which contains, unfortunately sometimes garbled, as many of the prose stories of the carolingian and amadis cycle as i, at all events, could endure to read. for the early italian poets, excepting carducci's "cino da pistoia," my references are the same as those in rossetti's "dante and his cycle," especially the "rime antiche" and the "poeti del primo secolo." professor d'ancona's pleasant volume has greatly helped me in the history of the transformation of the courtly poetry of the early middle ages into the folk poetry of tuscany. i owe a good deal also, with regard to this same essay "the outdoor poetry," to roskoff's famous "geschichte des teufels," and to signor novati's recently published "carmina medii _Ævi_." the italian _novellieri,_ bandello, cinthio, and their set, i have used in the florentine editions of or ; masuccio edited by de sanctis. for the essay on the italian renaissance on the elizabethan stage, i have had recourse, chiefly, to the fifteenth century chronicles in the "archivio storico italiano," and to dyce's webster, hartley coleridge's massinger and ford, churton collins' cyril tourneur, and j.o. halliwell's marston. the essays on art have naturally profited by the now inevitable crowe and cavalcaselle; but in this part of my work, while i have relied very little on books, i have received more than the equivalent of the information to be obtained from any writers in the suggestions and explanations of my friend mr. t. nelson maclean, who has made it possible for a mere creature of pens and ink to follow the differences of _technique_ of the sculptors and medallists of the fifteenth century; a word of thanks also, for various such suggestions as can come only from a painter, to my old friend mr. john s. sargent, of paris. i must conclude these acknowledgments by thanking the editors of the _contemporary, british quarterly_, and _national reviews_, and of the _cornhill magazine_, for permission to republish such of the essays or fragments of essays as have already appeared in those periodicals. the end. http://www.archive.org/details/mediaevalsocial jarruoft mediaeval socialism by bede jarrett, o.p., m.a. [illustration: logo] london: t. c. & e. c. jack long acre, w.c., and edinburgh new york: dodge publishing co. contents chap. page i. introduction ii. social conditions iii. the communists iv. the schoolmen v. the lawyers vi. the social reformers vii. the theory of alms-giving bibliography index mediaeval socialism chapter i introduction the title of this book may not unnaturally provoke suspicion. after all, howsoever we define it, socialism is a modern thing, and dependent almost wholly on modern conditions. it is an economic theory which has been evolved under pressure of circumstances which are admittedly of no very long standing. how then, it may be asked, is it possible to find any real correspondence between theories of old time and those which have grown out of present-day conditions of life? surely whatever analogy may be drawn between them must be based on likenesses which cannot be more than superficial. the point of view implied in this question is being increasingly adopted by all scientific students of social and political opinions, and is most certainly correct. speculation that is purely philosophic may indeed turn round upon itself. the views of grecian metaphysicians may continue for ever to find enthusiastic adherents; though even here, in the realm of purely abstract reasoning, the progressive development of science, of psychology, and kindred branches of knowledge cannot fail by its influence to modify the form and arrangement of thought. but in those purely positive sciences (if indeed sciences they can properly be called) which deal with the life of man and its organisation, the very principles and postulates will be found to need continual readjustment. for with man's life, social, political, economic, we are in contact with forces which are of necessity always in a state of flux. for example, the predominance of agriculture, or of manufacture, or of commerce in the life of the social group must materially alter the attitude of the statesman who is responsible for its fortunes; and the progress of the nation from one to another stage of her development often entails (by altering from one class to another the dominant position of power) the complete reversal of her traditional maxims of government. human life is not static, but dynamic. hence the theories weaved round it must themselves be subject to the law of continuous development. it is obvious that this argument cannot be gainsaid; and yet at the same time we may not be in any way illogical in venturing on an inquiry as to whether, in centuries not wholly dissimilar from our own, the mind of man worked itself out along lines parallel in some degree to contemporary systems of thought. man's life differs, yet are the categories which mould his ideas eternally the same. but before we go on to consider some early aspects of socialism, we must first ascertain what socialism itself essentially implies. already within the lifetime of the present generation the word has greatly enlarged the scope of its significance. many who ten years ago would have objected to it as a name of ill-omen see in it now nothing which may not be harmonised with the most ordinary of political and social doctrines. it is hardly any longer the badge of a school. yet it does retain at any rate the bias of a tendency. it suggests chiefly the transference of ownership in land and capital from private hands into their possession in some form or other by the society. the means of this transference, and the manner in which this social possession is to be maintained, are very widely debated, and need not here be determined; it is sufficient for the matter of this book to have it granted that in this lies the germ of the socialistic theory of the state. once more it must be admitted that the meaning of "private ownership" and "social possession" will vary exceedingly in each age. when private dominion has become exceedingly individual and practically absolute, the opposition between the two terms will necessarily be very sharp. but in those earlier stages of national and social evolution, when the community was still regarded as composed, not of persons, but of groups, the antagonism might be, in point of theory, extremely limited; and in concrete cases it might possibly be difficult to determine where one ended and the other began. yet it is undeniable that socialism in itself need mean no more than the central principle of state-ownership of capital and land. such a conception is consistent with much private property in other forms than land and capital, and will be worked out in detail differently by different minds. but it is the principle, the essence of it, which justifies any claims made to the use of the name. we may therefore fairly call those theories socialistic which are covered by this central doctrine, and disregard, as irrelevant to the nature of the term, all added peculiarities contributed by individuals who have joined their forces to the movement. by socialistic theories of the middle ages, therefore, we mean no more than those theories which from time to time came to the surface of political and social speculation in the form of communism, or of some other way of bringing about the transference which we have just indicated. but before plunging into the tanglement of these rather complicated problems, it will make for clearness if we consider quite briefly the philosophic heritage of social teaching to which the middle ages succeeded. the fathers of the church had found themselves confronted with difficulties of no mean subtlety. on the one hand, the teaching of the scriptures forced upon them the religious truth of the essential equality of all human nature. christianity was a standing protest against the exclusiveness of the jewish faith, and demanded through the attendance at one altar the recognition of an absolute oneness of all its members. the epistles of st. paul, which were the most scientific defence of christian doctrine, were continually insisting on the fact that for the new faith there was no real division between greek or barbarian, bond or free. yet, on the other hand, there were equally unequivocal expressions concerning the reverence and respect due to authority and governance. st. peter had taught that honour should be paid to caesar, when caesar was no other than nero. st. paul had as clearly preached subjection to the higher powers. yet at the same time we know that the christian truth of the essential equality of the whole human race was by some so construed as to be incompatible with the notion of civil authority. how, then, was this paradox to be explained? if all were equal, what justification would there be for civil authority? if civil authority was to be upheld, wherein lay the meaning of st. paul's many boasts of the new levelling spirit of the christian religion? the paradox was further complicated by two other problems. the question of the authority of the imperial government was found to be cognate with the questions of the institution of slavery and of private property. here were three concrete facts on which the empire seemed to be based. what was to be the christian attitude towards them? after many attempted explanations, which were largely personal, and, therefore, may be neglected here, a general agreement was come to by the leading christian teachers of east and west. this was based on a theological distinction between human nature as it existed on its first creation, and then as it became in the state to which it was reduced after the fall of adam. created in original justice, as the phrase ran, the powers of man's soul were in perfect harmony. his sensitive nature, _i.e._ his passions, were in subjection to his will, his will to his reason, his reason to god. had man continued in this state of innocence, government, slavery, and private property would never have been required. but adam fell, and in his fall, said these christian doctors, the whole conditions of his being were disturbed. the passions broke loose, and by their violence not unfrequently subjected the will to their dictatorship; together with the will they obscured and prejudiced the reason, which under their compulsion was no longer content to follow the divine reason or the eternal law of god. in a word, where order had previously reigned, a state of lawlessness now set in. greed, lust for power, the spirit of insubordination, weakness of will, feebleness of mind, ignorance, all swarmed into the soul of man, and disturbed not merely the internal economy of his being, but his relations also to his fellows. the sin of cain is the social result of this personal upheaval. society then felt the evils which attended this new condition of things, and it was driven, according to this patristic idea, to search about for remedies in order to restrain the anarchy which threatened to overwhelm the very existence of the race. hence was introduced first of all the notion of a civil authority. it was found that without it, to use a phrase which hobbes indeed has immortalised, but which can be easily paralleled from the writings of st. ambrose or st. augustine, "life was nasty, brutish, and short." to this idea of authority, there was quickly added the kindred ideas of private property and slavery. these two were found equally necessary for the well-being of human society. for the family became a determined group in which the patriarch wielded absolute power; his authority could be effective only when it could be employed not only over his own household, but also against other households, and thus in defence of his own. hence the family must have the exclusive right to certain things. if others objected, the sole arbitrament was an appeal to force, and then the vanquished not only relinquished their claims to the objects in dispute, but became the slaves of those to whom they had previously stood in the position of equality and rivalry. thus do the fathers of the church justify these three institutions. they are all the result of the fall, and result from sin. incidentally it may be added that much of the language in which hildebrand and others spoke of the civil power as "from the devil" is traceable to this theological concept of the history of its origin, and much of their hard language means no more than this. private property, therefore, is due to the fall, and becomes a necessity because of the presence of sin in the world. but it is not only from the fathers of the church that the mediaeval tradition drew its force. for parallel with this patristic explanation came another, which was inherited from the imperial legalists. it was based upon a curious fact in the evolution of roman law, which must now be shortly described. for the administration of justice in rome two officials were chosen, who between them disposed of all the cases in dispute. one, the _praetor urbanus_, concerned himself in all litigation between roman citizens; the other, the _praetor peregrinus_, had his power limited to those matters only in which foreigners were involved; for the growth of the roman _imperium_ had meant the inclusion of many under its suzerainty who could not boast technical citizenship. the _praetor urbanus_ was guided in his decisions by the codified law of rome; but the _praetor peregrinus_ was in a very different position. he was left almost entirely to his own resources. hence it was customary for him, on his assumption of office, to publish a list of the principles by which he intended to settle all the disputes between foreigners that were brought to his court. but on what foundation could his declaratory act be based? he was supposed to have previously consulted the particular laws of as many foreign nations as was possible, and to have selected from among them those which were found to be held in common by a number of tribes. the fact of this consensus to certain laws on the part of different races was supposed to imply that these were fragments of some larger whole, which came eventually to be called indifferently the law of nature, or the law of nations. for at almost the very date when this law of nations was beginning thus to be built up, the greek notion of one supreme law, which governed the whole race and dated from the lost golden age, came to the knowledge of the lawyers of rome. they proceeded to identify the two really different concepts, and evolved for themselves the final notion of a fundamental rule, essential to all moral action. in time, therefore, this supposed natural law, from its venerable antiquity and universal acceptance, acquired an added sanction and actually began to be held in greater respect than even the declared law of rome. the very name of nature seemed to bring with it greater dignity. but at the same time it was carefully explained that this _lex naturae_ was not absolutely inviolable, for its more accurate description was _lex_ or _jus gentium_. that is to say, it was not to be considered as a primitive law which lay embedded like first principles in human nature; but that it was what the nations had derived from primitive principles, not by any force of logic, but by the simple evolution of life. the human race had found by experience that the observance of the natural law entailed as a direct consequence the establishment of certain institutions. the authority, therefore, which these could boast was due to nothing more than the simple struggle for existence. among these institutions were those same three (civil authority, slavery, private property), which the fathers had come to justify by so different a method of argument. thus, by the late roman lawyers private property was upheld on the grounds that it had been found necessary by the human race in its advance along the road of life. to our modern ways of thinking it seems as though they had almost stumbled upon the theory of evolution, the gradual unfolding of social and moral perfection due to the constant pressure of circumstances, and the ultimate survival of what was most fit to survive. it was almost by a principle of natural selection that mankind was supposed to have determined the necessity of civil authority, slavery, private property, and the rest. the pragmatic test of life had been applied and had proved their need. a third powerful influence in the development of christian social teaching must be added to the others in order the better to grasp the mental attitude of the mediaeval thinkers. this was the rise and growth of monasticism. its early history has been obscured by much legendary detail; but there is sufficient evidence to trace it back far into the beginnings of christianity. later there had come the stampede into the thebaid, where both hermit life and the gathering together of many into a community seem to have been equally allowed as methods of asceticism. but by the fifth century, in the east and the west the movement had been effectively organised. first there was the canonical theory of life, introduced by st. augustine. then st. basil and st. benedict composed their rules of life, though st. benedict disclaimed any idea of being original or of having begun something new. yet, as a matter of fact, he, even more efficiently than st. basil, had really introduced a new force into christendom, and thereby became the undoubted father of western monasticism. now this monasticism had for its primary intention the contemplation of god. in order to attain this object more perfectly, certain subsidiary observances were considered necessary. their declared purpose was only to make contemplation easier; and they were never looked upon as essential to the monastic profession, but only as helps to its better working. among these safeguards of monastic peace was included the removal of all anxieties concerning material well-being. personal poverty--that is, the surrender of all personal claim to things the care of which might break in upon the fixed contemplation of god--was regarded as equally important for this purpose as obedience, chastity, and the continued residence in a certain spot. it had indeed been preached as a counsel of perfection by christ himself in his advice to the rich young man, and its significance was now very powerfully set forth by the benedictine and other monastic establishments. it is obvious that the existence of institutions of this kind was bound to exercise an influence upon christian thought. it could not but be noticed that certain individual characters, many of whom claimed the respect of their generation, treated material possessions as hindrances to spiritual perfection. through their example private property was forsworn, and community of possession became prominently put forward as being more in accordance with the spirit of christ, who had lived with his apostles, it was declared, out of the proceeds of a common purse. the result, from the point of view of the social theorists of the day, was to confirm the impression that private property was not a thing of much sanctity. already, as we have seen, the fathers had been brought to look at it as something sinful in its origin, in that the need of it was due entirely to the fall of our first parents. then the legalists of rome had brought to this the further consideration that mere expedience, universal indeed, but of no moral sanction, had dictated its institution as the only way to avoid continual strife among neighbours. and now the whole force of the religious ideals of the time was thrown in the same balance. eastern and western monasticism seemed to teach the same lesson, that private property was not in any sense a sacred thing. rather it seemed to be an obstacle to the perfect devotion of man's being to god; and community of possession and life began to boast itself to be the more excellent following of christ. finally it may be asserted that the social concept of feudalism lent itself to the teaching of the same lesson. for by it society was organised upon a system of land tenure whereby each held what was his of one higher than he, and was himself responsible for those beneath him in the social scale. landowners, therefore, in the modern sense of the term, had no existence--there were only landholders. the idea of absolute dominion without condition and without definite duties could have occurred to none. each lord held his estate in feud, and with a definite arrangement for participating in the administration of justice, in the deliberative assembly, and in the war bands of his chief, who in turn owed the same duties to the lord above him. even the king, who stood at the apex of this pyramid, was supposed to be merely holding his power and his territorial domain as representing the nation. at his coronation he bound himself to observe certain duties as the condition of his royalty, and he had to proclaim his own acceptance of these conditions before he could be anointed and crowned as king. did he break through his coronation-oath, then the pledge of loyalty made by the people was considered to be in consequence without any binding force, and his subjects were released from their obedience. in this way, then, also private property was not likely to be deemed equivalent to absolute possession. it was held conditionally, and was not unfrequently forfeited for offences against the feudal code. it carried with it burdens which made its holding irksome, especially for all those who stood at the bottom of the scale, and found that the terms of their possession were rigorously enforced against them. the death of the tenant and the inheriting of his effects by his eldest son was made the occasion for exactions by the superior lord; for to him belonged certain of the dead man's military accoutrements as pledges, open and manifest, of the continued supremacy to be exercised over the successor. thus the extremely individual ideas as regards the holding of land which are to-day so prevalent would then have been hardly understood. every external authority, the whole trend of public opinion, the teaching of the christian fathers, the example of religious bodies, the inherited views that had come down to the later legalists from the digests of the imperial era, the basis of social order, all deflected the scale against the predominance of any view of land tenure or holding which made it an absolute and unrestricted possession. yet at the same time, and for the same cause, the modern revolt against all individual possession would have been for the mediaeval theorists equally hard to understand. absolute communism, or the idea of a state which under the magic of that abstract title could interfere with the whole social order, was too utterly foreign to their ways of thinking to have found a defender. the king they knew, and the people, and the church; but the state (which the modern socialist invokes) would have been an unimaginable thing. in that age, therefore, we must not expect to find any fully-fledged socialism. we must be content to notice theories which are socialistic rather than socialist. chapter ii social conditions so long as a man is in perfect health, the movements of his life-organs are hardly perceptible to him. he becomes conscious of their existence only when something has happened to obstruct their free play. so, again, is it with the body politic, for just so long as things move easily and without friction, hardly are anyone's thoughts stimulated in the direction of social reform. but directly distress or disturbance begin to be felt, public attention is awakened, and directed to the consideration of actual conditions. schemes are suggested, new ideas broached. hence, that there were at all in the middle ages men with remedies to be applied to "the open sores of the world," makes us realise that there must have been in mediaeval life much matter for discontent. perhaps not altogether unfortunately, the seeds of unrest never need much care in sowing, for the human heart would else advance but little towards "the perfect day." the rebels of history have been as necessary as the theorists and the statesmen; indeed, but for the rebels, the statesmen would probably have remained mere politicians. upon the ruins of the late empire the germanic races built up their state. out of the fragments of the older _villa_ they erected the _manor_. no doubt this new social unit contained the strata of many civilisations; but it will suffice here to recognise that, while it is perhaps impossible to apportion out to each its own particular contribution to the whole result, the manor must have been affected quite considerably by roman, celt, and teuton. the chief difference which we notice between this older system and the conditions of modern agricultural life--for the manor was pre-eminently a rural organism--lies in the enormous part then played in the organisation of society by the idea of tenure. for, through all western civilisation, from the seventh century to the fourteenth, the personal equation was largely merged in the territorial. one and all, master and man, lord and tenant, were "tied to the soil." within the manor there was first the land held in demesne, the "in-land"--this was the perquisite of the lord himself; it was farmed by him directly. only when modern methods began to push out the old feudal concepts do we find this portion of the estate regularly let out to tenants, though there are evidences of its occasionally having been done even in the twelfth century. but besides what belonged thus exclusively to the lord of the manor, there was a great deal more that was legally described as held in villeinage. that is to say, it was in the hands of others, who had conditional use of it. in england these tenants were chiefly of three kinds--the villeins, the cottiers, the serfs. the first held a house and yard in the village street, and had in the great arable fields that surrounded them strips of land amounting sometimes to thirty acres. to their lord they owed work for three days each week; they also provided oxen for the plough. but more than half of their time could be devoted to the farming of their property. then next in order came the cottiers, whose holding probably ran to not more than five acres. they had no plough-work, and did more of the manual labour of the farm, such as hedging, nut-collecting, &c. a much greater portion of their time than was the case with the villeins was at the disposal of their master, nor indeed, owing to the lesser extent of their property, did they need so much opportunity for working their own land. lowest in the scale of all (according to the domesday book of william i, the first great land-value survey of all england, they numbered not more than sixteen per cent. of the whole population) came the slaves or serfs. these had almost exclusively the live stock to look after, being engaged as foresters, shepherds, swineherds, and servants of the household. they either lived under the lord's own roof, or might even have their cottage in the village with its strip of land about it, sufficient, with the provisions and cloth provided them, to eke out a scanty livelihood. distinct from these three classes and their officials (bailiffs, seneschals, reeves, &c.) were the free tenants, who did no regular work for the manor, but could not leave or part with their land. their services were requisitioned at certain periods like harvest-time, when there came a demand for more than the ordinary number of hands. this sort of labour was known as boon-work. it is clear at once that, theoretically at least, there was no room in such a community for the modern landless labourer. where all the workers were paid by their tenancy of land, where, in other words, fixity and stability of possession were the very basis of social life, the fluidity of labour was impossible. men could not wander from place to place offering to employers the hire of their toil. yet we feel sure that, in actual fact, wherever the population increased, there must have grown up in the process of time a number of persons who could find neither work nor maintenance on their father's property. younger sons, or more remote descendants, must gradually have found that there was no scope for them, unless, like an artisan class, they worked for wages. exactly at what date began the rise of this agricultural and industrial class of fee labourers we cannot very clearly tell. but in england--and probably the same holds good elsewhere--between and there are traces of its great development. there is evidence, which each year becomes more ample and more definite, that during that period there was an increasingly large number of people pressing on the means of subsistence. though the land itself might be capable of supporting a far greater number of inhabitants, the part under cultivation could only just have been enough to keep the actually existing population from the margin of destitution. the statutes in english law which protest against a wholesale occupation of the common-land by individuals were not directed merely against the practices of a landlord class, for the makers of the law were themselves landlords. it is far more likely that this invasion of village rights was due to the action of these "landless men," who could not otherwise be accommodated. the superfluous population was endeavouring to find for itself local maintenance. precisely at this time, too, in england--where the steps in the evolution from mediaeval to modern conditions have been more clearly worked out than elsewhere--increase of trade helped to further the same development. money, species, in greater abundance was coming into circulation. the traders were beginning to take their place in the national life. the guilds were springing into power, and endeavouring to capture the machinery of municipal government. as a result of all this commercial activity money payments became more frequent. the villein was able to pay his lord instead of working for him, and by the sale of the produce from his own yard-land was put in a position to hire helpers for himself, and to develop his own agricultural resources. nor was it the tenant alone who stood to gain by this arrangement. the lord, too, was glad of being possessed of money. he, too, needed it as a substitute for his duty of military service to the king, for scutage (the payment of a tax graduated according to the number of knights, which each baron had to lead personally in time of war as a condition of holding land at all) had taken the place of the old feudal levy. moreover, he was probably glad to obtain hired labour in exchange for the forced labour which the system of tenure made general; just as later the abolition of slavery was due largely to the fact that, in the long run, it did not pay to have the plantations worked by men whose every advantage it was to shirk as much toil as possible. but in most cases, as far as can be judged now, the lord was methodical in releasing services due to him. the week-work was first and freely commuted, for regular hired labour was easy to obtain; but the boon-work--the work, that is, which was required for unusual circumstances of a purely temporary character (such as harvesting, &c.)--was, owing to the obvious difficulty of its being otherwise supplied, only arranged for in the last resort. thus, by one of the many paradoxes of history, the freest of all tenants were the last to achieve freedom. when the serfs had been set at liberty by manumission, the socage-tenants or free-tenants, as they were called, were still bound by their fixed agreements of tenure. it is evident, however, that such emancipation as did take place was conditioned by the supply of free labour, primarily, that is, by the rising surplus of population. not until he was certain of being able to hire other labourers would a landholder let his own tenants slip off the burdens of their service. but this process, by which labour was rendered less stationary, was immeasurably hastened by the advent of a terrible catastrophe. in the black death arrived from the east. across europe it moved, striking fear by the inevitableness of its coming. it travelled at a steady rate, so that its arrival could be easily foretold. then, too, the unmistakable nature of its symptoms and the suddenness of the death it caused also added to the horror of its approach. on august , , it got to bristol, and by michaelmas had reached london. for a year or more it ravaged the countryside, so that whole villages were left without inhabitants. seeing england so stunned by the blow, the scots prepared to attack, thinking the moment propitious for paying off old scores; but their army, too, was smitten by the pestilence, and their forces broke up. into every glen of wales it worked its havoc; in ireland only the english were affected--the "wild irish" were immune. but in even these began to suffer. curiously enough, geoffrey baker in his chronicle (which, written in his own hand, after six hundred years yet remains in the bodleian at oxford) tells us that none fell till they were afraid of it. still more curiously, chaucer, langland, and wycliff, who all witnessed it, hardly mention it at all. there could not be any more eloquent tribute to the nameless horror that it caused than this hushed silence on the part of three of england's greatest writers. henry knighton of leicester abbey, canon and chronicler, tells us some of the consequences following on the plague, and shows us very clearly the social upheaval it effected. the population had now so much diminished that prices of live stock went down, an ox costing _s._, a cow _d._, and a sheep _d._ but for the same reason wages went up, for labour had suddenly grown scarce. for want of hands to bring in the harvest, whole crops rotted in the fields. many a manor had lost a third of its inhabitants, and it was difficult, under the fixed services of land tenure, to see what remedy could be applied. in despair the feudal system was set aside, and lord competed with lord to obtain landless labourers, or to entice within their jurisdiction those whose own masters ill-treated them in any way. the villeins themselves sought to procure enfranchisement, and the right to hire themselves out to their lords, or to any master they might choose. commutation was not particularly in evidence as the legal method of redress; though it too was no doubt here and there arranged for. but for the most part the villein took the law into his own hands, left his manor, and openly sold his labour to the highest bidder. but at once the governing class took fright. in their eyes it seemed as though their tenants were taking an unfair advantage of the disorganisation of the national life. even before parliament could meet, in an ordnance was issued by the king (edward iii), which compelled all servants, whether bond or free, to take up again the customary services, and forced work on all who had no income in land, or were not otherwise engaged. the lord on whose manor the tenant had heretofore dwelt had preferential claim to his labour, and could threaten with imprisonment every refractory villein. within two years a statute had been enacted by parliament which was far more detailed in its operation, fixing wages at the rate they had been in the twentieth year of the king's reign (_i.e._ at a period before the plague, when labour was plentiful), and also with all appearance of justice determining the prices of agricultural produce. it was the first of a very long series of acts of parliament that, with every right intention, but with a really obvious futility, endeavoured to reduce everything to what it had been in the past, to put back the hands of the clock, and keep them back. but one strange fact is noticeable. whether unconsciously or not, the framers of these statutes were themselves striking the hardest blow at the old system of tenure. from the masters' preferential claim to the villeins of their own manor disappears, or is greatly limited. henceforth the labourers are to appear in the market place with their tools, and (reminiscent of scriptural conditions) wait till some man hired them. the state, not the lord, is now regulating labour. labour itself has passed from being "tied to the soil," and has become fluid. it is no longer a personal obligation, but a commodity. even parliament recognised that in many respects at least the old order had passed away. the statute of allows "men of the counties of stafford, lancaster, derby, the borders of wales and scotland, &c., to come in august time to labour in other counties, and to return in safety, as they were heretofore wont to do." it is the legalisation of what had been looked at, up till then, askance. the long, silent revolution had become conscious. but the lords were, as we have said, not altogether sorry for the turn things had taken. groaning under pressure from the king's heavy war taxation, and under the demands which the advance of new standards of comfort (especially between and ) entailed, they let off on lease even the demesne land, and became to a very great extent mere rent-collectors. commutation proceeded steadily, with much haggling so as to obtain the highest price from the eager tenant. wages rose slowly, it is true, but rose all the same; and rent, though still high, was becoming, on the whole, less intolerable. but the drain of the french war, and the peculation in public funds brought about the final upheaval which completed what the black death had begun. the capricious and unfairly graduated poll-tax of came as a climax, and roused the great revolt of that year, a revolt carefully engineered and cleverly organised, which yet for the demands it made is a striking testimony to the moderation, the good sense, and also the oppressed state of the english peasant. the fourfold petition presented to the king by the rebels was: ( ) the abolition of serfdom. ( ) the reduction of rent to _d._ per acre. ( ) the liberty to buy and sell in market. ( ) a free pardon. compare the studiously restrained tone of these articles with the terrible atrocities and vengeance wreaked by the jacquerie in france, and the no less awful mob violence perpetrated in florence by the ciompi. while it shows no doubt in a kindly light the more equitable rule of the english landholder, it remains a monument, also, of the fair-mindedness of the english worker. in the towns much the same sort of struggle had been going on; for the towns themselves, more often than not, sprang up on the demesne of some lord, whether king, church, or baron. but here the difficulties were complicated still further by the interference of the guilds, which in the various trades regulated the hours of labour, the quality of the work, and the rate of remuneration. yet, on the other hand, it is undoubted that, once the squalor of the earlier stages of urban life had been removed or at least improved, the social condition of the poor, from the fourteenth century onwards, was immeasurably superior in the towns to what it was in the country districts. the quickening influence of trade was making itself felt everywhere. in the cloth trade was introduced at bristol, and settled down then definitely in the west of england. in the north we notice the beginnings of the coal trade. licence was given to the burgesses of newcastle to dig for coal in ; and in two merchants of the same city had applied for and obtained royal permission to send that precious commodity "to any part of the kingdom, either by land or water." even vast speculations were opening up for english commercial enterprise, when, by cornering the wool and bribing the king, a ring of merchants were able to break the italian banking houses, and disorganise the european money market, for on the continent all this energy in trade was already old. the house of anjou, for example, had made the kingdom of naples a great trading centre. its corn and cattle were famous the world over. but in naples it was the sovereigns (like edward iii and edward iv in england) who patronised the commercial instincts of their people. by the indefatigable genius of the royal house, industry was stimulated, and private enterprise encouraged. by wise legislation the interests of the merchants were safeguarded; and by the personal supervision of government, fiscal duties were moderated, the currency kept pure and stable, weights and measures reduced to uniformity, the ease and security of communications secured. no doubt trade not seldom, even in that age, led to much evil. parliament in england raised its voice against the trickery and deceit practised by the greater merchants towards the small shopkeepers, and complained bitterly of the growing custom of the king to farm out to the wealthier among them the subsidies and port-duties of the kingdom. for the whole force of the break-up of feudal conditions was to turn the direction of power into the hands of a small, but moneyed class. under edward iii there is a distinct appearance of a set of _nouveaux riches_, who rise to great prominence and take their places beside the old landed nobility. de la pole, the man who did most to establish the prosperity of hull, is an excellent example of what is often thought to be a decidedly modern type. he introduced bricks from the low countries, and apparently by this means and some curious banking speculations of very doubtful honesty achieved a great fortune. the king paid a visit to his country house, and made him chief baron of the exchequer, in which office he was strongly suspected of not always passing to the right quarter some of the royal moneys. his son became earl of suffolk and lord chancellor; and a marriage with royalty made descendants of the family on more than one occasion heirs-at-law of the crown. even the peasant was beginning to feel the amelioration of his lot, found life easy, and work something to be shirked. in his food, he was starting to be delicate. says langland in his "vision of piers plowman": "then labourers landless that lived by their hands, would deign not to dine upon worts a day old. no penny-ale pleased them, no piece of good bacon, only fresh flesh or fish, well-fried or well-baked, ever hot and still hotter to heat well their maw." and he speaks elsewhere of their laziness: "bewailing his lot as a workman to live, he grumbles against god and grieves without reason, and curses the king and his council after who licence the laws that the labourers grieve." that the poor could thus become fastidious was a good sign of the rising standard of comfort. but for all that life was hard, and much at the mercy of the weather, and of the assaults of man's own fellows. the houses of the better folk were of brick and stone, and glass windows were just becoming known, whereas the substitute of oiled paper had been neither cheerful nor of very much protection. but the huts of the poor were of plastered mud; and even the walls of a quite respectable man's abode, we know from one court summons to have been pierced by arrows shot at him by a pugnacious neighbour. the plaintiff offered to take judge and jury then and there and show them these "horrid weapons" still sticking to the exterior. in the larger houses the hall had branched off, by the fourteenth century, into withdrawing-rooms, and parlours, and bedrooms, such as the paston letters describe with much curious wealth of detail. lady milicent falstolf, we are told, was the only one in her father's household who had a ewer and washing-basin. yet with all the lack of the modern necessities of life, human nature was still much the same. the antagonism between rich and poor, which the collapse of feudal relations had strained to breaking-point, was not perhaps normally so intense as it is to-day; yet there was certainly much oppression and unnecessary hardships to be suffered by the weak, even in that age. the ancren riwle, that quaint form of life for ankeresses drawn up by a dominican in the thirteenth century, shows that even then, despite the distance of years and the passing of so many generations, the manners and ways and mental attitudes of people depended very much as to whether they were among those who had, or who had not; the pious author in one passage of homely wit compares certain of the sisters to "those artful children of rich parents who purposely tear their clothes that they may have new ones." there have always been wanton waste and destitution side by side; and on the prophecy of the one to whom all things were revealed, we know that the poor shall be always with us. yet we must honour those who, like their master, strive to smooth away the anxious wrinkles of the world. chapter iii the communists there have always been religious teachers for whom all material creation was a thing of evil. through the whole of the middle ages, under the various names of manicheans, albigensians, vaudois, &c., they became exceedingly vigorous, though their importance was only fitful. for them property was essentially unclean, something to be avoided as carrying with it the in-dwelling of the spirit of evil. etienne de bourbon, a dominican preacher of the thirteenth century, who got into communication with one of these strange religionists, has left us a record, exceedingly unprejudiced, of their beliefs. and amongst their other tenets, he mentions this, that they condemned all who held landed property. it will be here noticed that as regards these vaudois (or poor men of lyons, as he informs us they were called), there could have been no question of communism at all, for a common holding of property would have been as objectionable as private property. to hold material things either in community or severalty was in either case to bind oneself to the evil principle. yet etienne tells us that there was a sect among them which did sanction communism; they were called, in fact, the _communati_ (_tractatus de diversis materiis predicabilibus_, paris, , p. ). how they were able to reconcile this social state with their beliefs it is quite impossible to say; but the presumption is that the example of the early christians was cited as of sufficient authority by some of these teachers. certain it is that a sect still lingered on into the thirteenth century, called the _apostolici_, who clung to the system which had been in vogue among the apostles. st. thomas aquinas (_summa theologica_, _a_, _ae_, , ) mentions them, and quotes st. augustine as one who had already refuted them. but these were seemingly a christian body, whereas the albigensians could hardly make any such claim, since they repudiated any belief in christ's humanity, for it conflicted with their most central dogma. still it is clear that there were in existence certain obscure bodies which clung to communism. the published records of the inquisition refer incessantly to preachers of this kind who denied private property, asserted that no rich man could get to heaven, and attacked the practice of almsgiving as something utterly immoral. the relation between these teachers and the orders of friars has never been adequately investigated. we know that the dominicans and franciscans were from their earliest institution sent against them, and must therefore have been well acquainted with their errors. and, as a fact, we find rising among the friars a party which seemed no little infected with the "spiritual" tendency of these very vaudois. the franciscan reverence for poverty, which the poor man of assisi had so strenuously advocated, had in fact become almost a superstition. instead of being, as the saint had intended it to be, merely a means to an end, it had in process of time become looked upon as the essential of religion. when, therefore, the excessive adoption of it made religious life an almost impossible thing, an influential party among the franciscans endeavoured to have certain modifications made which should limit it within reasonable bounds. but opposed to them was a determined, resolute minority, which vigorously refused to have any part in such "relaxations." the dispute between these two branches of the order became at last so tempestuous that it was carried to the pope, who appointed a commission of cardinals and theologians to adjudicate on the rival theories. their award was naturally in favour of those who, by their reasonable interpretation of the meaning of poverty, were fighting for the efficiency of their order. but this drove the extreme party into still further extremes. they rejected at once all papal right to interfere with the constitutions of the friars, and declared that only st. francis could undo what st. francis himself had bound up. nor was this all, for in the pursuance of their zeal for poverty they passed quickly from denunciations of the pope and the wealthy clergy (in which their rhetoric found very effective matter for argument) into abstract reasoning on the whole question of the private possession of property. the treatises which they have left in crabbed latin and involved methods of argument make wearisome and irritating reading. most are exceedingly prolix. after pages of profound disquisitions, the conclusions reached seem to have advanced the problem no further. yet the gist of the whole is certainly an attempt to deny to any christian the right to temporal possessions. michael of cesena, the most logical and most effective of the whole group, who eventually became the minister-general of this portion of the order, does not hesitate to affirm the incompatibility of christianity and private property. from being a question as to the teaching of st. francis, the matter had grown to one as to the teaching of christ; and in order to prove satisfactorily that the practice of poverty as inculcated by st. francis was absolute and inviolable, it was found necessary to hold that it was equally the declared doctrine of christ. even ockham, a brilliant oxford franciscan, who, together with michael, defended the emperor, louis of bavaria, in his struggle against pope john xxii, let fall in the heat of controversy some sayings which must have puzzled his august patron; for louis would have been the very last person for whom communism had any charms. closely allied in spirit with these "spiritual franciscans," as they were called, or fraticelli, were those curious mediaeval bodies of beguins and beghards. hopelessly pantheistic in their notion of the divine being, and following most peculiar methods of reaching on earth the beatific vision, they took up with the same doctrine of the religious duty of the communistic life. they declared the practice of holding private property to be contrary to the divine law. another preacher of communism, and one whose name is well known for the active propaganda of his opinions, and for his share in the english peasant revolt of , was john ball, known to history as "the mad priest of kent." there is some difficulty in finding out what his real theories were, for his chroniclers were his enemies, who took no very elaborate steps to ascertain the exact truth about him. of course there is the famous couplet which is said to have been the text of all his sermons: "whaune adam dalf and eve span, who was thane a gentilman?"[ ] at least, so it is reported of him in the _chronicon angliae_, the work of an unknown monk of st. albans (roll series, , london, p. ). froissart, that picturesque journalist, who naturally, as a friend of the court, detested the levelling doctrines of this political rebel, gives what he calls one of john ball's customary sermons. he is evidently not attempting to report any actual sermon, but rather to give a general summary of what was supposed to be ball's opinions. as such, it is worth quoting in full. "my good friends, things cannot go on well in england, nor ever will until everything shall be in common; when there shall be neither vassal nor lord, and all distinctions levelled; when lords shall be no more masters than ourselves. how ill have they used us! and for what reason do they thus hold us in bondage? are we not all descended from the same parents--adam and eve? and what can they show, and what reason give, why they should be more the masters than ourselves? except, perhaps, in making us labour and work for them to spend." froissart goes on to say that for speeches of this nature the archbishop of canterbury put ball in prison, and adds that for himself he considers that "it would have been better if he had been confined there all his life, or had been put to death." however, the archbishop "set him at liberty, for he could not for conscience sake have put him to death" (froissart's _chronicle_, , london, book ii. cap. , pp. - ). from this extract all that can be gathered with certainty is the popular idea of the opinions john ball held; and it is instructive to find that in the primate's eyes there was nothing in the doctrine to warrant the extreme penalty of the law. but in reality we have no certainty as to what ball actually taught, for in another account we find that, preaching on corpus christi day, june , , during the last days of the revolt, far fiercer words are ascribed to him. he is made to appeal to the people to destroy the evil lords and unjust judges, who lurked like tares among the wheat. "for when the great ones have been rooted up and cast away, all will enjoy equal freedom--all will have common nobility, rank, and power." of course it may be that the war-fever of the revolt had affected his language; but the sudden change of tone imputed in the later speeches makes the reader somewhat suspicious of the authenticity. the same difficulty which is experienced in discovering the real mind of ball is encountered when dealing with wat tyler and jack straw, who were, with him, the leaders of the revolt. the confession of jack straw quoted in the _chronicon angliae_, like nearly all mediaeval "confessions," cannot be taken seriously. his accusers and judges readily supplied what they considered he should have himself admitted. without any better evidence we cannot with safety say along what lines he pushed his theories, or whether, indeed, he had any theories at all. again, wat tyler is reported to have spoken threateningly to the king on the morning of his murder by lord mayor walworth; but the evidence is once more entirely one-sided, contributed by those who were only too anxious to produce information which should blacken the rebels in the minds of the educated classes. as a matter of fact, the purely official documents, in which we can probably put much more reliance (such as the petitions that poured in from all parts of the country on behalf of the peasants, and the proclamations issued by richard ii, in which all their demands were granted on condition of their immediate withdrawal from the capital), do not leave the impression that the people really advocated any communistic doctrines; oppression is complained of, the lawyers execrated, the labour laws are denounced, and that is practically all. it may be, indeed, that the traditional view of ball and his followers, which makes them one with the contemporaneous revolts of the jacquerie in france, the ciompi in florence, &c., has some basis in fact. but at present we have no means of gauging the precise amount of truth it contains. but even better known than john ball is one who is commonly connected with the peasant revolt, and whose social opinions are often grouped under the same heading as that of the "mad priest of kent,"--john wycliff, master of balliol, and parson of lutterworth. this oxford professor has left us a number of works from which to quarry materials to build up afresh the edifice he intended to erect. his chief contribution is contained in his _de civili dominio_, but its composition extended over a long period of years, during which time his views were evidently changing; so that the precise meaning of his famous theory on the dominion of grace is therefore difficult to ascertain. but in the opening of his treatise he lays down the two main "truths" upon which his whole system rests: i. no one in mortal sin has any right to the gifts of god; ii. whoever is in a state of grace has a right, not indeed to possess the good things of god, but to use them. he seems to look upon the whole question from a feudal point of view. sin is treason, involving therefore the forfeiture of all that is held of god. grace, on the other hand, makes us the liegemen of god, and gives us the only possible right to all his good gifts. but, he would seem to argue, it is incontestable that property and power are from god, for so scripture plainly assures us. therefore, he concludes, by grace, and grace alone, are we put in dominion over all things; once we are in loyal subjection to god, we own all things, and hold them by the only sure title. "dominion by grace" is thus made to lead direct to communism. his conclusion is quite clear: _omnia debent esse communia_. in one of his sermons (oxford, , vol. i. p. ), when he has proved this point with much complacent argumentation, he poses himself with the obvious difficulty that in point of fact this is not true; for many who are apparently in mortal sin do possess property and have dominion. what, then, is to be done, for "they be commonly mighty, and no man dare take from them"? his answer is not very cheerful, for he has to console his questioner with the barren scholastic comfort that "nevertheless, he hath them not, but occupieth things that be not his." emboldened by the virtue of this dry logic, he breaks out into his gospel of plain assertion that "the saints have now all things that they would have." his whole argument, accordingly, does not get very far, for he is still speaking really (though he does not at times very clearly distinguish between the two) much more about the right to a thing than its actual possession. he does not really defend the despoiling of the evil rich at all--in his own graphic phrase, "god must serve the devil"; and all that the blameless poor can do is to say to themselves that though the rich "possess" or "occupy," the poor "have." it seems a strange sort of "having"; but he is careful to note that, "as philosophers say, 'having is in many manners.'" wycliff himself, perhaps, had not definitely made up his mind as to the real significance of his teaching; for the system which he sketches does not seem to have been clearly thought out. his words certainly appear to bear a communistic sense; but it is quite plain that this was not the intention of the writer. he defends plato at some length against the criticism of aristotle, but only on the ground that the disciple misunderstood the master: "for i do not think socrates to have so intended, but only to have had the true catholic idea that each should have the use of what belongs to his brother" (_de civili dominio_, london, - , vol. i. p. ). and just a few lines farther on he adds, "but whether socrates understood this or not, i shall not further question. this only i know, that by the law of charity every christian ought to have the just use of what belongs to his neighbour." what else is this really but the teaching of aristotle that there should be "private property and common use"? it is, in fact, the very antithesis of communism. some have thought that he was fettered in his language by his academic position; but no oxford don has ever said such hard things about his alma mater as did this master of balliol. "universities," says he, "houses of study, colleges, as well as degrees and masterships in them, are vanities introduced by the heathen, and profit the church as little and as much as does satan himself." surely it were impossible to accuse such a man of economy of language, and of being cowed by any university fetish. his words, we have noted above, certainly can bear the interpretation of a very levelling philosophy. even in his own generation he was accused through his followers of having had a hand in instigating the revolt. his reply was an angry expostulation (trevelyan's _england in the age of wycliff_, , london, p. ). indeed, considering that john of gaunt was his best friend and protector, it would be foolish to connect wycliff with the peasant rising. the insurgents, in their hatred of gaunt, whom they looked upon as the cause of their oppression, made all whom they met swear to have no king named john (_chronicon angliae_, p. ). and john ball, whom the author of the _fasciculi zizaniorum_ (p. , roll series, , london) calls the "darling follower" of wycliff, can only be considered as such in his doctrinal teaching on the dogma of the real presence. it must be remembered that to contemporary england wycliff's fame came from two of his opinions, viz. his denial of a real objective presence in the mass (for christ was there only by "ghostly wit"), and his advice to king and parliament to confiscate church lands. but whenever ball or anyone else is accused of being a follower of wycliff, nothing else is probably referred to than the professor's well-known opinion on the sacrament of the eucharist. hence it is that the _chronicon angliae_ speaks of john ball as having been imprisoned earlier in life for his wycliffite errors, which it calls simply _perversa dogmata_. the "morning star of the reformation" being therefore declared innocent of complicity with the peasant revolt, it is interesting to note to whom it is that he ascribes the whole force of the rebellion. for him the head and front of all offending was the hated friars. against this imputation the four orders of friars (the dominicans, franciscans, augustinians, and carmelites) issued a protest. fortunately in their spirited reply they give the reasons on account of which they are supposed to have shared in the rising. these were principally negative. thus it was stated that their influence with the people was so great that had they ventured to oppose the spirit of revolt their words would have been listened to (_fasciculi zizaniorum_, p. ). the chronicler of st. albans is equally convinced of their weakness in not preventing it, and declares that the flattery which they used alike on rich and poor had also no mean share in producing the social unrest (_chronicon angliae_, p. ). langland also, in his "vision of piers plowman," goes out of his way to denounce them for their levelling doctrines: "envy heard this and bade friars go to school, and learn logic and law and eke contemplation, and preach men of plato and prove it by seneca that all things under heaven ought to be in common, and yet he lieth, as i live, and to the lewd so preacheth for god made to men a law and moses it taught-- _non concupisces rem proximi tui_" (thou shalt not covet thy neighbour's goods). here then it is distinctly asserted that the spread of communistic doctrines was due to the friars. moreover, the same popular opinion is reflected in the fabricated confession of jack straw, for he is made to declare that had the rebels been successful, all the monastic orders, as well as the secular clergy, would have been put to death, and only the friars would have been allowed to continue. their numbers would have sufficed for the spiritual needs of the whole kingdom (_chronicon angliae_, p. ). moreover, it has been noticed that not a few of them actually took part in the revolt, heading some of the bands of countrymen who marched on london. it will have been seen, therefore, that communism was a favourite rallying-cry throughout the middle ages for all those on whom the oppression of the feudal yoke bore heavily. it was partly also a religious ideal for some of the strange gnostic sects which flourished at that era. moreover, it was an efficient weapon when used as an accusation, for wycliff and the friars alike both dreaded its imputation. perhaps of all that period, john ball alone held it consistently and without shame. eloquent in the way of popular appeal, he manifestly endeavoured to force it as a social reform on the peasantry, who were suffering under the intolerable grievance of the statutes of labourers. but though he roused the countryside to his following, and made the people for the first time a thing of dread to nobles and king, it does not appear that his ideas spread much beyond his immediate lieutenants. just as in their petitions the rebels made no doctrinal statements against church teaching, nor any capital out of heretical attacks (except, singularly enough, to accuse the primate, whom they subsequently put to death, of overmuch leniency to lollards), so, too, they made no reference to the central idea of ball's social theories. in fact, little abstract matter could well have appealed to them. concrete oppression was all they knew, and were this done away with, it is evident that they would have been well content. the case of the friars is curious. for though their superiors made many attempts to prove their hostility to the rebels, it is evident that their actual teaching was suspected by those in high places. it is the exact reversal of the case of wycliff. his views, which sounded so favourable to communism, are found on examination to be really nothing but a plea to leave things alone, "for the saints have now all they would have"; while on the other hand the theories of the friars, in themselves so logical and consistent, and in appearance obviously conservative to the fullest extent, turn out to contain the germ of revolution. said lord acton with his sober wit: "not the devil, but st. thomas aquinas, was the first whig." footnote: [ ] this rhyme is of course much older than john ball; _cf._ richard rolle ( - ), i. , london, . chapter iv the schoolmen the schoolmen in their adventurous quest after a complete harmony of all philosophic learning could not neglect the great outstanding problems of social and economic life. they flourished at the very period of european history when commerce and manufacture were coming back to the west, and their rise synchronises with the origin of the great houses of the italian and jewish bankers. yet there was very little in the past learning of christian teachers to guide them in these matters, for the patristic theories, which we have already described, and a few isolated passages cited in the decretals of gratian, formed as yet almost the only contribution to the study of these sciences. however, this absence of any organised body of knowledge was for them but one more stimulus towards the elaboration of a thorough synthesis of the moral aspect of wealth. a few of the earlier masters made reference, detached and personal, to the subject of dispute, but it was rather in the form of a disorderly comment than the definite statement of a theory. then came the translation of aristotle's _politics_, with the keen criticism they contain of the views plato had advocated. here at once the intellect of europe found an exact exposition of principles, and began immediately to debate their excellence and their defect. st. thomas aquinas set to work on a literal commentary, and at his express desire an accurate translation was made direct from the greek by his fellow-dominican, william of moerbeke. later on, when all this had had time to settle and find its place, st. thomas worked out his own theory of private property in two short articles in his famous _summa theologica_. in his treatise on justice, which occupies a large proportion of the _secund secundae_ of the _summa_, he found himself forced to discuss the moral evil of theft; and to do this adequately he had first to explain what he meant by private possessions. without these, of course, there could be no theft at all. he began, therefore, by a preliminary article on the actual state of created things--that is, the material, so to say, out of which private property is evolved. here he notes that the nature of things, their constituent essence, is in the hands of god, not man. the worker can change the form, and, in consequence, the value of a thing, but the substance which lies beneath all the outward show is too subtle for him to affect it in any way. to the supreme being alone can belong the power of creation, annihilation, and absolute mutation. but besides this tremendous force which god holds incommunicably, there is another which he has given to man, namely, the use of created things. for when man was made, he was endowed with the lordship of the earth. this lordship is obviously one without which he could not live. the air, and the forces of nature, the beasts of the field, the birds and fishes, the vegetation in fruit and root, and the stretches of corn are necessary for man's continued existence on the earth. over them, therefore, he has this limited dominion. moreover, st. thomas goes on, man has not merely the present moment to consider. he is a being possessed of intelligence and will, powers which demand and necessitate their own constant activity. instinct, the gift of brute creation, ensures the preservation of life by its blind preparation for the morrow. man has no such ready-made and spontaneous faculty. his powers depend for their effectiveness on their deliberative and strenuous exertions. and because life is a sacred thing, a lamp of which the once extinguished light cannot be here re-enkindled, it carries with it, when it is intelligent and volitional, the duty of self-preservation. accordingly the human animal is bound by the law of his own being to provide against the necessities of the future. he has, therefore, the right to acquire not merely what will suffice for the instant, but to look forward and arrange against the time when his power of work shall have lessened, or the objects which suffice for his personal needs become scarcer or more difficult of attainment. property, therefore, of some kind or other, says aquinas, is required by the very nature of man. individual possessions are not a mere adventitious luxury which time has accustomed him to imagine as something he can hardly do without, nor are they the result of civilised culture, which by the law of its own development creates fresh needs for each fresh demand supplied; but in some form or other they are an absolute and dire necessity, without which life could not be lived at all. not simply for his "well-being," but for his very existence, man finds them to be a sacred need. thus as they follow directly from the nature of creation, we can term them "natural." st. thomas then proceeds in his second article to enter into the question of the rights of private property. the logical result of his previous argument is only to affirm the need man has of some property; the practice of actually dividing goods among individuals requires further elaboration if it is to be reasonably defended. man must have the use of the fruits of the earth, but why these rather than those should belong to him is an entirely different problem. it is the problem of socialism. for every socialist must demand for each member of the human race the right to some possessions, food and other such necessities. but why he should have this particular thing, and why that other thing should belong to someone else, is the question which lies at the basis of all attempts to preserve or destroy the present fabric of society. now, the argument which we have so far cited from st. thomas is simply based on the indefeasible right of the individual to the maintenance of his life. personality implies the right of the individual to whatever is needful to him in achieving his earthly purpose, but does not in itself justify the right to private property. "two offices pertain to man with regard to exterior things" (thus he continues). "the first is the power of procuring and dispensing, and in respect to this, it is lawful for man to hold things as his own." here it is well to note that st. thomas in this single sentence teaches that private property, or the individual occupation of actual land or capital or instruments of wealth, is not contrary to the moral law. consequently he would repudiate the famous epigram, "_la propriété c'est le vol_." man may hold and dispose of what belongs to him, may have private property, and in no way offend against the principles of justice, whether natural or divine. but in the rest of the article st. thomas goes farther still. not merely does he hold the moral proposition that private property is lawful, but he adds to it the social proposition that private property is necessary. "it is even necessary," says he, "for human life, and that for three reasons. firstly, because everyone is more solicitous about procuring what belongs to himself alone than that which is common to all or many, since each shunning labour leaves to another what is the common burden of all, as happens with a multitude of servants. secondly, because human affairs are conducted in a more orderly fashion if each has his own duty of procuring a certain thing, while there would be confusion if each should procure things haphazard. thirdly, because in this way the peace of men is better preserved, for each is content with his own. whence we see that strife more frequently arises among those who hold a thing in common and individually. the other office which is man's concerning exterior things, is the use of them; and with regard to this a man ought not to hold exterior things as his own, but as common to all, that he may portion them out to others readily in time of need." (the translation is taken from _new things and old_, by h. c. o'neill, , london, pp. - .) the wording and argument of this will bear, and is well worth, careful analysis. for st. thomas was a man, as huxley witnesses, of unique intellectual power, and, moreover, his theories on private property were immediately accepted by all the schoolmen. each succeeding writer did little else than make more clear and defined the outlines of the reasoning here elaborated. we shall, therefore, make no further apology for an attempt to set out the lines of thought sketched by aquinas. it will be noticed at once that the principles on which private property are here based are of an entirely different nature from those by which the need of property itself was defended. for the latter we were led back to the very nature of man himself and confronted with his right and duty to preserve his own life. from this necessity of procuring supply against the needs of the morrow, and the needs of the actual hour, was deduced immediately the conclusion that property of some kind (_i.e._ the possession of some material things) was demanded by the law of man's nature. it was intended as an absolute justification of a sacred right. but in this second article a completely different process is observed. we are no longer considering man's essential nature in the abstract, but are becoming involved in arguments of concrete experience. the first was declared to be a sacred right, as it followed from a law of nature; the second is merely conditioned by the reasons brought forward to support it. to repeat the whole problem as it is put in the _summa_, we can epitomise the reasoning of st. thomas in this easier way. the question of property implies two main propositions: (_a_) the right to property, _i.e._ to the use of material creation; (_b_) the right to private property, _i.e._ to the actual division of material things among the determined individuals of a social group. the former is a sacred, inalienable right, which can never be destroyed, for it springs from the roots of man's nature. if man exists, and is responsible for his existence, then he must necessarily have the right to the means without which his existence is made impossible. but the second proposition must be determined quite differently. the kind of property here spoken of is simply a matter not of right, but of experienced necessity, and is to be argued for on the distinct grounds that without it worse things would follow: "it is even necessary for human life, and that for three reasons." this is a purely conditional necessity, and depends entirely on the practical effect of the three reasons cited. were a state of society to exist in which the three reasons could no longer be urged seriously, then the necessity which they occasioned would also cease to hold. in point of fact, st. thomas was perfectly familiar with a social group in which these conditions did not exist, and the law of individual possession did not therefore hold, namely, the religious orders. as a dominican, he had defended his own order against the attacks of those who would have suppressed it altogether; and in his reply to william of st. amour he had been driven to uphold the right to common life, and consequently to deny that private property was inalienable. of course it was perfectly obvious that for st. thomas himself the idea of the commune or the state owning all the land and capital, and allowing to the individual citizens simply the use of these common commodities, was no doubt impracticable; and the three reasons which he gives are his sincere justification of the need of individual ownership. without this division of property, he considered that national life would become even more full of contention than it was already. accordingly, it was for its effectiveness in preventing a great number of quarrels that he defended the individual ownership of property. besides this article, there are many other expressions and broken phrases in which aquinas uses the same phrase, asserting that the actual division of property was due to human nature. "each field considered in itself cannot be looked upon as naturally belonging to one rather than to another" ( , , , ); "distinction of property is not inculcated by nature" ( _a_, _ae_, , ); but again he is equally clear in insisting on the other proposition, that there is no moral law which forbids the possession of land in severalty. "the common claim upon things is traceable to the natural law, not because the natural law dictates that all things should be held in common, and nothing as belonging to any individual person, but because according to the natural law there is no distinction of possessions which comes by human convention" ( _a_, _ae_, , _ad_ _m_.). to apprehend the full significance of this last remark, reference must be made to the theories of the roman legal writers, which have been already explained. the law of nature was looked upon as some primitive determination of universal acceptance, and of venerable sanction, which sprang from the roots of man's being. this in its absolute form could never be altered or changed; but there was besides another law which had no such compelling power, but which rested simply on the experience of the human race. this was reversible, for it depended on specific conditions and stages of development. thus nature dictated no division of property, though it implied the necessity of some property; the need of the division was only discovered when men set to work to live in social intercourse. then it was found that unless divisions were made, existence was intolerable; and so by human convention, as st. thomas sometimes says, or by the law of nature, as he elsewhere expresses it, the division into private property was agreed upon and took place. this elaborate statement of st. thomas was widely accepted through all the middle ages. wycliff alone, and a few like him, ventured to oppose it; but otherwise this extremely logical and moderate defence of existing institutions received general adhesion. even scotus, like ockham, a brilliant oxford scholar whose hidden tomb at cologne finds such few pilgrims kneeling in its shade, so hardy in his thought and so eager to find a flaw in the arguments of aquinas, has no alternative to offer. franciscan though he was, and therefore, perhaps, more likely to favour communistic teaching, his own theory is but a repetition of what his rival had already propounded. thus, for example, he writes in a typical passage: "even supposing it as a principle of positive law that 'life must be lived peaceably in a state of polity,' it does not straightway follow 'therefore everyone must have separate possessions.' for peace could be observed even if all things were in common. nor even if we presuppose the wickedness of those who live together is it a necessary consequence. still a distinction of property is decidedly in accord with a peaceful social life. for the wicked rather take care of their private possessions, and rather seek to appropriate to themselves than to the community common goods. whence come strife and contention. hence we find it (division of property) admitted in almost every positive law. and although there is a fundamental principle from which all other laws and rights spring, still from that fundamental principle positive human laws do not follow absolutely or immediately. rather it is as declarations or explanations in detail of that general principle that they come into being, and must be considered as evidently in accord with the universal law of nature." (_super sententias quaestiones_, bk. , dist. , q. . venice, .) here again, then, are the same salient points we have already noticed in the _summa_. there is the idea clearly insisted on that the division of property is not a first principle nor an immediate deduction from a first principle, that in itself it is not dictated by the natural law which leaves all things in common, that it is, however, not contrary to natural law, but evidently in accord with it, that its necessity and its introduction were due entirely to the actual experience of the race. again, to follow the theory chronologically still farther forward, st. antonino, whose charitable institutions in florence have stamped deeply with his personality that scene of his life's labours, does little more than repeat the words of st. thomas, though the actual phrase in which he here compresses many pages of argument is reproduced from a work by the famous franciscan moralist john de ripa. "it is by no means right that here upon earth fallen humanity should have all things in common, for the world would be turned into a desert, the way to fraud and all manner of evils would be opened, and the good would have always the worse, and the bad always the better, and the most effective means of destroying all peace would be established" (_summa moralis_, , , , ). hence he concludes that "such a community of goods never could benefit the state." these are none other arguments than those already advanced by st. thomas. his articles, already quoted, are indeed the _locus classicus_ for all mediaeval theorists, and, though references in every mediaeval work on social and economic questions are freely made to aristotle's _politics_, it is evident that it is really aquinas who is intended. distinction of property, therefore, though declared so necessary for peaceable social life, does not, for these thinkers, rest on natural law, nor a divine law, but on positive human law under the guidance of prudence and authority. communism is not something evil, but rather an ideal too lofty to be ever here realised. it implied so much generosity, and such a vigour of public spirit, as to be utterly beyond the reach of fallen nature. the apostles alone could venture to live so high a life, "for their state transcended that of every other mode of living" (ptolomeo of lucca, _de regimine principio_, book iv., cap. , parma, , p. ). however, that form of communism which entailed an absolutely even division of all wealth among all members of the group, though it had come to them on the authority of phileas and lycurgus, was indeed to be reprobated, for it contradicted the prime feature of all creation. god made all things in their proper number, weight, and measure. yet in spite of all this it must be insisted on at the risk of repetition that the socialist theory of state ownership is never considered unjust, never in itself contrary to the moral law. albertus magnus, the master of aquinas, and the leader in commenting on aristotle's _politics_, freely asserts that community of goods "is not impossible, especially among those who are well disciplined by the virtue of philanthropy--that is, the common love of all; for love, of its own nature, is generous." but to arrange it, the power of the state must be called into play; it cannot rest on any private authority. "this is the proper task of the legislator, for it is the duty of the legislator to arrange everything for the best advantage of the citizens" (_in politicis_, ii. , p. , lyons, ). such, too, is the teaching of st. antonino, who even goes so far as to assert that "just as the division of property at the beginning of historic time was made by the authority of the state, it is evident that the same authority is equally competent to reverse its decision and return to its earlier social organisation" (_summa moralis_, ii. , , verona, , p. ). he lays down, indeed, a principle so broad that it is difficult to understand where it could well end: "that can be justly determined by the prince which is necessary for the peaceful intercourse of the citizens." and in defence he points triumphantly to the fact that the prince can set aside a just claim to property, and transfer it to another who happens to hold it by prescription, on the ground of the numerous disputes which might otherwise be occasioned. that is to say, that the law of his time already admitted that in certain circumstances the state could take what belonged to one and give it to another, without there being any fault on the part of the previous owner to justify its forfeiture; and he defends this proceeding on the axiom just cited (_ibid._, pp. - ), namely, its necessity "for the peaceful intercourse of the citizens." the schoolmen can therefore be regarded as a consistent and logical school. they had an extreme dislike to any broad generalisation, and preferred rather, whenever the occasion could be discovered, to distinguish rather than to concede or deny. hence, confronted by the communistic theory of state ownership which had been advanced by plato, and by a curious group of strange, heterodox teachers, and which had, moreover, the actual support of many patristic sayings, and the strong bias of monastic life, they set out joyfully to resolve it into the simplest and most unassailable series of propositions. they began, therefore, by admitting that nature made no division of property, and in that sense held all things in common; that in the early stages of human history, when man, as yet unfallen, was conceived as living in the garden of eden in perfect innocency, common property amply satisfied his sinless and unselfish moral character; that by the fall lust and greed overthrew this idyllic state, and led to a continued condition of internecine strife, and the supremacy of might; that experience gradually brought men to realise that their only hope towards peaceful intercourse lay in the actual division of property, and the establishment of a system of private ownership; that this could only be set aside by men who were themselves perfect, or had vowed themselves to pursue perfection, namely, our lord, his apostles, and the members of religious orders. to this list of what they held to be historic events they added another which contained the moral deductions to be made from these facts. this began by the assertion that private property in itself was not in any sense contrary to the virtue of justice; that it was entirely lawful; that it was even necessary on account of certain evil conditions which otherwise would prevail; that the state, however, had the right in extreme cases and for a just cause to transfer private property from one to another; that it could, when the needs of its citizens so demanded, reverse its primitive decision, and re-establish its earlier form of common ownership; that this last system, however possible, and however much it might be regretted as a vanished and lost ideal, was decidedly now a violent and impracticable proceeding. these theories, it is evident, though they furnish the only arguments which are still in use among us to support the present social organisation, are also patent of an interpretation which might equally lead to the very opposite conclusion. in his fear of any general contradiction to communism which should be open to dispute, and in his ever-constant memory of his own religious life as a dominican friar, aquinas had to mark with precision to what extent and in what sense private property could be justified. but at the same time he was forced by the honesty of his logical training to concede what he could in favour of the other side. he took up in this question, as in every other, a middle course, in which neither extreme was admitted, but both declared to contain an element of truth. it is clear, too, that his scholastic followers, even to our own date, in their elaborate commentaries can find no escape from the relentless logic of his conclusions. down the channel that he dug flowed the whole torrent of mediaeval and modern scholasticism.[ ] but for those whose minds were practical rather than abstract, one or other proposition he advanced, isolated from the context of his thought, could be quoted as of moment, and backed by the greatness of his name. his assertion of the absolute impracticable nature of socialistic organisation, as he knew it in his own age, was too good a weapon to be neglected by those who sought about for means of defence for their own individualistic theories; whereas others, like the friars of whom wycliff and langland spoke, and who headed bands of luckless peasants in the revolt of against the oppression of an over-legalised feudalism, were blind to this remarkable expression of aquinas' opinion, and quoted him only when he declared that "by nature all things were in common," and when he protested that the socialist theory of itself contained nothing contrary to the teaching of the gospel or the doctrines of the church. truth is blinding in its brilliance. half-truths are easy to see, and still easier to explain. hence the full and detailed theory elaborated by the schoolmen has been tortured to fit first one and then another scheme of political reform. yet all the while its perfect adjustment of every step in the argument remains a wonderful monument of the intellectual delicacy and hardihood of the schoolmen. footnote: [ ] _cf._ coutenson, _theologia mentis et cordis_, iii. - , paris, ; and billnart, _de justitia_, i. - , liège, . chapter v the lawyers besides the schoolmen, by whom the problems of life were viewed in the refracted light of theology and philosophy, there was another important class in mediaeval times which exercised itself over the same social questions, but visaged them from an entirely different angle. this was the great brotherhood of the law, which, whether as civil or canonical, had its own theories of the rights of private ownership. it must be remembered, too, that just as the theologians supported their views by an appeal to what were considered historic facts in the origin of property, so, too, the legalists depended for the material of their judgment on circumstances which the common opinion of the time admitted as authentic. when the west drifted out from the clouds of barbaric invasion, and had come into calm waters, society was found to be organised on a basis of what has been called feudalism. that is to say, the natural and universal result of an era of conquest by a wandering people is that the new settlers hold their possessions from the conqueror on terms essentially contractual. the actual agreements have varied constantly in detail, but the main principle has always been one of reciprocal rights and duties. so at the early dawn of the middle ages, after the period picturesquely styled the wanderings of the nations, we find the subjugating races have encamped in europe, and hold it by a series of fiefs. the action, for example, of william the norman, as plainly shown in domesday book, is typical of what had for some three or four centuries been happening here and on the continent. large tracts of land were parcelled out among the invading host, and handed over to individual barons to hold from the king on definite terms of furnishing him with men in times of war, of administering justice within their domains, and of assisting at his council board when he should stand in need of their advice. the barons, to suit their own convenience, divided up these territories among their own retainers on terms similar to those by which they held their own. and thus the whole organisation of the country was graduated from the king through the greater barons to tenants who held their possessions, whether a castle, or a farm, or a single hut, from another to whom they owed suit and service. this roughly (constantly varying, and never actually quite so absolutely carried out) is the leading principle of feudalism. it is clearly based upon a contract between each man and his immediate lord; but, and this is of importance in the consideration of the feudal theory of private property, whatever rights and duties held good were not public, but private. there was not at the first, and in the days of what we may call "pure feudalism," any concept of a national law or natural right, but only a bundle of individual rights. appeal from injustice was not made at a supreme law-court, but only to the courts of the barons to whom both litigants owed allegiance. the action of the king was quite naturally always directed towards breaking open this enclosed sphere of influence, and endeavouring to multiply the occasions on which his officials might interfere in the courts of his subjects. thus the idea gradually grew up (and its growth is perhaps the most important matter of remark in mediaeval history), by which the king's law and the king's rights were looked upon as dominating those of individuals or groups. the courts baron and customary, and the sokes of privileged townships were steadily emptied of their more serious cases, and shorn of their primitive powers. this, too, was undoubtedly the reason for the royal interference in the courts christian (the feudal name for the clerical criminal court). the king looked on the church, as he looked on his barons and his exempted townships, as outside his royal supremacy, and, in consequence, quarrelled over investiture and criminous clerks, and every other point in which he had not as yet secured that his writs and judgments should prevail. there was a whole series of courts of law which were absolutely independent of his officers and his decision. his restless energy throughout this period had, therefore, no other aim than to bring all these into a line with his own, and either to capture them for himself, or to reduce them to sheer impotence. but at the beginning there was little notion of a royal judge who should have power to determine cases in which barons not immediately holding their fiefs of the king were implicated. the concern of each was only with the lord next above him. and the whole conception of legal rights was, therefore, considered simply as private rights. the growth of royal power consequently acted most curiously on contemporary thinkers. it meant centralisation, the setting up of a definite force which should control the whole kingdom. it resulted in absolutism increasing, with an ever-widening sphere of royal control. it culminated in the reformation, which added religion to the other departments of state in which royal interference held predominance. till then the papacy, as in some sort "a foreign power," world-wide and many-weaponed, could treat on more than equal terms with any european monarch, and secure independence for the clergy. with the lopping off of the national churches from the parent stem, this energising force from a distant centre of life ceased. each separate clerical organisation could now depend only on its own intrinsic efficiency. for most this meant absolute surrender. the civil law therefore which supplanted feudalism entailed two seemingly contradicting principles which are of importance in considering the ownership of land. on the one hand, the supremacy of the king was assured. the people became more and more heavily taxed, their lands were subjected to closer inspection, their criminal actions were viewed less as offences against individuals than as against the peace of the king. it is an era in which, therefore, as we have already stated, the power of the individual sinks gradually more and more into insignificance in comparison with the rising force of the king's dominion. private rights are superseded by public rights. yet, on the other hand, and by the development of identically the same principles, the individual gains. his tenure of land becomes far less a matter of contract. he himself escapes from his feudal chief, and his inferior tenants slip also from his control. he is no longer one in a pyramid of grouped social organisation, but stands now as an individual answerable only to the head of the state. he has duties still; but no longer a personal relationship to his lord. it is the king and that vague abstraction called the state which now claim him as a subject; and by so doing are obliged to recognise his individual status. this new and startling prominence of the individual disturbed the whole concept of ownership. originally under the influence of that pure feudalism which nowhere existed in its absolute form, the two great forces in the life of each member of the social group were his own and that of his immediate lord. these fitted together into an almost indissoluble union; and therefore absolute ownership of the soil was theoretically impossible. now, however, the individual was emancipated from his lord. he was still, it is true, subject to the king, whose power might be a great deal more oppressive than the barons' had been. but the king was far off, whereas the baron had been near, and nearly always in full evidence. hence the result was the emphasis of the individual's absolute dominion. not, indeed, as though it excluded the dominion of the king, but precisely because the royal predominance could only be recognised by the effective shutting out of the interference of the lord. to exclude the "middle-man," the king was driven to recognise the absolute dominion of the individual over his own possessions. this is brought out in english law by bracton and his school. favourers as they were of the royal prerogative, they were driven to take up the paradoxical ground that the king was not the sole owner of property. to defend the king they were obliged to dispossess him. to put his control on its most effective basis, they had no other alternative left them than to admit the fullest rights of the individual against the king. for only if the individual had complete ownership, could there be no interference on the part of the lord; only if the possessions of the tenants were his own, were they prevented from falling under the baronial jurisdiction. therefore by apparently denying the royal prerogative the civil lawyers were in effect, as they perfectly well recognised, really extending it and enabling it to find its way into cases and courts where it could not else well have entered. seemingly, therefore, all idea of socialism or nationalisation of land (at that date the great means of production) was now excluded. the individualistic theory of property had suddenly appeared; and simultaneously the old group forms, which implied collectivism in some shape or other, ceased any longer to be recognised as systems of tenure. yet, at the same time, by a paradox as evident as that by which the civilians exalted the royal prerogative apparently at its own expense, or as that by which wycliff's communism is found to be in reality a justification of the policy of leaving things as they are, while st. thomas's theory of property is discovered as far less oppressive and more adaptable to progressive developments of national wealth, it is noticed that, from the point of view of the socialist, monarchical absolutism is the most favourable form of a state's constitution. for wherever a very strictly centralised system of government exists, it is clear that a machinery, which needs little to turn it to the advantage of the absolute rule of a rebellious minority, has been already constructed. in a country where, on the other hand, local government has been enormously encouraged, it is obviously far more difficult for socialism to force an entrance into each little group. there are all sorts of local conditions to be squared, vagaries of law and administration to be reduced to order, connecting bridges to be thrown from one portion of the nation to the next, so as to form of it one single whole. were the socialists of to-day to seize on the machinery of government in germany and russia, they could attain their purposes easily and smoothly, and little difference in constitutional forms would be observed in these countries, for already the theory of state ownership and state interference actually obtains. they would only have to substitute a _bloc_ for a man. but in france and england, where the centralisation is far less complete, the success of the socialistic party and its achievement of supreme power would mean an almost entire subversal of all established methods of administration, for all the threads would have first to be gathered into a single hand. consequently feudalism, which turned the landowners into petty sovereigns and insisted on local courts, &c., though seemingly communistic or socialistic, was really, from its intense local colouring, far less easy of capture by those who favoured state interference. it was individualistic, based on private rights. but the new royal prerogative led the way to the consideration of the evident ease by which, once the machine was possessed, the rest of the system could without difficulty be brought into harmony with the new theories. to make use of comparison, it was cardinal wolsey's assumption of full legatine power by permission of the pope which first suggested to henry viii that he could dispense with his holiness altogether. he saw that the cardinal wielded both spiritual and temporal jurisdiction. he coveted his minister's position, and eventually achieved it by ousting both clement and wolsey, who had unwittingly shown him in which way more power lay. so, similarly, the royal despotism itself, by centralising all power into the hands of a single prince, accustomed men to the idea of the absolute supremacy of national law, drove out of the field every defender of the rights of minorities, and thus paved the way for the substitution of the people for itself. the french revolution was the logical conclusion to be drawn from the theories of louis xiv. it needed only the fire of rousseau to burn out the adventitious ornamentation which in the shape of that monarch's personal glorification still prevented the naked structure from being seen in all its clearness. _l'etat c'est moi_ can be as aptly the watchword of a despotic oligarchy, or a levelling socialism, as of a kingly tyranny, according as it passes from the lips of the one to the few or the many. it is true that the last phase was not completed till long after the middle ages had closed, but the tendency towards it is evident in the teachings of the civil lawyers. thus, for example, state absolutism is visible in the various suggestions made by men like pierre du bois and wycliff (who, in the expression of their thoughts, are both rather lawyers than schoolmen) to dispossess the clergy of their temporalities. the principles urged, for instance, by these two in justification of this spoliation could be applied equally well to the estates of laymen. for the same principles put into the king's hand the undetermined power of doing what was necessary for the well-being of the state. it is true that pierre du bois (_de recuperatione terre sancte_, pp. - , - ) asserted that the royal authority was limited to deal in this way with church lands, and could not touch what belonged to others. but this proviso was obviously inserted so arbitrarily that its logical force could not have had any effect. political necessity alone prevented it from being used against the nobility and gentry. ockham, however, the clever oxford franciscan, who formed one of the group of pamphleteers that defended louis of bavaria against pope john xxii, quite clearly enlarged the grounds for church disendowment so as to include the taking over by the state of all individual property. he was a thinker whose theories were strangely compounded of absolutism and democracy. the emperor was to be supported because his autocracy came from the people. hence, when ockham is arguing about ecclesiastical wealth, and the way in which it could be quite fairly confiscated by the government, he enters into a discussion about the origin of the imperial dignity. this, he declares, was deliberately handed over by the people to the emperor. to escape making the pope the original donor of the imperial title, ockham concedes that privilege to the people. it was they, the people, who had handed over to the caesars of the holy roman empire all their own rights and powers. hence louis was a monarch whose absolutism rested on a popular basis. then he proceeds in his argument to say that the human positive law by which private property was introduced was made by the people themselves, and that the right or power by which this was done was transferred by them to the emperor along with the imperial dignity. louis, therefore, had the same right to undo what they had done, for in him all their powers now resided. this, of course, formed an excellent principle from which to argue to his right to dispossess the church of its superfluous wealth--indeed of all its wealth. but it could prove equally effectual against the holding by the individual of any property whatever. it made, in effect, private ownership rest on the will of the prince. curiously, too, in quite another direction the same form of argument had been already worked out by nicole oresme, a famous bishop of lisieux, who first translated into french the _politics_ of aristotle, and who helped so largely in the reforms of charles v of france. his great work was in connection with the revision of the coinage, on which he composed a celebrated treatise. he held that the change of the value of money, either by its deliberate depreciation, or by its being brought back to its earlier standard of face value, carried such widespread consequences that the people should most certainly be consulted on it. it was not fair to them to take such a step without their willing co-operation. yet he admits fully that, though this is the wiser and juster way of acting, there was no absolute need for so doing, since all possession and all property sprang from the king. and this last conclusion was advocated by his rival, philip de meziers, whose advice charles ultimately followed. philip taught that the king was sole judge of whatever was for public use. but there was a further point in the same question which afforded matter for an interesting discussion among the lawyers. pope innocent iv, who had first been famous as a canonist, and retained as pontiff his old love for disputations of this kind, developed a theory of his own on the relation between the right of the individual to possess and the right of the state over that possession. he distinguished carefully between two entirely different concepts, namely, the right and its exercise. the first he admitted to be sacred and inviolable, because it sprang from the very nature of man. it could not be disturbed or in any way molested; the state had therefore no power to interfere with the right. but he suggested that the exercise of that right, or, to use his actual phrase, the "actions in accord with that right," rested on the basis of civil, positive law, and could therefore be controlled by legal decisions. the right was sacred, its exercise was purely conventional. thus every man has a right to property; he can never by any possible means divest himself of it, for it is rooted in the depths of his being, and supported by his human nature. but this right appears especially to be something internal, intrinsic. for him to exercise it--that is to say, to hold this land or that, or indeed any land at all--the state's intervention must be secured. at least the state can control his action in buying, selling, or otherwise obtaining it. his right cannot be denied, but for reasons of social importance its exercise well may be. nor did this then appear as a merely unmeaning distinction; he would not admit that a right which could not be exercised was hardly worth consideration. and, in point of fact, the pope's private theory found very many supporters. there were others, however, who judged it altogether too fantastical. the most interesting of his opponents was a certain antonio roselli, a very judiciously-minded civil lawyer, who goes very thoroughly into the point at issue. he gives innocent's views, and quotes what authority he can find for them in the digest and decretals. but for himself he would prefer to admit that the right to private property is not at all sacred or natural in the sense of being inviolable. he willingly concedes to the state the right to judge all claims of possession. this is the more startling since ordinarily his views are extremely moderate, and throughout the controversy between pope and emperor he succeeded in steering a very careful, delicate course. to him, however, all rights to property were purely civil and arguable only on principles of positive law. there was no need, therefore, to discriminate between the right and its exercise, for both equally could be controlled by the state. there are evidences to show that he admitted the right of each man to the support of his own life, and, therefore, to private property in the form of actual food, &c., necessary for the immediate moment; but he distinctly asserts as his own personal idea that "the prince could take away my right to a thing, and any exercise of that right," adding only that for this there must be some cause. the prince cannot arbitrarily confiscate property; he must have some reasonable motive of sufficient gravity to outweigh the social inconveniences which confiscation would necessarily produce. not every cause is a sufficient one, but those only which concern "public liberty or utility." hence he decides that the pope cannot alienate church lands without some justifying reason, nor hand them over to the prince unless there happens to be an urgent need, springing from national circumstances. it does not follow, however, that he wishes to make over to the state absolute right to individual property under normal conditions. the individual has the sole dominion over his own possessions; that dominion reverts to the state only in some extreme instance. his treatise, therefore (goldast, _de monarchia_, - , hanover, p. , &c.), may be looked upon as summing up the controversy as it then stood. the legal distinction suggested by innocent iv had been given up by the lawyers as insufficient. the theories of du bois, wycliff, ockham, and the others had ceased to have much significance, because they gave the royal power far too absolute a jurisdiction over the possessions of its subjects. the feudal contractual system, which these suggested reforms had intended to drive out, had failed for entirely different reasons, and could evidently be brought back only at the price of a complete and probably unsuccessful disturbance of the social and economic organisation. the centralisation which had risen on the ruins of the older local sovereignties and immunities, had brought with it an emphasised recognition of the public rights and duties of all subjects, and had at the same time confirmed the individual in the ownership of his little property, and given him at the last not a conditional, but an absolute possession. to safeguard this, and to prevent it from becoming a block in public life, a factor of discontent, the lawyers were engaged in framing an additional clause which should give to the state an ultimate jurisdiction, and would enable it to overrule any objections on the part of the individual to a national policy or law. the suggested distinction that the word "right" should be emptied of its deeper meaning, by refusing it the further significance of "exercise," was too subtle and too legal to obtain much public support. so that the lawyers were driven to admit that for a just cause the very right itself could be set aside, and every private possession (when public utility and liberty demanded it) confiscated or transferred to another. even the right to compensation for such confiscation was with equal cleverness explained away. for it was held that, when an individual had lost his property through state action, and without his having done anything to deserve it as a punishment, compensation could be claimed. but whenever a whole people or nation was dispossessed by the state, there was no such right at all to any indemnity. thus was the wholesale adoption of land-nationalism to be justified. thus could the state capture all private possessions without any fear of being guilty of robbery. it was considered that it was only the oppression of the individual and class spoliation which really contravened the moral law. the legal theories, therefore, which supplanted the old feudal concepts were based on the extension of royal authority, and the establishment of public rights. individualistic possession was emphasised; yet the simultaneous setting up of the absolute monarchies of the sixteenth century really made their ultimate capture by the socialist party more possible. chapter vi the social reformers it may seem strange to class social reforms under the wider heading of socialistic theories, and the only justification for doing so is that which we have already put forward in defence of the whole book; namely, that the term "socialistic" has come to bear so broad an interpretation as to include a great deal that does not strictly belong to it. and it is only on the ground of their advocating state interference in the furtherance of their reforms that the reformers here mentioned can be spoken of as socialistic. of course there have been reformers in every age who came to bring to society their own personal measures of relief. but in the middle ages hardly a writer took pen in hand who did not note in the body politic some illness, and suggest some remedy. howsoever abstruse might be the subject of the volume, there was almost sure to be a reference to economic or social life. it was not an epoch of specialists such as is ours. each author composed treatises in almost every branch of learning. the same professor, according to mediaeval notions, might lecture to-day on scripture, to-morrow on theology or philosophy, and the day after on natural science. for them a university was a place where each student learnt, and each professor taught, universal knowledge. still from time to time men came to the front with some definite social message to be delivered to their own generation. some were poets like langland, some strike-leaders like john ball, some religious enthusiasts like john wycliff, some royal officials like pierre du bois. this latter in his famous work addressed to king edward i of england (_de recuperatione sancte terre_), has several most interesting and refreshing chapters on the education of women. his bias is always against religious orders, and, consequently, he favours the suppression of almost every conventual establishment. still, as these were at his own date the only places where education could be considered to exist at all, he had to elaborate for himself a plan for the proper instruction of girls. first, of course, the nunneries must be confiscated by government. for him this was no act of injustice, since he regarded the possessions of the whole clerical body as something outside the ordinary laws of property. but having in this way cleared the ground of all rivals, and captured some magnificent buildings, he can now go forward in his scheme of education. he insists on having only lay-mistresses, and prescribes the course of study which these are to teach. there should be, he held, many lectures on literature, and music, and poetry, and the arts and crafts of home life. embroidery and home-management are necessities for the woman's work in after years, so they must be acquired in these schools. but education cannot limit itself to these branches of useful knowledge. it must take the woman's intelligence and develop that as skilfully as it does the man's. she is not inferior to him in power of reason, but only in her want of its right cultivation. hence the new schools are to train her to equal man in all the arts of peace. such is the main point in his programme, which even now sounds too progressive for the majority of our educational critics. he appeals for state interference that the colleges may be endowed out of the revenues of the religious houses, and that they may be supported in such a fashion as would always keep them abreast of the growing science of the times. and when, after a schooling of such a kind as this, the girls go out into their life-work as wives and mothers, he would wish them a more complete equality with their men-folk than custom then allowed. the spirit of freedom which is felt working through all his papers makes him the apostle of what would now be called the "new woman." after him, there comes a lull in reforming ideas. but half a century later occurs a very curious and sudden outburst of rebellion all over europe. from about the middle of the fourteenth century to the early fifteenth there seemed to be an epidemic of severe social unrest. there were at paris, which has always been the nursery of revolutions, four separate risings. etienne marcel, who, however, was rather a tribune of the people than a revolutionary leader, came into prominence in ; he was followed by the jacquerie in , by the maillotins in , and the cabochiens in . in rome we know of rienzi in , who eventually became hardly more than a popular demagogue; in florence there was the outbreak of ciompi in ; in bohemia the excesses of taborites in ; in england the peasant revolt of . it is perfectly obvious that a series of social disturbances of this nature could not leave the economic literature of the succeeding period quite as placid as it had found it. we notice now that, putting away questions of mere academic character, the thinkers and writers concern themselves with the actual state of the people. parliament has its answer to the problem in a long list of statutes intended to muzzle the turbulent and restless revolutionaries. but this could not satisfy men who set their thought to study the lives and circumstances of their fellow-citizens. consequently, as a result, we can notice the rise of a school of writers who interest themselves above all things in the economic conditions of labour. of this school the easiest exponent to describe is antonino of florence, archbishop and canonised saint. his four great volumes on the exposition of the moral law are fascinating as much for the quotations of other moralists which they contain, as for the actual theories of the saint himself. for the archbishop cites on almost every page contemporary after contemporary who had had his say on the same problems. he openly asserts that he has read widely, taken notes of all his reading, has deliberately formed his opinions on the judgments, reasoned or merely expressed, of his authors. to read his books, then, is to realise that antonino is summing up the whole experience of his generation. indeed he was particularly well placed for one who wished for information. florence, then at the height of its renown under the brilliant despotism of cosimo dei medici, was the scene where the great events of the life of antonino took place. there he had seen within the city walls, three popes, a patriarch of constantinople, the emperors of east and west, and the most eminent men of both civilisations. he had taken part in a general council of the church, and knew thinkers as widely divergent as giovanni dominici and Ã�neas sylvius piccolomini. he was, therefore, more likely than most to have heard whatever theories were proposed by the various great political statesmen of europe, whether they were churchmen or lawyers. consequently, his schemes, as we might well expect, are startlingly advanced. he begins by attacking the growing spirit of usury, and the resulting idleness. men were finding out that under the new conditions which governed the money market it was possible to make a fortune without having done a day's work. the sons of the aristocracy of florence, which was built up of merchant princes, and which had amassed its own fortunes in honest trading, had been tempted by the bankers to put their wealth out to interest, and to live on the surplus profit. the ease and security with which this could be done made it a popular investment, especially among the young men of fashion who came in, simply by inheritance, for large sums of money. as a consequence florence found itself, for the first time in its history, beginning to possess a wealthy class of men who had never themselves engaged in any profession. the old reverence, therefore, which had always existed in the city for the man who laboured in his art or guild, began to slacken. no longer was there the same eagerness noticeable which used to boast openly that its rewards consisted in the consciousness of work well done. instead, idleness became the badge of gentility, and trade a slur upon a man's reputation. no city can long survive so listless and languid an ideal. the archbishop, therefore, denounced this new method of usurious traffic, and hinted further that to it was due the fierce rebellion which had for a while plunged florence into the horrors of the jacquerie. wealth, he taught, should not of itself breed wealth, but only through the toil of honest labour, and that labour should be the labour of oneself, not of another. then he proceeded to argue that as upon the husband lies the labour of trade, the greater portion of his day must necessarily be passed outside the circle of family life. the breadwinner can attend neither to works of piety nor of charity in the way he should, and, consequently, to his wife it must be left to supply for his defects. she must take his place in the church, and amid the slums of the poor; she must for him and his lift her hands in prayer, and dispense his superfluous wealth in succouring the poverty-stricken. for the archbishop will have none of the soothing doctrine which the millionaire preaches to the mob. he asserts that poverty is not a good thing; in itself it is an evil, and can be considered to lead only accidentally to any good. when, therefore, it assumes the form of destitution, every effort must be made to banish it from the state. for if it were to become at all prevalent in a nation, then would that people be on the pathway to its ruin. the politicians should therefore make it the end of their endeavours--though this, it may be, is an ideal which can never be fully brought to realisation--to leave each man in a state of sufficiency. no one, for whatever reason, should be allowed to become destitute. even should it be by his own fault that he were brought low, he must be provided for by the state, which has, however, in these circumstances, at the same time, the duty of punishing him. but he remarks that the cause of poverty is more often the unjust rate of wages. the competition even of those days made men beat each other down in clamouring for work to be given them, and afforded to the employers an opportunity of taking workers who willingly accepted an inadequate scale of remuneration. this state of things he considered to be unjustifiable and unjust. no one had any right to make profit out of the wretchedness of the poor. each human being had the duty of supporting his own life, and this he could not do except by the hiring of his own labour to another. that other, therefore, by the immutable laws of justice, when he used the powers of his fellow-man, was obliged in conscience to see that those powers could be fittingly sustained by the commodity which he exchanged for them. that is, the employer was bound to take note that his employees received such return for their labour as should compensate them for his use of it. the payment promised and given should be, in other words, what we would now speak of as a "living wage." but further, above this mere margin, additional rewards should be added according to the skill of the workman, or the dangerous nature of his employment, or the number of his children. the wages also should be paid promptly, without delay. but it may sometimes happen that the labour which a man can contribute is not of such a kind as will enable him to receive the fair remuneration that should suffice for his bodily comfort. the saint is thinking of boy-labour, and the case of those too enfeebled by age or illness to work adequately, or perhaps at all. what is to be done for them? let the state look to it, is his reply. the community must, by the law of its own existence, support all its members, and out of its superfluous wealth must provide for its weaker citizens. those, therefore, who can labour harder than they need, or who already possess more riches than suffice for them, are obliged by the natural law of charity to give to those less favourably circumstanced than themselves. st. antonino does not, therefore, pretend to advocate any system of rigid equality among men. there is bound to be, in his opinion, variety among them, and from this variety comes indeed the harmony of the universe. for some are born to rule, and others, by the feebleness of their understanding or of their will, are fitted only to obey. the workman and servant must faithfully discharge the duties of their trade or service, be quick to receive a command, and reverent in their obedience. and the masters, in their turn, must be forbearing in their language, generous in their remuneration, and temperate in their commands. it is their business to study the powers of each of those whom they employ, and to measure out the work to each one according to the capacity which is discoverable in him. when a faithful labourer has become ill, the employer must himself tend and care for him, and be in no hurry to send him to a hospital. about the hospitals themselves he has his own ideas, or at least he has picked out the sanest that he can find in the books and conversation of people whom he has come across. he insists strongly that women should, as matrons and nurses, manage those institutions which are solely for the benefit of women; and even in those where men also are received, he can see no incompatibility in their being administered by these same capable directors. he much commends the custom of chemists in florence on sundays, feast-days, and holidays of opening their dispensaries in turn. so that even should all the other shops be closed, there would always be one place open where medicines and drugs could be obtained in an emergency. the education of the citizens, too, is another work which the state must consider. it is not something merely optional which is to be left to the judgment of the parent. the archbishop holds that its proper organisation is the duty of the prince. education, in his eyes, means that the children must be taught the knowledge of god, of letters, and of the arts and crafts they are to pursue in after life. again, he has thought out the theory of taxation. he admits its necessity. the state is obliged to perform certain duties for the community. it is obliged, for example, to make its roads fit for travelling, and so render them passable for the transfer of merchandise. it is bound to clear away all brigandage, highway robbery, and the like, for were this not done, no merchant would venture out through that state's territory, and its people would accordingly suffer. hence, again, he deduces the need for some sort of army, so that the goods of the citizens may be secured against the invader, for without this security there would be no stimulus to trade. bridges must be built, and fords kept in repair. since, therefore, the state is obliged to incur expenses in order to attain these objects, the state has the right, and indeed the duty, to order it so that the community shall pay for the benefits which it is to receive. hence follows taxation. but he sees at once that this power of demanding forced contributions from wealthy members of society needs safeguarding against abuse. thus he is careful to insist that taxation can be valid only when it is levied by public authority, else it becomes sheer brigandage. no less is it to be reprobated when ordered indeed by public authority, but not used for public benefit. thus, should it happen that a prince or other ruler of a state extorted money from his subjects on pretence of keeping the roads in good order, or similar works for the advantage of the community, and yet neglected to put the contributions of his people to this use, he would be defrauding the public, and guilty of treason against his country. so, too, to lay heavier burdens on his subjects than they could bear, or to graduate the scale in such a fashion as to weigh more heavily on one class than another, would be, in the ruler, an aggravated form of theft. taxation must therefore be decreed by public authority, and be arranged according to some reasonable measure, and rest on the motive of benefiting the social organisation. the citizens therefore who are elected to settle the incidence of taxation must be careful to take account of the income of each man, and so manage that on no one should the burden be too oppressive. he suggests himself the percentage of one pound per hundred. nor, again, must there be any deliberate attempt to penalise political opponents, or to make use of taxation in order to avenge class-oppression. were this to be done, the citizens so acting would be bound to make restitution to the persons whom they had thus injured. then st. antonino takes the case of those who make a false declaration of their income. these, too, he convicts of injustice, and requires of them that they also should make restitution, but to the state. an exception to this, however, he allows. for if it happens to be the custom for each to make a declaration of income which is obviously below the real amount, then simply because all do it and all are known to do it, there is no obligation for the individual to act differently from his neighbours. it is not injustice, for the law evidently recognises the practice. and were he, on the other hand, to announce his full yearly wage of earnings, he would allow himself to be taxed beyond the proper measure of value. but to refuse to pay, or to elude by some subterfuge the just contribution which a man owes of his wealth to the easing of the public burdens, is in the eyes of the archbishop a crime against the state. it would be an act of injustice, of theft, all the more heinous in that, as he declares with a flash of the energy of rousseau, the "common good is something almost divine." we have dwelt rather at length on the schemes of this one economist, and may seem, therefore, to have overlooked the writings of others equally full of interest. but the reason has been because this florentine moralist does stand so perfectly for a whole school. he has read omnivorously, and has but selected most of his thoughts. he compares himself, indeed, in one passage of these volumes, to the laborious ant, "that tiny insect which wanders here and there, and gathers together what it thinks to be of use to its community." he represents a whole school, and represents it at its best, for there is no extreme dogmatism in him, no arguing from grounds that are purely arbitrary, or from _a priori_ principles. it is his knowledge of the people among whom he had laboured so long which fits him to speak of the real sufferings of the poor. but experience requires for its being effectually put to the best advantage, that it should be wielded by one whose judgment is sober and careful. now, st. antonino was known in his own day as antonino the counsellor; and his justly-balanced decision, his delicately-poised advice, the straightness of his insight, are noticeable in the masterly way in which he sums up all the best that earlier and contemporary writers had devised in the domain of social economics. there is, just at the close of the period with which this book deals, a rising school of reformers who can be grouped round more's _utopia_. some foreshadowed him, and others continued his speculations. men like harrington in his _oceana_, and milton in his _areopagitica_, really belong to the same band; but life for them had changed very greatly, and already become something far more complex than the earlier writers had had to consider. there seemed no possibility of reforming it by the simple justice which st. antonino and his fellows judged to be sufficient to set things back again as they had been in the golden age. the new writers are rather political than social. for them, as for the greeks, it is the constitution which must be repaired. whereas the mediaeval socialists thought, as st. thomas indeed never wearied of repeating, that unrest and discontent would continue under any form of government whatever. the more each city changed its constitution, the more it remained the same. florence, whether under a republic or a despotism, was equally happy and equally sad. for it was the spirit of government alone which, in the eyes of the scholastic social writers, made the state what it happened to be. in this the modern sociologist of to-day finds himself more akin with the mediaeval thinkers than with the idealists of the parliamentary era in england, or of the revolution in france. these fixed their hopes on definite organisations of government, and on the exact balance of executive and legislative powers. but for scotus, and wycliff, and st. antonino, the cause of the evil is far deeper and more personal. not in any form of the constitution, nor in any division of ruling authority, nor in its union under a firm despot, nor in the divine right of kings, or nobles, or people, was security to be found, or the well-ordering of the nation. but peace and rest from faction could be achieved with certainty only on the conditions of strict justice between man and man, on the observance of god's commandments. chapter vii the theory of almsgiving any description of mediaeval socialistic ideals which contained no reference to mediaeval notions of almsgiving would not be complete. almsgiving was for them a necessary corollary to their theories of private possession. in the passage already quoted from st. thomas aquinas (p. ), wherein he sets forth the theological aspect of property, he makes use of a broad distinction between what he calls "the power of procuring and dispensing" exterior things and "the use of them." we have already at some length tried to show what economists then meant by this first "power." now we must establish the significance of what they intended by the second. and to do this the more clearly it will be as well to repeat the words in which st. thomas briefly notes it: "the other office which is man's concerning exterior things is the use of them; and with regard to this a man ought not to hold exterior things as his own, but as common to all, that he may portion them out readily to others in time of need." in this sentence is summed up the whole mediaeval concept of the law of almsdeeds. private property is allowed--is, in fact, necessary for human life--but on certain conditions. these imply that the possession of property belongs to the individual, but also that the use of it is not limited to him. the property is private, the use should be common. indeed, it is only this common enjoyment which at all justifies private possession. it was as obvious then as now that there were inequalities in life, that one man was born to ease or wealth, or a great name, whereas another came into existence without any of these advantages, perhaps even hampered by positive disadvantages. henry of langenstein ( - ) in his famous _tractatus de contractibus_ (published among the works of gerson at cologne, , tom. iv. fol. ), draws out this variety of fortune and misfortune in a very detailed fashion, and puts before his reader example after example of what they were then likely to have seen. but all the while he has his reason for so doing. he acknowledges the fact, and proceeds from it to build up his own explanation of it. the world is filled with all these men in their differing circumstances. now, to make life possible for them, he asserts that private property is necessary. he is very energetic in his insistence upon that point. without private property he thinks that there will be continual strife in which might, and not right, will have the greater probability of success. but simultaneously, and as a corrective to the evils which private property of itself would cause there should be added to it the condition of common use. that is to say, that although i own what is mine, yet i should put no obstacle in the way of its reasonable use by others. this is, of course, really the ideal of aristotle in his book of _politics_, when he makes his reply to plato's communism. in plato's judgment, the republic should be governed in the reverse way, _common property and private use_; he would really make this, which is a feature of monastic life, compulsory on all. but aristotle, looking out on the world, an observer of human nature, a student of the human heart, sets up as more feasible, more practical, the phrase which the middle ages repeat, _private property and common use_. the economics of a religious house are hardly of such a kind, thought the mediaevalists, as to suit the ways and fancies of this workaday world. but the middle ages do not simply repeat, they christianise aristotle. they are dominated by his categories of thought, but they perfect them in the light of the new dispensation. faith is added to politics, love of the brotherhood is made to extend the mere brutality of the economists' teaching. in "common use" they find the philosophic name for "almsdeeds." "a man ought not to hold exterior things as his own, but as common to all, that he may portion them out readily to others in time of need." this sentence, an almost literal translation from the _book of politics_, takes on a fuller meaning and is softened by the unselfishness of christ when it is found in the _summa theologica_ of aquinas. let us take boldly the passage from st. thomas in which he lays down the law of almsgiving. ( _a_, _ae_, , .) "since love of one's neighbour is commanded us, it follows that everything without which that love cannot be preserved, is also commanded us. but it is essential to the love of one's neighbour, not merely to wish him well, but to act well towards him; as says st. john ( ep. ), 'let us not love in word nor in tongue, but in deed and in truth.' but to wish and to act well towards anyone implies that we should succour him when he is in need, and this is done by almsgiving. hence almsgiving is a matter of precept. but because precepts are given in things that concern virtuous living, the almsgiving here referred to must be of such a kind as shall promote virtuous living. that is to say, it must be consonant with right reason; and this in turn implies a twofold consideration, namely, from the point of view of the giver, and from that of the receiver. as regards the giver, it must be noted that what is given should not be necessary to him, as says st. luke 'that which is superfluous, give in alms.' and by 'not necessary' i mean not only to himself (_i.e._ what is over and above his individual needs), but to those who depend on him. for a man must first provide for himself and those of whom he has the care, and can then succour such of the rest as are necessitous--that is, such as are without what their personal needs entail. for so, too, nature provides that nutrition should be communicated first to the body, and only secondly to that which is to be begotten of it. as regards the receiver, it is required that he should really be in need, else there is no reason for alms being given him. but since it is impossible for one man to succour all who are in need, he is only under obligation to help such as cannot otherwise be provided for. for in this case the words of ambrose become applicable: 'feed them that are dying of starvation, else shall you be held their murderer.' hence it is a matter of precept to give alms to whosoever is in extreme necessity. but in other cases (namely, where the necessity is not extreme) almsgiving is simply a counsel, and not a command." (_ad_ _m._) "temporal goods which are given a man by god are his as regards their possession, but as regards their use, if they should be superfluous to him, they belong also to others who may be provided for out of them. hence st. basil says: 'if you admit that god gave these temporal goods to you, is god unjust in thus unequally distributing his favours? why should you abound, and another be forced to beg, unless it is intended thereby that you should merit by your generosity, and he by his patience? for it is the bread of the starving that you cling to; it is the clothes of the naked that hang locked in your wardrobe; it is the shoes of the barefooted that are ranged in your room; it is the silver of the needy that you hoard. for you are injuring whoever is in want.' and ambrose repeats the same thing." here it will be noticed that we find the real meaning of those words about a man's duty of portioning out readily to another's use what belongs to himself. it is the correlative to the right to private property. but a second quotation must be made from another passage closely following on the preceding: "there is a time when to withhold alms is to commit mortal sin. namely, when on the part of the receiver there is evident and urgent necessity, and he does not seem likely to be provided for otherwise, and when on the part of the giver he has superfluities of which he has not any probable immediate need. nor should the future be in question, for this would be looking to the morrow, which the master has forbidden (matt. )." (_ibid._, , .) "but 'superfluous' and 'necessity' are to be interpreted according to their most probable and generally accepted meaning. 'necessary' has two meanings. first, it implies something without which a thing cannot exist. interpreted in this sense, a man has no business to give alms out of what is necessary to him; for example, if a man has only enough wherewith to feed himself and his sons or others dependent on him. for to give alms out of this would be to deprive himself and his of very life, unless it were indeed for the sake of prolonging the life of someone of extreme importance to church and state. in that case it might be praiseworthy to expose his life and the lives of others to grave risk, for the common good is to be preferred to our own private interests. secondly, 'necessary' may mean that without which a person cannot be considered to uphold becomingly his proper station, and that of those dependent on him. the exact measure of this necessity cannot be very precisely determined, as to how far things added may be beyond the necessity of his station, or things taken away be below it. to give alms, therefore, out of these is a matter not of precept, but of counsel. for it would not be right to give alms out of these, so as to help others, and thereby be rendered unable to fulfil the obligations of his state of life. for no one should live unbecomingly. three exceptions, however, should be made. first, when a man wishes to change his state of life. thus it would be an act of perfect virtue if a man, for the purpose of entering a religious order, distributed to the poor for christ's sake all that he possessed. secondly, when a man gives alms out of what is necessary for his state of life, and yet does so knowing that they can very easily be supplied to him again without much personal inconvenience. thirdly, when some private person, still more when the state itself, is in the gravest need. in these cases it would be most praiseworthy for a man to give what seemingly was required for the upkeep of his station in life in order to provide against some far greater need." from these passages it will be possible to construct the theory in vogue during the whole of the middle ages. the landholder was considered to possess his property on a system of feudal tenure, and to be obliged thereby to certain acts of suit and service to his immediate lord, or eventually to the king. but besides these burdens which the responsibility of possession entailed, there were others incumbent on him, because of his brotherhood with all christian folk. he owed a debt, not merely to his superiors, but also to his equals. such was the interpretation of christ's commandment which the mediaeval theologians adopted. with one voice they declare that to give away to the needy what is superfluous is no act of charity, but of justice. st. jerome's words were often quoted: "if thou hast more than is necessary for thy food and clothing, give that away, and consider that in thus acting thou art but paying a debt" (epist. ad edilia q. i.); and those others of st. augustine, "when superfluities are retained, it is the property of others which is retained" (in psalm ). these and like sayings of the fathers constitute the texts on which the moral economic doctrine of what is called the scholastic school is based. albertus magnus (vol. iv. in sent. , , p. , lyons, ) puts to himself the question whether to give alms is a matter of justice or of charity, and the answer which he makes is compressed finally into this sentence: "for a man to give out of his superfluities is a mere act of justice, because he is rather the steward of them for the poor than the owner." st. thomas aquinas is equally explicit, as another short sentence shall show ( _a_, _ae_, , , _ad_ _m_): "when ambrose says 'let no one call his own that which is common property,' he is referring to the use of property. hence he adds: 'whatever a man possesses above what is necessary for his sufficient comfort, he holds by violence.'" and the same view could be backed by quotations from henry of ghent, duns scotus, st. bonaventure, the sermons of wycliff, and almost every writer of any consequence in that age. perhaps to us this decided tone may appear remarkable, and even ill-considered. but it is evident that the whole trouble lies in the precise meaning to be attached to the expressions "superfluous" and "needy." and here, where we feel most of all the need of guidance, it must be confessed that few authors venture to speak with much definiteness. the instance, indeed, of a man placed in extreme necessity, all quote and explain in nearly identical language. should anyone be reduced to these last circumstances, so as to be without means of subsistence or sufficient wealth to acquire them, he may, in fact must, take from anywhere whatever suffices for his immediate requirements. if he begs for the necessities of life, they cannot be withheld from him. nor is the expression "necessities of life" to be interpreted too nicely. says albertus magnus: "i mean by necessary not that without which he cannot live, but that also without which he cannot maintain his household, or exercise the duties proper to his condition" (_loc. cit._, art. , p. ). this is a very generous interpretation of the phrase, but it is the one pretty generally given by all the chief writers of that period. of course they saw at once that there were practical difficulties in the way of such a manner of acting. how was it possible to determine whether such a one was in real need or not? and the only answer given was that, if it was evident that a man was so placed, there could be no option about giving; almsdeeds then became of precept. but that, if there were no convincing signs of absolute need, then the obligation ceased, and almsgiving, from a command, became a counsel. in an instance of this extreme nature it is not difficult to decide, but the matter becomes perilously complicated when an attempt is made to gauge the relative importance of "need" and "superfluity" in concrete cases. how much "need" must first be endured before a man has a just claim on another's superfluity? by what standard are "superfluities" themselves to be judged? for it is obvious that when the need among a whole population is general, things possessed by the richer classes, which in normal circumstances might not have been considered luxuries, instantly become such. however then the words are taken, however strictly or laxly interpreted, it must always be remembered that the terms used by the scholastics do not really solve the problem. they suggest standards, but do not define them, give names, but cannot tell us their precise meaning. should we say, then, that in this way they had failed? it is not in place in a book of this kind to sit in judgment on the various theories quoted, and test them to see how far they hold good, or to what extent they should be disregarded, for it is the bare recital of mere historic views which can be here considered. the object has been simply to tell what systems were thought out and held, without attempting to apprize them or measure their value, or point out how far they are applicable to modern times. but in this affair of almsdeeds it is perhaps well to note that the scholastics could make this much defence of their vagueness. in cases of this kind, they might say, we are face to face with human nature, not as an abstract thing, but in its concrete personal existence. the circumstances must therefore differ in each single instance. general laws can be laid down, but only on the distinct understanding that they are mere principles of direction--in other words, that they are nothing more than general laws. the scholastics, the mediaeval writers of every school, except a few of that manichean brood of sects, admitted the necessity of almsgiving. they looked on it from a moral point of view as a high virtue, and from an economic standpoint as a correlative to their individualistic ideas on private property. the one without the other would be unjust. alone, they would be unworkable; together, mutually independent, they would make the state a fair and perfect thing. but to fix the exact proportion between the two terms, they held to be the duty of the individual in each case that came to his notice. to give out of a man's superfluities to the needy was, they held, undoubtedly a bounden duty. but they could make no attempt to apprize in definite language what in the receiver was meant by need, and in the giver by superfluity. they made no pretence to do this, and thereby showed their wisdom, for obviously the thing cannot be done. yet we must note, last of all, that they drew up a list of principles which shall here be set down, because they sum up in a few sentences the wit of mediaeval economists, their spirit of orderly arrangement, and their unanimous opinion on man's moral obligations. (i) a man is obliged to help another in his extreme need, even at the risk of grave inconvenience to himself. (ii) a man is obliged to help another who, though not in extreme need, is yet in considerable distress, but not at the risk of grave inconvenience to himself. (iii) a man is not obliged to help another whose necessity is slight, even though the risk to himself should be quite trifling. in other words, the need of his fellow must be adjusted against the inconvenience to himself. where the need of the one is great, the inconvenience to the other must at least be as great, if it is to excuse him from the just debt of his alms. his possession of superfluities does not compel him to part with them unless there is some real want which they can be expected to supply. in fine, the mediaevalists would contend that almsgiving, to be necessary, implies two conditions, both concomitant:-- (_a_) that the giver should possess superfluities. (_b_) that the receiver should be in need. where both these suppositions are fulfilled, the duty of almsgiving becomes a matter not of charity, but of justice. bibliography among the original works by mediaeval writers on economic subjects, which can be found in most of the greater libraries in england, we would place the following: _de recuperatione terre sancte_, by pierre du bois. edited by c. v. langlois in paris. . _commentarium in politicos aristotelis_, by albertus magnus. vol. iv. lyons. . _summa theologica_, of st. thomas aquinas. this is being translated by the english dominicans, published by washborne. london. . but the parts that deal with aquinas' theories of property, &c., have not yet been published. _de regimine principio_, probably by ptolomeo de lucca. it will be found printed among the works of st. thomas aquinas, who wrote the first chapters. the portion here to be consulted is in book iv. _tractatus de civili dominio_, by wycliff, published in four vols. in london. - . _unprinted works of john wycliff_, edited at oxford in three vols. - . _fasciculus zizaniorum_ and the _chronicon angliae_, both edited in the roll series, help in elucidating the exact meaning of wycliff, and his relation to the insurgents of . _monarchia_, edited by goldast of hanover in , gives a collection of fifteenth-century writers, including ockham, cesena, roselli, &c. _summa moralis_, by st. antonino of florence, contains a great deal of economic moralising. but the whole four volumes (verona, ) must be searched for it. among modern books which can be consulted with profit are:-- _illustrations of the mediaeval thought_, by reginald lane poole. . london. _political theories of the middle ages_, by f. w. maitland. . cambridge. _history of mediaeval political thought_, by a. j. carlyle. . &c. oxford (unfinished). _history of english law_, by pollock and maitland. . cambridge. _introduction to english economic history_, by w. j. ashley. . london. _economie politique au moyen age_, by v. brandts. . louvain. _la propriété après st. thomas_, by mgr. deploige, revue neo-scholastique. , . louvain. _history of socialism_, by thomas kirkup. . london. _great revolt of _, by c. w. c. oman. . oxford. _lollardy and the reformation_, by gairdner. - (three vols.) london. _england in the age of wycliff_, by g. m. trevelyan. . london. _leaders of the people_, by j. clayton. . london. a sympathetic account of ball, cade, &c. _social organisation_, by g. unwin. . oxford. _outlines of economic history of england_, by h. o. meredith. . london. _mutual aid in a mediaeval city_, by prince kropotkin (nineteenth century review. vol. xxxvi. p. ). index albertus magnus, , , albigensians, almsgiving, ambrose, st., , antonino, st., , , , aquinas, st. thomas, , , , , , , aristotle, , , , , augustine, st., , authority, , ball, john, , bavaria, louis of, , beghards, beguins, benedict, st., black death, bois, pierre du, , bonaventure, st., bourbon, etienne de, bracton, cabochiens, cesena, michael de, ciompi, , communism, destitution, dominicans, , , education, fall, fathers of church, feudalism, , francis, st., franciscans, , , friars, froissart, ghent, henry of, harrington, hildebrand, hospitals, innocent iv, jacquerie, , jerome, st., john xxii, , king, , labourers, landless, , langenstein, henry of, langland, , law of nations, law of nature, lawyers, legalists, lucca, ptolomeo de, maillotins, manicheans, manor, marcel, etienne, meziers, philip de, milton, moerbeke, monasticism, more, sir thomas, necessities, ockham, , , oresme, nichole, parliament, peasant revolt, , , plato, , , _praetor peregrinus_, _praetor urbanus_, property, , , , , rienzi, ripa, john de, roselli, antonio, schoolmen, , scotus, duns, , , slavery, socialism, , , straw, jack, , superfluities, taborites, taxation, tyler, wat, vaudois, wages, , , women, , wycliff, , , , , , printed by ballantyne, hanson & co. edinburgh & london advertisements the people's books the first hundred volumes the volumes issued (spring ) are marked with an asterisk science * . the foundations of science by w. c. d. whetham, f.r.s. * . embryology--the beginnings by prof. gerald leighton, m.d. of life . biology--the science of life by prof. w. d. henderson, m.a. * . zoology: the study of animal by prof. e. w. macbride, f.r.s. life * . botany; the modern study of by m. c. stopes, d.sc., ph.d. plants . bacteriology by w. e. carnegie dickson, m.d. * . the structure of the earth by the rev. t. g. bonney, f.r.s. * . evolution by e. s. goodrich, m.a., f.r.s. . darwin by prof. w. garstang, m.a., d.sc. * . heredity by j. a. s. watson, b.sc. * . inorganic chemistry by prof. e. c. c. baly, f.r.s. * . organic chemistry by prof. j. b. cohen, b.sc., f.r.s. * . the principles of electricity by norman r. campbell, m.a. * . radiation by p. phillips, d.sc. * . the science of the stars by e. w. maunder, f.r.a.s. * . the science of light by p. phillips, d.sc. * . weather-science by r. g. k. lempfert, m.a. * . hypnotism by alice hutchison, m.d. * . the baby: a mother's book by a university woman. * . youth and sex--dangers and {by mary scharlieb, m.d., m.s., safeguards for boys and girls {and g. e. c. pritchard, m.a., m.d. * . motherhood--a wife's handbook by h. s. davidson, f.r.c.s.e. * . lord kelvin by a. russell, m.a., d.sc. * . huxley by professor g. leighton, m.d. . sir w. huggins and {by e. w. maunder, f.r.a.s., of the spectroscopic astronomy {royal observatory, greenwich. * . practical astronomy by h. macpherson, jr., f.r.a.s. * . aviation by sydney f. walker, r.n., m.i.e.e. * . navigation by w. hall, r.n., b.a. * . pond life by e. c. ash, m.r.a.c. * . dietetics by alex. bryce, m.d., d.p.h. * . the nature of mathematics by p. g. b. jourdain, m.a. . applications of electricity by alex. ogilvie, b.sc. * . gardening by a. cecil bartlett. . the care of the teeth by j. a. young, l.d.s. * . atlas of the world by j. bartholomew, f.r.g.s. * . british birds by f. b. kirkman, b.a. philosophy and religion . the meaning of philosophy by t. loveday, m.a. * . henri bergson by h. wildon carr. * . psychology by h. j. watt, m.a., ph.d. * . ethics by canon rashdall, d. litt., f.b.a. . kant's philosophy by a. d. lindsay, m.a. . the teaching of plato by a. d. lindsay, m.a. * . aristotle by prof. a. e. taylor, m.a., f.b.a. * . nietzsche by m. a. mügge, ph.d. * . eucken by a. j. jones, m.a., b.sc., ph.d. . the experimental psychology by c. w. valentine, b.a. of beauty * . the problem of truth by h. wildon carr. . george berkeley: the by g. dawes hicks, litt.d. philosophy of idealism . buddhism by prof. t. w. rhys davids, f.b.a. * . roman catholicism by h. b. coxon. * . the oxford movement by wilfrid p. ward. * . the bible in the light of the {by rev. w. f. adeney, m.a., and higher criticism {rev. prof. w. h. bennett, litt.d. . cardinal newman by wilfrid meynell. * . the church of england by rev. canon masterman. . anglo-catholicism by a. e. manning foster. * . the free churches by rev. edward shillito, m.a. * . judaism by ephraim levine, b.a. * . theosophy by annie besant. history * . the growth of freedom by h. w. nevinson. . bismarck by prof. f. m. powicke, m.a. * . oliver cromwell by hilda johnstone, m.a. * . mary queen of scots by e. o'neill, m.a. * . cecil rhodes by ian colvin. * . julius cæsar by hilary hardinge. history of england-- . england in the making by prof. f. j. c. hearnshaw, ll.d. * . england in the middle ages by e. o'neill, m.a. . the monarchy and the people by w. t. waugh, m.a. . the industrial revolution by a. jones, m.a. . empire and democracy by g. s. veitch, m.a. * . home rule by l. g. redmond howard. . nelson by h. w. wilson. * . wellington and waterloo by major g. w. redway. . a history of greece by e. fearenside, b.a. . luther and the reformation by l. d. agate, m.a. . the discovery of the by f. b. kirkman, b.a. new world * . turkey and the eastern by john macdonald. question . a history of architecture by mrs. arthur bell. social and economic * . women's suffrage by m. g. fawcett, ll.d. . the working of the british by prof. ramsay muir, m.a. system of government to-day . an introduction to economic by prof. h. o. meredith, m.a. science . socialism by f. b. kirkman, b.a. * . mediaeval socialism by rev. b. jarrett, o.p., m.a. * . syndicalism by j. h. harley, m.a. . labour and wages by h. m. hallsworth, m.a., b.sc. * . co-operation by joseph clayton. * . insurance as investment by w. a. robertson, f.f.a. * . the training of the child by g. spiller. * . trade unions by joseph clayton. * . everyday law by j. j. adams. letters * . shakespeare by prof. c. h. herford, litt.d. * . wordsworth by rosaline masson. * . pure gold--a choice of by h. c. o'neill. lyrics and sonnets * . francis bacon by prof. a. r. skemp, m.a. * . the brontës by flora masson. * . carlyle by the rev. l. maclean watt. * . dante by a. g. ferrers howell. . ruskin by a. blyth webster, m.a. . common faults in writing by prof. a. r. skemp, m.a. english * . a dictionary of synonyms. by austin k. gray, b.a. . classical dictionary by a. e. stirling. * . history of english by a. compton-rickett. literature . browning by prof. a. r. skemp, m.a. * . charles lamb by flora masson. . goethe by prof. c. h. herford, litt.d. . balzac by frank harris. . rousseau by h. sacher. . ibsen by hilary hardinge. * . tennyson by aaron watson. . r. l. stevenson by rosaline masson. * . shelley by sydney waterlow, m.a. . william morris by a. blyth webster, m.a. london and edinburgh: t. c. & e. c. jack new york: dodge publishing co. none [illustration: philosophers on mount olympus.] mediaeval lore from bartholomew anglicus by robert steele with preface by william morris "when holy were the haunted forest boughs, holy the air, the water, and the fire." keats. preface it is not long since the middle ages, of the literature of which this book gives us such curious examples, were supposed to be an unaccountable phenomenon accidentally thrust in betwixt the two periods of civilisation, the classical and the modern, and forming a period without growth or meaning--a period which began about the time of the decay of the roman empire, and ended suddenly, and more or less unaccountably, at the time of the reformation. the society of this period was supposed to be lawless and chaotic; its ethics a mere conscious hypocrisy; its art gloomy and barbarous fanaticism only; its literature the formless jargon of savages; and as to its science, that side of human intelligence was supposed to be an invention of the time when the middle ages had been dead two hundred years. the light which the researches of modern historians, archaeologists, bibliographers, and others, have let in on our view of the middle ages has dispersed the cloud of ignorance on this subject which was one of the natural defects of the qualities of the learned men and keen critics of the eighteenth and early part of the nineteenth centuries. the middle-class or whig theory of life is failing us in all branches of human intelligence. ethics, politics, art, and literature are more than beginning to be regarded from a wider point of view than that from which our fathers and grandfathers could see them. for many years there has been a growing reaction against the dull "grey" narrowness of the eighteenth century, which looked on europe during the last thousand years as but a riotous, hopeless, and stupid prison. it is true that it was on the side of art alone that this enlightenment began, and that even on that side it progressed slowly enough at first--_e.g._ sir walter scott feels himself obliged, as in the _antiquary_, to apologize to pedantry for his instinctive love of gothic architecture. and no less true is it that follies enough were mingled with the really useful and healthful birth of romanticism in art and literature. but at last the study of facts by men who were neither artistic nor sentimental came to the help of that first glimmer of instinct, and gradually something like a true insight into the life of the middle ages was gained; and we see that the world of europe was no more running round in a circle then than now, but was developing, sometimes with stupendous speed, into something as different from itself as the age which succeeds this will be different from that wherein we live. the men of those times are no longer puzzles to us; we can understand their aspirations, and sympathise with their lives, while at the same time we have no wish (not to say hope) to put back the clock, and start from the position which they held. for, indeed, it is characteristic of the times in which we live, that whereas in the beginning of the romantic reaction, its supporters were for the most part mere _laudatores temporis acti_, at the present time those who take pleasure in studying the life of the middle ages are more commonly to be found in the ranks of those who are pledged to the forward movement of modern life; while those who are vainly striving to stem the progress of the world are as careless of the past as they are fearful of the future. in short, history, the new sense of modern times, the great compensation for the losses of the centuries, is now teaching us worthily, and making us feel that the past is not dead, but is living in us, and will be alive in the future which we are now helping to make. to my mind, therefore, no excuse is needful for the attempt made in the following pages to familiarise the reading public with what was once a famous knowledge-book of the middle ages. but the reader, before he can enjoy it, must cast away the exploded theory of the invincible and wilful ignorance of the days when it was written; the people of that time were eagerly desirous for knowledge, and their teachers were mostly single-hearted and intelligent men, of a diligence and laboriousness almost past belief. the "properties of things" of bartholomew the englishman is but one of the huge encyclopaedias written in the early middle age for the instruction of those who wished to learn, and the reputation of it and its fellows shows how much the science of the day was appreciated by the public at large, how many there were who wished to learn. even apart from its interest as showing the tendency of men's minds in days when science did actually tell them "fairy tales," the book is a delightful one in its english garb; for the language is as simple as if the author were speaking by word of mouth, and at the same time is pleasant, and not lacking a certain quaint floweriness, which makes it all the easier to retain the subject-matter of the book. altogether, this introduction to the study of the mediaeval encyclopaedia, and the insight which such works give us into the thought of the past and its desire for knowledge, make a book at once agreeable and useful; and i repeat that it is a hopeful sign of the times when students of science find themselves drawn towards the historical aspect of the world of men, and show that their minds have been enlarged, and not narrowed, by their special studies--a defect which was too apt to mar the qualities of the seekers into natural facts in what must now, i would hope, be called the just-passed epoch of intelligence dominated by whig politics, and the self-sufficiency of empirical science. william morris. introduction the prologue of the translator mediaeval science mediaeval manners mediaeval medicine mediaeval geography mediaeval natural history--trees mediaeval natural history--birds and fishes mediaeval natural history--animals the sources of the book bibliography glossary introduction the book and its object.--the book which we offer to the public of to- day is drawn from one of the most widely read books of mediaeval times. written by an english franciscan, bartholomew, in the middle of the thirteenth century, probably before , it speedily travelled over europe. it was translated into french by order of charles v. ( - ) in , into spanish, into dutch, and into english in . its popularity, almost unexampled, is explained by the scope of the work, as stated in the translator's prologue (p. ). it was written to explain the allusions to natural objects met with in the scriptures or in the gloss. it was, in fact, an account of the properties of things in general; an encyclopaedia of similes for the benefit of the village preaching friar, written for men without deep--sometimes without any-- learning. assuming no previous information, and giving a fairly clear statement of the state of the knowledge of the time, the book was readily welcomed by the class for which it was designed, and by the small nucleus of an educated class which was slowly forming. its popularity remained in full vigour after the invention of printing, no less than ten editions being published in the fifteenth century of the latin copy alone, with four french translations, a dutch, a spanish, and an english one. the first years of the modern commercial system gave its death-blow to the popularity of this characteristically mediaeval work, and though an effort was made in to revive it, the attempt was unsuccessful--quite naturally so, since the book was written for men desirous to hear of the wonders of strange lands, and did not give an accurate account of anything. the man who bought cinnamon at stourbridge fair in would have felt poorer if any one had told him that it was not shot from the phoenix' nest with leaden arrows, while the merchant of wished to know where it was grown, and how much he would pay a pound for it if he bought it at first hand. any attempt to reconcile these frames of mind was foredoomed to failure. the interest of bartholomew's work.--the interest of bartholomew's work to modern readers is twofold: it has its value as literature pure and simple, and it is one of the most important of the documents by the help of which we rebuild for ourselves the fabric of mediaeval life. the charm of its style lies in its simple forcible language, and its simplicity suits its matter well. on the one hand, we cannot forget it is a translation, but the translation, on the other hand, is from the mediaeval latin of an englishman into english. one of the greatest difficulties in the way of a student is to place himself in the mental attitude of a man of the middle ages towards nature; yet only by so doing can he appreciate the solutions that the philosophers of the time offered of the problems of nature. our author affords perhaps the simplest way of learning what chaucer and perhaps shakespeare knew and believed of their surroundings--earth, air, and sea. the plan on which his work was constructed led bartholomew in order over the universe from god and the angels--through fire, water, air, to earth and all that therein is. we thus obtain a succinct account of the popular mediaeval theories in astronomy, physiology, physics, chemistry, geography, and natural history, all but unattainable otherwise. the aim of our chapter on science has been to give sufficient extracts to mark the theories on which mediaeval science was based, the methods of its reasoning, and the results at which it arrived. the chapter on medicine gives some account of the popular cures and notions of the day, and that on geography resumes the traditions current on foreign lands, at a time when ireland was at a greater distance than rome, and less known than syria. in the chapter on mediaeval society we have not perhaps the daily life of the middle ages, but at least the ideal set before them by their pastors and masters--an ideal in direct relationship with the everyday facts of their life. the lord, the servant, the husband, the wife, and the child, here find their picture. some information, too, can be obtained about the daily life of the time from the chapter on the natural history of plants, which gives incidentally their food-stuffs. it is in the history of animals that the student of literature will find the richest mine of allusions. the list of similes in shakespeare explained by our author would fill a volume like this itself. other writers, again, simply "lift" the book wholesale. chester and du bartas write page after page of rhyme, all but versified direct from bartholomew. jonson and spenser, marlowe and massinger, make ample use of him. lyly and drayton owe him a heavy debt. considerations of space forbid their insertion, but for every extract made here, the editor has collected several passages from first-class authors with a view to illustrating the immense importance of this book to elizabethan literature. it was not without reason that ireland chose justified, when making a selection of passages from the work for modern readers, in altering his text to this extent--and this only: he has modernised the spelling, and in the case of entirely obsolete grammatical forms he has substituted modern ones (_e.g._ "its" for "his"). in the case of an utterly dead word he has followed the course of substituting a word from the same root, when one exists; and when none could be found, he has left it unchanged in the text. accordingly a short glossary has been added, which includes, too, many words which we may hope are not dead, but sleeping. in very few cases has a word been inserted, and in those it is marked by italics. perhaps we may be allowed to say a word in defence of the principle of modernising our earliest literature. early english poetry is, in general (with some striking exceptions), incapable of being written in the spelling of our days without losing all of that which makes it verse; but there can be no reason, when dealing with the masterpieces of our early english prose, for maintaining obsolete forms of spelling and grammar which hamper the passage of thought from mind to mind across the centuries. editors of shakespeare and the bible for general use have long assumed the privilege of altering the spelling, and except on the principle that earlier works are more important, or are only to be read by people who have had the leisure and inclination to familiarise their eyes with the peculiarities of middle english, there can be no reason for stopping there, or a century earlier. at some point, of course, the number of obsolete words becomes so great that the text cannot be read without a dictionary: then the limit has been reached. but caxton, trevisa, and many others are well within it, and it is good to remove all obstacles which prevent the ordinary reader from feeling the continuity of his mother tongue. the author.--the facts known of our author's life have been summarised by miss toulmin smith in her article in the _dictionary of national biography_. in the sixteenth century he was generally believed to date from about , and to have belonged to the glanvilles--an honourable suffolk family in the middle ages; but there seems to be no authority whatever for the statement. we first hear of him in a letter from the provincial of the franciscans of saxony to the provincial of france, asking that bartholomew anglicus and another friar should be sent to assist him in his newly-created province. next year ( ) a ms. chronicle reports that two were sent, and that bartholomew anglicus was appointed teacher of holy theology to the brethren in the province. we learn from salimbene, who wrote the chronicles of parma ( ), that he had been a professor of theology in the university of paris, where he had lectured on the whole bible. the subject in treating of which he is referred to was an elephant belonging to the emperor; and salimbene quotes a passage on the elephant from his _de proprietatibus rerum_. what may be a quotation from the _de proprietatibus_ can be found in roger bacon's _opus tertium_ ( ). the date of the work.--the date of the work seems fairly easy to fix. it cannot, as we have above seen, be later than , and amable jourdain fixes it before by the fact that the particular translations of aristotle from which bartholomew quotes (latin through the arabic), went almost universally out of use by . on the other hand, quotations are made from albertus magnus, who was in paris in . and that it was written near this year is evident from the fact that no quotations are made from vincent of beauvais, thomas aquinas, roger bacon, or egidius colonna, all of whom were in paris during the second half of the thirteenth century. the earliest known ms. is in the ashmole collection, and was written in . two french mss. are dated and respectively. as we said in the beginning of this chapter, the work had an immediate and lasting success. bartholomew anglicus became known as "magister de proprietatibus rerum," and his book was on the list of those which students could borrow from the university chest. it is probable that much of this popularity was due to the fact that he was a teacher for many years of the grey friars, and that these, the most popular and the most human preachers of the day, carried his book and his stories with them wherever they went. sources.--the chief sources of our author's inspiration are notable. he relies on st. dionysius the areopagite for heaven and the angels, aristotle for physics and natural history, pliny's natural history, isidore of seville's etymology, albumazar, al faragus, and other arab writers for astronomy, constantinus afer's pantegna for medical science, and physiologus, the bestiarium, and the lapidarium for the properties of gems, animals, etc. besides these he quotes many other writers (a list of whom is given in an appendix) little known to modern readers. the translation and principles of selection.--the translation from which we quote was made for sir thomas lord of berkeley in by john trevisa, his chaplain. we owe this good englishman something for the works in english prose he called into existence--some not yet printed; may we not see in him another proof of what we owe to chaucer--a language stamped with the seal of a great poet, henceforth sufficient for the people who speak it, ample for the expression of their thoughts or needs? in selecting from such a book, the principles which have guided the editor are these: to the general reader he desires to offer a fair representation of the work of bartholomew anglicus, preserving the language and style. to be fair, the work must be sometimes dull--in the whole book there are many very dull passages. he has desired to select passages of interest for their quaint language, and their views of things, often for their very misrepresentations of matters of common knowledge to-day, and for their bearing upon the literature of the country. the student of literature and science will find in it the materials in which the history of their growth is read. in conclusion, the editor ventures to hope that the work will not be unwelcome to the numerous and growing class who love english for its own sake as the noblest tongue on earth, and who desire not to forget the rock from which it was hewn, and the pit from which it was digged. our first selection will naturally be the translator's prologue in the very shortened form of berthelet. the present editor's work is, to avoid confusion, printed in small type throughout. the prologue of the translator true it is that after the noble and expert doctrine of wise and well- learned philosophers, left and remaining with us in writing, we know that the properties of things follow and ensue their substance. herefore it is that after the order and the distinction of substances, the order and the distinction of the properties of things shall be and ensue. of the which things this work of all the books ensuing, by the grace, help, and assistance of all mighty god is compiled and made. marvel not, ye witty and eloquent readers, that i, thin of wit and void of cunning, have translated this book from latin into our vulgar language, as a thing profitable to me, and peradventure to many other, which understand not latin, nor have not the knowledge of the properties of things, which things be approved by the books of great and cunning clerks, and by the experience of most witty and noble philosophers. all these properties of things be full necessary and of great value to them that will be desirous to understand the obscurities, or darkness of holy scriptures: which be given unto us under figures, under parables and semblance, or likelihoods of things natural and artificial. saint denys, that great philosopher and solemn clerk, in his book named the heavenly hierarchies of angels, testifieth and witnesseth the same, saying in this manner:--what so ever any man will conject, feign, imagine, suppose, or say: it is a thing impossible that the light of the heavenly divine clearness, covered and closed in the deity, or in the godhead, should shine upon us, if it were not by the diversities of holy covertures. also it is not possible, that our wit or intendment might ascend unto the contemplation of the heavenly hierarchies immaterial, if our wit be not led by some material thing, as a man is led by the hand: so by these forms visible, our wit may be led to the consideration of the greatness or magnitude of the most excellent beauteous clarity, divine and invisible. reciteth this also the blessed apostle paul in his epistles, saying that by these things visible, which be made and be visible, man may see and know by his inward sight intellectual, the divine celestial and godly things, which be invisible to this our natural sight. devout doctors of theology or divinity, for this consideration prudently and wisely read and use natural philosophy and moral, and poets in their fictions and feigned informations, unto this fine and end, so that by the likelihood or similitude of things visible our wit or our understanding spiritually, by clear and crafty utterance of words, may be so well ordered and uttered: that these things corporeal may be coupled with things spiritual, and that these things visible may be conjoined with things invisible. excited by these causes to the edifying of the people contained in our christian faith of almighty christ jesus, whose majesty divine is incomprehensible: and of whom to speak it becometh no man, but with great excellent worship and honour, and with an inward dreadful fear. loth to offend, i purpose to say somewhat under the correction of excellent learned doctors and wise men: what every creature reasonable ought to believe in this our blessed christian faith. endeth the prologue i mediaeval science the following selections will give an idea of the natural science of the middle ages. in introducing them, the editor will attempt to give some connected account of them to show that though their study seems to involve a few difficulties, their explanation is simple, and will not make too great a demand on the reader's patience. from the earliest times men have asked themselves two questions about nature: "why?" and "how?" mediaeval science concerned itself with the former; modern science thinks it has learnt that no answer to that question can be given it, and concerns itself with the latter. it thus happens that the more one becomes in sympathy with the thought of our time, the less one can interest one's self in the work of the past, distinguished as it is by its disregard of all we think important, and by its striving for an unattainable goal. it is, however, necessary, if we would enjoy chaucer, dante, and shakespeare, to obtain some notion of that system of the universe from which they drew so many of their analogies. the symbolism of dante appears to us unnaturally strained until we know that the science of his day saw everything as symbolic. and how could we appreciate the strength of chaucer's metaphor: "o firste moving cruel firmament, with thy diurnal swegh that croudest ay, and hurtlest all from est til occident, that naturally wold hold another way," without some knowledge of the astronomy of his day? our first extracts explain themselves. they deal with the mystery of the constitution of substances, as fascinating to us as to the early greeks, and begin with definitions of matter and form. the principal design of early philosophers in physics was to explain how everything was generated, and to trace the different states through which things pass until they become perfect. they observed that as a thing is not generated out of any other indifferently--for example, that marble is not capable of making flesh, all bodies cannot be compounded of principles alone, connected in a simple way, but imagined they could be made up of a few simple compounds. these ultimate compounds, if we may so express it, were their elements. the number of elements was variously estimated, but was generally taken as four--a number arrived at rather from the consideration of the sensations bodies awaken in us, than from the study of bodies themselves. aristotle gives us the train of thought by which the number is reached. he considers the qualities observed by the senses, classifying them as heat, cold, dryness or hardness, and moistness or capability of becoming liquid. these may partially co-exist, two at a time, in the same substance. there are thus four possible combinations, cold and dry, cold and moist, hot and dry, hot and moist. he then names these from their prototypes earth, water, fire, and air, distinguishing these elements from the actual earth, etc., of everyday life. the habit of extending analogies beyond their legitimate application was a source of confusion in the early ages of science. most of the superstitions of primitive religion, of astrology, and of alchemy, arose from this source. a good example is the extension of the metaphor in the words _generation_ and _corruption_: words in constant use in scientific works until the nineteenth century began. generation is the production of a substance that before was not, and corruption is the destruction of a substance, by its ceasing to be what it was before. thus, fire is generated, and wood is corrupted, when the latter is burnt. but the implicit metaphor in the use of the terms likens substances to the human body, their production and destruction implies liability to disease, and thus prepares the way for the notion of the elixir, which is first a potion giving long life, and curing bodily ailments, and only after some time a remedy for diseased metals--the philosopher's stone. it will be seen that the theory of the mediaeval alchemist was that matter is an entity filling all space, on which in different places different forms were impressed. the elements were a preliminary grouping of these, and might be present--two, three, or four at a time--in any substance. no attempt was ever made to separate these elements by scientific men, just as no attempt is ever made to isolate the ether of the physical speculations of to-day. the theory of modern physicists, with its ether and vortices, answers almost exactly to the matter and form of the ancients, the nature of the vortices conditioning matter. the extracts from book xi. bring us to another class of substances. all compound bodies are classified as imperfect or perfect. imperfect compounds, or meteors, to some extent resemble elements. they are fiery, as the rainbow, or watery, as dew. our extract on the rainbow is somewhat typical of the faults of ancient science. a note is taken of a rare occurrence--a lunar rainbow; but in describing the common one, an error of the most palpable kind is made. the placing of blue as the middle and green as the lowest colour is obviously wrong, and is inexplicable if we did not know how facts were cut square with theories in old days. in the next extract bartholomew's account of the spirits animating man is quoted at length. it gives us the mediaeval theory as to the means by which life, motion, and knowledge were shown in the body. every reader of shakespeare or chaucer becomes familiar with the vital, animal, and natural spirits. they were supposed to communicate with all parts of the body by means of the arteries or wosen, "the nimble spirits in their arteries," and the sinews or nerves. the word sinew, by the way, is exactly equal to our word nerve, and ayenward, as our author would say. hamlet, when he bursts from his friends, explains his vigour by the rush of the spirit into the arteries, which makes "each petty artery of this body as hardy as the nemean lion's nerve." the natural spirit is generated in the liver, the seat of digestion, "there where our nourishment is administered"; it then passes to the heart, and manifests itself as the spirit of life; from thence it passes to the brain, where it is the animal spirit--"spirit animate" rossetti calls it--dwelling in the brain. in the brain there are three ventricles or chambers, the _foremost_ being the "cell fantastike" of the "knight's tale," the second the logistic, and the third the chamber of memory, where "memory, the warder of the brain," keeps watch over the passage of the spirit into the "sinews" of moving. into the foremost cell come all the perceptions of sight, hearing, etc., and thus we have the opportunity for "fantasy, that plays upon our eyesight," to freak it on us. the pedant, holofernes, in _love's labour's lost,_ characteristically puts the origin of his good things in the ventricle of memory. as a specimen of the physical science of the time the editor gives extracts from the chapter on light. the introduction of extracts enough to give some idea of the mediaeval astronomy would have made such large demands on the patience of the reader that the editor has decided with some regret to omit them altogether. the universe is considered to be a sphere, whose centre is the earth and whose circumference revolved about two fixed points. our author does not decide the nice point in dispute between the philosophers and the theologians, the former holding that there is only one, the latter insisting on seven heavens-the fairy, ethereal, olympian, fiery, firmament, watery, and empyrean. the firmament, that "majestical roof, fretted with golden fire," is the part of heaven in which the planets move. it carries them round with it; it governs the tides; it stood with men for the type of irresistible regularity. each of the planets naturally has a motion of its own, contrary in direction to that of the firmament, which was from east to west. all the fixed stars move in circles whose centre is the centre of the universe, but the courses of the planets (among which the moon is reckoned) depend on other circles, called eccentric, since their centre is elsewhere. either the centre or the circumference of the circle in which the planet really moves is applied to the circumference of the eccentric circle, and in this way all the movements of the planets are fully explained. our author is sorely puzzled to account for the existence of the watery heavens above the fiery, they being cold and moist, but is sure from scriptural reasons that they are there, and ventures the hypothesis that their presence may account for the sluggish and evil properties of saturn, the planet whose circle is nearest them. having considered the simpler substances, those composed of pure elemental forms, and those resembling them--the meteors--we turn to the perfect compounds, those which have assumed substantial forms, as metals, stones, etc. our author retains the aristotelian classification--earthy, and those of other origin, as beasts, roots, and trees. earths may be metals or fossils; metals being defined as hard bodies, generated in the earth or in its veins, which can be beaten out by a hammer, and softened or liquefied by heat; while fossils include all other inanimate objects. a large number of extracts have been made from this part of the subject, because the book gives the position of positive, as distinguished from speculative, alchemy at the time. it is the editor's desire to show that at this period there was a system of theory based on the practical knowledge of the day. chemistry took its rise as a science about four hundred years before our era. in the fragments of two of the four books of democritus we have probably the earliest treatise on chemical matters we are ever likely to get hold of. whether it is the work of democritus or of a much later writer is uncertain. but merely taking it as a representative work of the early stage of chemistry, we remark that the receipts are practicable, and some of them, little modified, are in use to-day in goldsmith's shops. the fragments remaining to us are on the manufacture of gold and silver, and one receipt for dyeing purple. in this state of the science the collection of facts is the chief point, and no purely chemical theory seems to have been formed. tradition, confirmed by the latest researches, associates this stage with egypt. the second stage in the history of chemistry--the birth of alchemy in the western world--occurred when the egyptian practical receipts, the neo-greek philosophies, and the chinese dreams of an "elixir vitae" were fused into one by the arab and syriac writers. its period of activity ranges from the seventh to the tenth centuries. little is really known about it, or can be, until the arabic texts, which are abundant in europe, are translated and classified both from the scholar's and the chemist's standpoint. many works were translated into latin about the end of the tenth century, such as the spurious fourth book of the _meteorics of aristotle_, the treatises of the _turta philosophorum_, _artis auriferae_, etc., which formed the starting-point of european speculation. the theoretical chemistry of our author is derived from them. the third stage of chemistry begins with the fourteenth and ends with the sixteenth century. it is characterized by an immense growth of theory, a fertile imagination, and untiring industry. it reached its height in england about , and is represented by the reputed works of lully (vixit circ. ), which first appeared about this date. in this period practical alchemy is on its trial. the fourth stage begins with boyle, and closes with the eighteenth century. still under the dominion of theoretical alchemy, practical alchemy was rejected by it, and its interest was concentrated on the collection of facts. it led up to modern chemistry, which begins with lavoisier, and the introduction of the balance in the study of chemical change. chemical theory, then, in our author's time stood somewhat thus. metals as regarded their elemental composition were considered to partake of the nature of earth, water, and air, in various proportions. fossils, or those things generated in the earth which were not metals, were again subdivided into two classes--those which liquefy on being heated, as sulphur, nitre, etc., and those which do not. the metals were considered to be composed of sulphur and mercury. these substances are themselves compounds, but they act as elements in the composition of metals. sulphur represented their combustible aspect, and also that which gave them their solid form; while mercury was that to which their weight and powers of becoming fluid were due. this theory was due to two main facts. most ores of metals, especially of copper and lead, contain much sulphur, which can be either obtained pure from them, or be recognised by its smell when burning. this gave rise to the sulphur theory, while the presence of mercury was inferred doubtless from the resemblance of the more commonly molten metals, silver, tin, and lead, to quicksilver. the properties of each metal were then put down to the presence of these substances. the list of seven metals is that of the most ancient times--gold, electrum, silver, copper, tin, lead, iron; but it is clearly recognised that electrum is an alloy of gold and silver. most of the facts in this book are derived from pliny through isidore, but, that the theory is arab in origin, one fact alone would convince us. a consideration of the composition of the metals shows us that tin is nearest in properties of all metals to the precious ones, but tin is precisely the metal chosen by arab alchemists as a starting-point in the chrysopoeia. beside their scientific interest these passages have supplied many analogies. when troilus is piling up his lover's oaths to cressida, his final words are: "as iron to adamant, as earth to centre;" our chapter on the adamant supplies the origin of this allusion in part, astronomy gives the other. diamonds are still, unfortunately, the precious stones of reconciliation and of love our author bespeaks them. the editor has not lengthened the chapter by extracts giving the occult properties of gems, and has contented himself by quoting from the chapter on glass a new simile and an old story. matter and form are principles of all bodily things; and privation of matter and form is naught else but destruction of all things. and the more subtle and high matter is in kind, the more able it is to receive form and shape. and the more thick and earthly it is, the more feeble is it to receive impression, printing of forms and of shapes. and matter is principle and beginning of distinction, and of diversity, and of multiplying, and of things that are gendered. for the thing that gendereth and the thing that is gendered are not diverse but touching matter. and therefore where a thing is gendered without matter, the thing that gendereth, and the thing that is gendered, are all one in substance and in kind: as it fareth of the persons in the trinity. of form is diversity, by the which one thing is diverse from another, and some form is essential, and some accidental. essential form is that which cometh into matter, and maketh it perfect; and accordeth therewith to the perfection of some thing. and when form is had, then the thing hath its being, and when form is destroyed nothing of the substance of the thing is found. and form accidental is not the perfection of things, nor giveth them being. but each form accidental needeth a form substantial. and each form is more simple and more actual and noble than matter. and so the form asketh that shall be printed in the matter, the matter ought to be disposed and also arrayed. for if fire shall be made of matter of earth, it needeth that the matter of earth be made subtle and pured and more simple. form maketh matter known. matter is cause that we see things that are made, and so nothing is more common and general than matter. and natheless nothing is more unknown than is matter; for matter is never seen without form, nor form may not be seen in deed, but joined to matter. elements are simple, and the least particles of a body that is compound. and it is called least touching us, for it is not perceived by wits of feeling. for it is the least part and last in undoing of the body, as it is first in composition. and is called simple, not for an element is simple without any composition, but for it hath no parts that compound it, that be diverse in kind and in number as some medlied bodies have: as it fareth in metals of the which some parts be diverse; for some part is air, and some is earth. but each part of fire is fire, and so of others. elements are four, and so there are four qualities of elements, of the which every body is composed and made as of matter. the four elements are earth, water, fire, and air, of the which each hath his proper qualities. four be called the first and principal qualities, that is, hot, cold, dry, and moist: they are called the first qualities because they slide first from the elements into the things that be made of elements. two of these qualities are called active--heat and coldness. the others are dry and wetness and are called passive. the rainbow is impression gendered in an hollow cloud and dewy, disposed to rain in endless many gutters, as it were shining in a mirror, and is shapen as a bow, and sheweth divers colours, and is gendered by the beams of the sun or of the moon. and is but seldom gendered by beams of the moon, no more but twice in fifty years, as aristotle saith. in the rainbow by cause of its clearness be seen divers forms, kinds, and shapes that be contrary. therefore the bow seemeth coloured, for, as bede saith, it taketh colour of the four elements. for therein, as it were in any mirror, shineth figures and shapes and kinds of elements. for of fire he taketh red colour in the overmost part, and of earth green in the nethermost, and of the air a manner of brown colour, and of water somedeal blue in the middle. and first is red colour, that cometh out of a light beam, that touches the outer part of the roundness of the cloud: then is a middle colour somedeal blue, as the quality asketh, that hath mastery in the vapour, that is in the middle of the cloud. then the nethermost seemeth a green colour in the nether part of a cloud; there the vapour is more earthly. and these colours are more principal than others. as beda saith, and the master of stories, forty years tofore the doom, the rainbow shall not be seen, and that shall be token of drying, and of default of elements. and though dew be a manner of airy substance, and most subtle outward, natheless in a wonder manner it is strong in working and virtue. for it besprinkleth the earth, and maketh it plenteous, and maketh flour, pith, and marrow increase in corn and grains: and fatteth and bringeth forth broad oysters and other shell fish in the sea, and namely dew of spring time. for by night in spring time oysters open themselves against dew, and receive dew that cometh in between the two shells, and hold and keep it; and that dew so holden and kept feedeth the flesh, and maketh it fat; and by its incorporation with the inner parts of the fish breedeth a full precious gem, a stone that is called margarita. also the birds of ravens, while they are whitish in feathers, ere they are black, dew feedeth and sustaineth them, as gregory saith. fumosities that are drawn out of the waters and off the earth by strength of heat of heaven are drawn to the nethermost part of the middle space of the air, and there by coldness of the place they are made thick, and then by heat dissolving and departing the moisture thereof and not wasting all, these fumosities are resolved and fall and turn into rain and showers. if rain be temperate in quality and quantity, and agreeable to the time, it is profitable to infinite things. for rain maketh the land to bear fruit, and joineth it together, if there be many chines therein, and assuageth and tempereth strength of heat, and cleareth the air, and ceaseth and stinteth winds, and fatteth fish, and helpeth and comforteth dry complexion. and if rain be evil and distemperate in its qualities, and discording to place and time, it is grievous and noyful to many things. for it maketh deepness and uncleanness and slipperiness in ways and in paths, and bringeth forth much unprofitable herbs and grass, and corrupteth and destroyeth fruit and seeds, and quencheth in seeds the natural heat, and maketh darkness and thickness in the air, and taketh from us the sun beams, and gathereth mist and clouds, and letteth the work of labouring men, and tarrieth and letteth ripening of corn and of fruits, and exciteth rheum and running flux, and increaseth and strengtheneth all moist ills, and is cause of hunger and of famine, and of corruption and murrain of beasts and sheep; for corrupt showers do corrupt the grass and herbs of pasture, whereof cometh needful corruption of beasts. of impressions that are gendered in the air of double vapour, the first is thunder, the which impression is gendered in watery substance of a cloud. for moving and shaking hither and thither of hot vapour and dry, that fleeth its contrary, is beset and constrained in every side, and smit into itself, and is thereby set on fire and on flame, and quencheth itself at last in the cloud, as aristotle saith. when a storm of full strong winds cometh in to the clouds, and the whirling wind and the storm increaseth, and seeketh out passage: it cleaveth and breaketh the cloud, and falleth out with a great rese and strong, and all to breaketh the parts of the cloud, and so it cometh to the ears of men and of beasts with horrible and dreadful breaking and noise. and that is no wonder: for though a bladder be light, yet it maketh great noise and sound, if it be strongly blown, and afterward violently broken. and with the thunder cometh lightning, but lightning is sooner seen, for it is clear and bright; and thunder cometh later to our ears, for the wit of sight is more subtle than the wit of hearing. as a man seeth sooner the stroke of a man that heweth a tree, than he heareth the noise of the stroke. the lightning which is called clarum is of a wonderful kind, for it catcheth and draweth up wine out of the tuns, and toucheth not the vessel, and melteth gold and silver in purses, and melteth not the purse. as wits and virtues are needed to the ruling of kind, so to the perfection thereof needeth needly some spirits, by whose benefit and continual moving, both wits and virtues in beasts are ruled to work and do their deeds. as we speak here of a spirit, a spirit is called a certain substance, subtle and airy, that stirreth and exciteth the virtues of the body to their doings and works. a spirit is a subtle body, by the strength of heat gendered, and in man's body giving life by the veins of the body, and by the veins and pulses giveth to beasts, breath, life, and pulses, and working, wilful moving, and wit by means of sinews and muscles in bodies that have souls. physicians say that this spirit is gendered in this manner wise. whiles by heat working in the blood, in the liver is caused strong boiling and seething, and thereof cometh a smoke, the which is pured, and made subtle of the veins of the liver. and turneth into a subtle spiritual substance and airly kind, and that is called the natural spirit. for kindly by the might thereof it maketh the blood subtle. and by lightness thereof it moveth the blood and sendeth it about into all the limbs. and this same spirit turneth to heartward by certain veins. and there by moving and smiting together of the parts of the heart, the spirit is more pured, and turned into a more subtle kind. and then it is called of physicians the vital spirit: because that from the heart, by the wosen, and veins, and small ways, it spreadeth itself into all the limbs of the body, and increaseth the virtues spiritual, and ruleth and keepeth the works thereof. for out of a den of the left side of the heart cometh an artery vein, and in his moving is departed into two branches: the one thereof goeth downward, and spreadeth in many boughs, and sprays, by means of which the vital spirit is brought to give the life to all the nether limbs of the body. the other bough goeth upward, and is again departed in three branches. the right bough thereof goeth to the right arm, and the left bough to the left arm equally, and spreadeth in divers sprays. and so the vital spirit is spread into all the body and worketh in the artery veins the pulses of life. the middle bough extendeth itself to the brain, and other higher parts and giveth life, and spreadeth the vital spirit in all the parts about. the same spirit piercing and passing forth to the dens of the brain, is there more directed and made subtle, and is changed into the animal spirit, which is more subtle than the other. and so this animal spirit is gendered in the foremost den of the brain, and is somewhat spread into the limbs of feeling. but yet nevertheless some part thereof abideth in the aforesaid dens, that common sense, the common wit, and the virtue imaginative may be made perfect. then he passeth forth into the middle den that is called logistic, to make the intellect and understanding perfect. and when he hath enformed the intellect, then he passeth forth to the den of memory, and bearing with him the prints of likeness, which are made in those other dens, he layeth them up in the chamber of memory. from the hindermost parts of the brain he pierceth and passeth by the marrow of the ridge bone, and cometh to the sinews of moving, that so wilful moving may be engendered, in all the parts of the nether body. then one and the same spirit is named by divers names. for by working in the liver it is called the natural spirit, in the heart the vital spirit, and in the head, the animal spirit. we may not believe that this spirit is man's reasonable soul, but more soothly, as saith austin, the car therof and proper instrument. for by means of such a spirit the soul is joined to the body: and without the service of such a spirit, no act the soul may perfectly exercise in the body. and therefore if these spirits be impaired, or let of their working in any work, the accord of the body and soul is resolved, the reasonable spirit is let of all its works in the body. as it is seen in them that be amazed, and mad men and frantic, and in others that oft lose use of reason. the sight is most simple, for it is fiery, and knoweth suddenly things that be full far. the sight is shapen in this manner. in the middle of the eye, that is, the black thereof, is a certain humour most pure and clear. the philosophers call it crystalloid, for it taketh suddenly divers forms and shapes of colours as crystal doth. the sight is a wit of perceiving and knowing of colours, figures, and shapes, and outer properties. then to make the sight perfect, these things are needful, that is to wit, the cause efficient, the limb of the eye convenient to the thing that shall be seen, the air that bringeth the likeness to the eye, and taking heed, and easy moving. the cause efficient is that virtue that is called animal. the instrument and limb is the humour like crystal in either eye clear and round. it is clear that by the clearness thereof the eye may beshine the spirit, and air; it is round that it be stronger to withstand griefs. the outer thing helping to work, is the air, without which being a means, the sight may not be perfect. it needeth to take heed, for if the soul be occupied about other things than longeth to the sight, the sight is the less perfect. for it deemeth not of the thing that is seen. and easy moving is needful, for if the thing that is seen moveth too swiftly, the sight is cumbered and disparcled with too swift and continual moving: as it is in an oar that seemeth broken in the water, through the swift moving of the water. in three manners the sight is made. one manner by straight lines, upon the which the likeness of the thing that is seen, cometh to the sight. another manner, upon lines rebounded again: when the likeness of a thing cometh therefrom to a shewer, and is bent, and re-boundeth from the shewer to the sight. the third manner is by lines, the which though they be not bent and rebounded, but stretched between the thing that is seen and the sight: yet they pass not always forthright, but other whiles they blench some whether, aside from the straight way. and that is when divers manners spaces of divers clearness and thickness be put between the sight and the thing that is seen. aristotle rehearseth these five mean colours [between white and black] by name, and calleth the first yellow, and the second citrine, and the third red, the fourth purple, and the fifth green. in the book meteorics, a little before the end, aristotle saith that gold, as other metals, hath other matter of subtle brimstone and red, and of quicksilver subtle and white. in the composition thereof is more sadness of brimstone than of air and moisture of quicksilver, and therefore gold is more sad and heavy than silver. in composition of silver is more commonly quicksilver than white brimstone. then among metals nothing is more sad in substance, or more better compact than gold. and therefore though it be put in fire, it wasteth not by smoking and vapours, nor lesseth not the weight, and so it is not wasted in fire, but if it be melted with strong heat, then if any filth be therein, it is cleansed thereof. and that maketh the gold more pure and shining. no metal stretcheth more with hammer work than gold, for it stretcheth so, that between the anvil and the hammer without breaking and rending in pieces it stretcheth to gold foil. and among metals there is none fairer in sight than gold, and therefore among painters gold is chief and fairest in sight, and so it embellisheth colour and shape, and colour of other metals. also among metals is nothing so effectual in virtue as gold. plato describeth the virtue thereof and saith that it is more temperate and pure than other metals. for it hath virtue to comfort and for to cleanse superfluities gathered in bodies. and therefore it helpeth against leprosy and meselry. the filings of gold taken in meat or in drink or in medicine, preserve and let breeding of leperhood, or namely hideth it and maketh it unknown. orpiment is a vein of the earth, or a manner of free stone that cleaveth and breaketh, and it is like to gold in colour: and this is called arsenic by another name, and is double, red and citron. it hath kind of brimstone, of burning and drying. and if it be laid to brass, it maketh the brass white, and burneth and wasteth all bodies of metal, out take gold. though silver be white yet it maketh black lines and strakes in the body that is scored therewith. in composition thereof is quicksilver and white brimstone, and therefore it is not so heavy as gold. there are two manner of silvers, simple and compound. the simple is fleeting, and is called quicksilver; the silver compounded is massy and sad, and is compounded of quicksilver pure and clean, and of white brimstone, not burning, as aristotle saith. quicksilver is a watery substance medlied strongly with subtle earthly things, and may not be dissolved: and that is for great dryness of earth that melteth not on a plain thing. therefore it cleaveth not to thing that it toucheth, as doth the thing that is watery. the substance thereof is white: and that is for clearness of clear water, and for whiteness of subtle earth that is well digested. also it hath whiteness of medlying of air with the aforesaid things. also quicksilver hath the property that it curdeth not by itself kindly without brimstone: but with brimstone, and with substance of lead, it is congealed and fastened together. and therefore it is said, that quicksilver and brimstone is the element, that is to wit matter, of which all melting metal is made. quicksilver is matter of all metal, and therefore in respect of them it is a simple element. isidore saith it is fleeting, for it runneth and is specially found in silver forges as it were drops of silver molten. and it is oft found in old dirt of sinks, and in slime of pits. and also it is made of minium done in caverns of iron, and a patent or a shell done thereunder; and the vessel that is anointed therewith, shall be be-clipped with burning coals, and then the quicksilver shall drop. without this silver nor gold nor latten nor copper may be overgilt. and it is of so great virtue and strength, that though thou do a stone of an hundred pound weight upon quicksilver of the weight of two pounds, the quicksilver anon withstandeth the weight. and if thou doest thereon a scruple of gold, it ravisheth unto itself the lightness thereof. and so it appeareth it is not weight, but nature to which it obeyeth. it is best kept in glass vessels, for it pierceth, boreth, and fretteth other matters. if an adamant be set by iron, it suffereth not the iron to come to the magnet, but it draweth it by a manner of violence from the magnet, so that though the magnet draweth iron to itself, the adamant draweth it away from the magnet. it is called a precious stone of reconciliation and of love. for if a woman be away from her housebond, or trespasseth against him: by virtue of this stone, she is the sooner reconciled to have grace of her husband. crystal is a bright stone and clear, with watery colour. men trowe that it is of snow or ice made hard in space of many years. this stone set in the sun taketh fire, insomuch if dry tow be put thereto, it setteth the tow on fire. that crystal materially is made of water, gregory on ezekiel i. saith: water, saith he, is of itself fleeting, but by strength of cold it is turned and made stedfast crystal. and hereof aristotle telleth the cause in his meteorics: there he saith that stony things of substance of ore are water in matter. ricardus rufus saith: stone ore is of water: but for it hath more of dryness of earth than things that melt, therefore they were not frozen only with coldness of water, but also by dryness of earth that is mingled therewith, when the watery part of the earth and glassy hath mastery on the water, and the aforesaid cold hath the victory and mastery. and so saint gregory his reason is true, that saith, that crystal may be gendered of water. in old time or the use of iron was known, men eared land with brass, and fought therewith in war and battle. that time gold and silver were forsaken, and gold is now in the most worship, so age that passeth and vadeth changeth times of things. brass and copper are made in this manner as other metals be, of brimstone and quicksilver, and that happeneth when there is more of brimstone than of quicksilver, and the brimstone is earthy and not pure, with red colour and burning, and quicksilver is mean and not subtle. of such medlying brass is gendered. electrum is a metal and hath that name, for in the sunbeam it shineth more clear than gold or silver. and this metal is more noble than other metals. and hereof are three manners of kinds. the third manner is made of three parts of gold, and of the fourth of silver: and kind electrum is of that kind, for in twinkling and in light it shineth more clear than all other metal, and warneth of venom, for if one dip it therein, it maketh a great chinking noise, and changeth oft into divers colours as the rainbow, and that suddenly. heliotrope is a precious stone, and is green, and sprinkled with red drops, and veins of the colour of blood. if it be put in water before the sunbeams, it maketh the water seethe in the vessel that it is in, and resolveth it as it were into mist, and soon after it is resolved into rain-drops. also it seemeth that this same stone may do wonders, for if it be put in a basin with clear water, it changeth the sunbeams by rebounding of the air, and seemeth to shadow them, and breedeth in the air red and sanguine colour, as though the sun were in eclypse and darkened. an herb of the same name, with certain enchantments, doth beguile the sight of men that look thereon, and maketh a man that beareth it not to be seen. though iron cometh of the earth, yet it is most hard and sad, and therefore with beating and smiting it suppresseth and dilateth all other metal, and maketh it stretch on length and on breadth. iron is gendered of quicksilver thick and not clean, full of earthy holes, and of brimstone, great and boisterous and not pure. in composition of iron is more of the aforesaid brimstone than of quicksilver, and so for mastery of cold and dry and of earthy matter, iron is dry and cold and full well hard, and is compact together in its parts. and for iron hath less of airy and watery moisture than other metals: therefore it is hard to resolve and make it again to be nesh in fire. use of iron is more needful to men in many things than use of gold: though covetous men love more gold than iron. without iron the commonalty be not sure against enemies, without dread of iron the common right is not governed; with iron innocent men are defended: and fool-hardiness of wicked men is chastised with dread of iron. and well nigh no handiwork is wrought without iron: no field is eared without iron, neither tilling craft used, nor building builded without iron. and therefore isidore saith that iron hath its name _ferrum_, for that thereby _farra_, that is corn and seed, is tilled and sown. for, without iron, bread is not won of the earth, nor bread is not departed when it is ready without iron convenably to man's use. of lead are two manner of kinds, white and black, and the white is the better, and was first found in the islands of the atlantic sea in old time, and is now found in many places. for in france and in portugal is a manner of black earth found full of gravel and of small stones, and is washed and blown, and so of that matter cometh the substance of lead. also in gold quarries with matter of gold are small stones found, and are gathered with the gold, and blown by themselves, and turn all to lead, and therefore gold is as heavy as lead. but of black lead is double kind. for black lead cometh alone of a vein, or is gendered of silver in medlied veins, and is blown, and in blowing first cometh tin, and then silver, and then what leaveth is blown and turneth into black lead. aristotle saith that of brimstone that is boisterous and not swiftly pured, but troublous and thick, and of quicksilver, the substance of lead is gendered, and is gendered in mineral places; so of uncleanness of impure brimstone lead hath a manner of neshness, and smircheth his hand that toucheth it. and with wiping and cleansing, this uncleanness of lead may be taken away for a time, but never for always; a man may wipe off the uncleanness but alway it is lead although it seemeth silver. but strange qualities have mastery therein and beguile men, and make them err therein. some men take sal ammoniac (to cleanse it) as aristotle saith, and assigneth the cause of this uncleanness and saith, that in boisterous lead is evil quicksilver heavy and fenny. also that brimstone thereof is evil vapour and stinking. therefore it freezeth not well at full. hermes saith that lead in boiling undoeth the hardness of all sad and hard bodies, and also of the stone adamant. aristotle speaketh of lead in the meteorics and saith that lead without doubt when it is molten is as quicksilver, but it melteth not without heat, and then all that is molten seemeth red. wonder it is that though lead be pale or brown, yet by burning or by refudation of vinegar oft it gendereth seemly colour and fair, as tewly, red, and such other; therewith women paint themselves for to seem fair of colour. the sapphire is a precious stone, and is blue in colour, most like to heaven in fair weather, and clear, and is best among precious stones, and most apt and able to fingers of kings. its virtue is contrary to venom and quencheth it every deal. and if thou put an addercop in a box, and hold a very sapphire of ind at the mouth of the box any while, by virtue thereof the addercop is overcome and dieth, as it were suddenly. and this same i have seen proved oft in many and divers places. tin in fire departeth metals of divers kind, and it departeth lead and brass from gold and silver, and defendeth other metals in hot fire. and though brass and iron be most hard in kind, yet if they be in strong fire without tin, they burn and waste away. if brazen vessels be tinned, the tin abateth the venom of rust, and amendeth the savour. also mirrors be tempered with tin, and white colour that is called ceruse is made of tin, as it is made of lead. aristotle saith that tin is compounded of good quicksilver and of evil brimstone. and these twain be not well medlied but in small parts compounded, therefore tin hath colour of silver but not the sadness thereof. in the book of alchemy hermes saith, that tin breaketh all metals and bodies that it is medlied with, and that for the great dryness of tin. and destroyeth in metal the kind that is obedient to hammer work. and if thou medliest quicksilver therewith, it withstandeth the crassing thereof and maketh it white, but afterward it maketh it black and defileth it. also there it is said that burnt tin gendereth red colour, as lead doth; and if the fire be strong, the first matter of tin cometh soon again. also though tin be more nesh than silver, and more hard than lead, yet lead may not be soon soldered to lead nor to brass nor to iron without tin. neither may these be soldered without grease or tallow. brimstone is a vein of the earth and hath much air and fire in its composition. of brimstone there are four kinds. one is called _vivum_, the which when it is digged, shineth and flourisheth, the which only among all the kinds thereof physicians use. avicenna means that brimstone is hot and dry in the fourth degree, and is turned into kind of brimstone in part of water, of earth, and of fire, and that brimstone is sometimes great and boisterous and full of drausts, and sometimes pure white, clear and subtle, and sometimes mean between both. and by this diverse disposition, divers metals are gendered of brimstone and of quicksilver. glass, as avicen saith, is among stones as a fool among men, for it taketh all manner of colour and painting. glass was first found beside ptolomeida in the cliff beside the river that is called vellus, that springeth out of the foot of mount carmel, at which shipmen arrived. for upon the gravel of that river shipmen made fire of clods medlied with bright gravel, and thereof ran streams of new liquor, that was the beginning of glass. it is so pliant that it taketh anon divers and contrary shapes by blast of the glazier, and is sometimes beaten, and sometimes graven as silver. and no matter is more apt to make mirrors than is glass, or to receive painting; and if it be broken it may not be amended without melting again. but long time past, there was one that made glass pliant, which might be amended and wrought with an hammer, and brought a vial made of such glass tofore tiberius the emperor, and threw it down on the ground, and it was not broken but bent and folded. and he made it right and amended it with an hammer. then the emperor commanded to smite off his head anon, lest that his craft were known. for then gold should be no better than fen, and all other metal should be of little worth, for certain if glass vessels were not brittle, they should be accounted of more value than vessels of gold. all the planets move by double moving; by their own kind moving out of the west into the east, against the moving of the firmament; and by other moving out of the east into the west, and that by ravishing of the firmament. by violence of the firmament they are ravished every day out of the east into the west. and by their kindly moving, by the which they labour to move against the firmament, some of them fulfil their course in shorter time, and some in longer time. and that is for their courses are some more and some less. for saturn abideth in every sign xxx months, and full endeth its course in xxx years. jupiter dwelleth in every sign one year, and full endeth its course in xii years. mars abideth in every sign xlv days, and full endeth its course in two years. the sun abideth in every sign xxx days and ten hours and a half, and full endeth its course in ccclxv days and vi hours. mercury abideth in every sign xxviii days and vi hours, and full endeth its course in cccxxxviii days. venus abideth in every sign days, and full endeth its course in days. the moon abideth in every sign two days and a half, and six hours and one bisse less, and full endeth its course from point to point in days and hours. and by entering and out passing of these stars into the signs and out thereof everything that is bred and corrupt in this nether world is varied and disposed, and therefore in the philosopher's book mesalath it is read in this manner: "the highest made the world to the likeness of a sphere, and made the highest circle above it moveable in the earth, pight and stedfast in the middle thereof; not withdrawing toward the left side, nor toward the right side, and set the other elements moveable, and made them move by the moving of planets, and all other stars help the planets in their working and kind." every creature upon earth hath a manner inclination by the moving of the planets, and destruction cometh by moving and working of planets. the working of them varieth and is diverse by diversity of climates and countries. for they work one manner of thing about the land of blue men, and another about the land and country of slavens.... in the signs the planets move and abate with double moving, and move by accidental ravishing of the firmament out of the east into the west; and by kindly moving, the which is double, the first and the second. the first moving is the round moving that a planet maketh in its own circle, and passeth never the marks and bounds of the circle. the second moving is that he maketh under the zodiac, and passeth alway like great space in a like space of time. and the first moving of a planet is made in its own circle that is called eccentric, and it is called so for the earth is not the middle thereof, as it is the middle of the circle that is called zodiac. epicycle is a little circle that a planet describeth, and goeth about therein by the moving of its body, and the body of the planet goeth about the roundness thereof. and therefore it sheweth, that the sun and other planets move in their own circles; and first alike swift, though they move diversely in divers circles. also in these circles the manner moving of planets is full wisely found of astronomers, that are called direct, stationary, and retrograde motion. forthright moving is in the over part of the circle that is called epicycle, backward is in the nether part, and stinting and abiding or hoving is in the middle. ii mediaeval manners the sixth book of our author deals with the conditions of man, passing in review youth and age, male and female, serf and lord. our extracts from it fall into three groups. the first deals in great measure with the relations of family life. we have an account of the boy and the girl (as they appeared to a friar "of orders grey"), the infant and its nurse. however we may suspect bartholomew of wishing to provide a text in his account of the bad boy, it is consoling to find that the "enfant terrible" had his counterpart in the thirteenth century, as well as the maiden known to us all, who is "demure and soft of speech, but well ware of what she says." the second group presents mediaeval society to us under the influence of chivalry. suitably enough, we have beside each other most lifelike pictures of the base and superstructure of the system. this, the man-- free, generous; that, the serf--vile, ungrateful, kept in order by fear alone, but the necessary counterpart of the splendid figure of his master. one of our writers today has regretted the absence of a chapter in praise of the good man to set beside solomon's picture of the virtuous woman. bartholomew has certainly endeavoured in the two chapters quoted here, "of a man," and "of a good lord," to picture the ideal good man of chivalrous times. it may, however, be permitted those of us who look at the system from underneath, to sympathise with our fellows who struggled to free themselves from bondage under tyler and john ball at least as much as with their splendid oppressors, and to recognise that the feudal system, however necessary in the thirteenth century, lost its value when its lords had ceased to be such good lords as our author describes. the third group would naturally consist of passages illustrating the daily life of our ancestors, but the editor has found some difficulty in getting together passages enough for the purpose without trenching on the confines of other chapters. he has accordingly left them scattered over the book, persuaded that the reader will feel their import better when they are seen in their context. such a book as this is not open to the objections urged against pictures of mediaeval life drawn from romances, that the situations are invented and the manners suited to the situation. here all is true, and written with no other aim than that of utilising knowledge common to all. everywhere through these extracts little statements--a few words in most cases--crop up giving us information of this kind; but it would be impossible to do more than allude to them. leaving our reader to notice them as they are met with, the description of a mediaeval dinner concludes the chapter. the chapter describing a supper which follows it in the original is too long for quotation, and is vitiated by a desire to draw analogies. but one feature is noteworthy: among the properties of a good supper, "the ninth is plenty of light of candles, and of prickets, and of torches. for it is shame to sup in darkness, and perillous also for flies and other filth. therefore candles and prickets are set on candlesticks and chandeliers, lanterns and lamps are necessary to burn." this little touch gives us the reverse of the picture, and reminds us of the knight of the tower's caution to his daughters about their behaviour at a feast. such children be nesh of flesh, lithe and pliant of body, able and light to moving, witty to learn. and lead their lives without thought and care. and set their courages only of mirth and liking, and dread no perils more than beating with a rod: and they love an apple more than gold. when they be praised, or shamed, or blamed, they set little thereby. through stirring and moving of the heat of the flesh and of humours, they be lightly and soon wroth, and soon pleased, and lightly they forgive. and for tenderness of body they be soon hurt and grieved, and may not well endure hard travail. since all children be tatched with evil manners, and think only on things that be, and reck not of things that shall be, they love plays, game, and vanity, and forsake winning and profit. and things most worthy they repute least worthy, and least worthy most worthy. they desire things that be to them contrary and grievous, and set more of the image of a child, than of the image of a man, and make more sorrow and woe, and weep more for the loss of an apple, than for the loss of their heritage. and the goodness that is done for them, they let it pass out of mind. they desire all things that they see, and pray and ask with voice and with hand. they love talking and counsel of such children as they be, and void company of old men. they keep no counsel, but they tell all that they hear or see. suddenly they laugh, and suddenly they weep. always they cry, jangle, and jape; that unneth they be still while they sleep. when they be washed of filth, anon they defile themselves again. when their mother washeth and combeth them, they kick and sprawl, and put with feet and with hands, and withstand with all their might. they desire to drink always, unneth they are out of bed, when they cry for meat anon. men behove to take heed of maidens: for they be tender of complexion; small, pliant and fair of disposition of body: shamefast, fearful, and merry. touching outward disposition they be well nurtured, demure and soft of speech, and well ware of what they say: and delicate in their apparel. and for a woman is more meeker than a man, she weepeth sooner. and is more envious, and more laughing, and loving, and the malice of the soul is more in a woman than in a man. and she is of feeble kind, and she maketh more lesings, and is more shamefast, and more slow in working and in moving than is a man. a nurse hath that name of nourishing, for she is ordained to nourish and to feed the child, and therefore like as the mother, the nurse is glad if the child be glad, and heavy, if the child be sorry, and taketh the child up if it fall, and giveth it suck: if it weep she kisseth and lulleth it still, and gathereth the limbs, and bindeth them together, and doth cleanse and wash it when it is defiled. and for it cannot speak, the nurse lispeth and soundeth the same words to teach more easily the child that cannot speak. and she useth medicines to bring the child to convenable estate if it be sick, and lifteth it up now on her shoulders, now on her hands, now on her knees and lap, and lifteth it up if it cry or weep. and she cheweth meat in her mouth, and maketh it ready to the toothless child, that it may the easilier swallow that meat, and so she feedeth the child when it is an hungered, and pleaseth the child with whispering and songs when it shall sleep, and swatheth it in sweet clothes, and righteth and stretcheth out its other. a man hath so great love to his wife that for her sake he adventureth himself to all perils; and setteth her love afore his mother's love; for he dwelleth with his wife, and forsaketh father and mother. afore wedding, the spouse thinketh to win love of her that he wooeth with gifts, and certifieth of his will with letters and messengers, and with divers presents, and giveth many gifts, and much good and cattle, and promiseth much more. and to please her he putteth him to divers plays and games among gatherings of men, and useth oft deeds of arms, of might, and of mastery. and maketh him gay and seemly in divers clothing and array. and all that he is prayed to give and to do for her love, he giveth and doth anon with all his might. and denieth no petition that is made in her name and for her love. he speaketh to her pleasantly, and beholdeth her cheer in the face with pleasing and glad cheer, and with a sharp eye, and at last assenteth to her, and telleth openly his will in presence of her friends, and spouseth her with a ring, and giveth her gifts in token of contract of wedding, and maketh her charters, and deeds of grants and of gifts. he maketh revels and feasts and spousals, and giveth many good gifts to friends and guests, and comforteth and gladdeth his guests with songs and pipes and other minstrelsy of music. and afterward, when all this is done, he bringeth her to the privities of his chamber, and maketh her fellow at bed and at board. and then he maketh her lady of his money, and of his house, and meinie. and then he is no less diligent and careful for her than he is for himself: and specially lovingly he adviseth her if she do amiss, and taketh good heed to keep her well, and taketh heed of her bearing and going, of her speaking and looking, of her passing and ayencoming, out and home. no man hath more wealth, than he that hath a good woman to his wife, and no man hath more woe, than he that hath an evil wife, crying and jangling, chiding and scolding, drunken, lecherous, and unsteadfast, and contrary to him, costly, stout and gay, envious, noyful, leaping over lands, much suspicious, and wrathful. in a good spouse and wife behoveth these conditions, that she be busy and devout in god's service, meek and serviceable to her husband, and fair- speaking and goodly to her meinie, merciful and good to wretches that be needy, easy and peaceable to her neighbours, ready, wary, and wise in things that should be avoided, mightiful and patient in suffering, busy and diligent in her doing, mannerly in clothing, sober in moving, wary in speaking, chaste in looking, honest in bearing, sad in going, shamefast among the people, merry and glad with her husband, and chaste in privity. such a wife is worthy to be praised, that entendeth more to please her husband with such womanly dues, than with her braided hairs, and desireth more to please him with virtues than with fair and gay clothes, and useth the goodness of matrimony more because of children than of fleshly liking, and hath more liking to have children of grace than of kind. a man loveth his child and feedeth and nourisheth it, and setteth it at his own board when it is weaned. and teacheth him in his youth with speech and words, and chasteneth him with beating, and setteth him and putteth him to learn under ward and keeping of wardens and tutors. and the father sheweth him no glad cheer, lest he wax proud, and he loveth most the son that is like to him, and looketh oft on him. and giveth to his children clothing, meat and drink as their age requireth, and purchaseth lands and heritage for his children, and ceaseth not to make it more and more. and entaileth his purchase, and leaveth it to his heirs.... the child cometh of the substance of father and mother, and taketh of them feeding and nourishing, and profiteth not, neither liveth, without help of them. the more the father loveth his child, the more busily he teacheth and chastiseth him and holdeth him the more strait under chastising and lore; and when the child is most loved of the father it seemeth that he loveth him not; for he beateth and grieveth him oft lest he draw to evil manners and tatches, and the more the child is like to the father, the better the father loveth him. the father is ashamed if he hear any foul thing told by his children. the father's heart is sore grieved, if his children rebel against him. in feeding and nourishing of their children stands the most business and charge of the parents. some servants be bond and born in bondage, and such have many pains by law. for they may not sell nor give away their own good and cattle, nother make contracts, nother take office of dignity, nother bear witness without leave of their lords. wherefore though they be not in childhood, they be oft punished with pains of childhood. other servants there be, the which being taken with strangers and aliens and with enemies be bought and sold, and held low under the yoke of thraldom. the third manner of servants be bound freely by their own good will, and serve for reward and for hire. and these commonly be called famuli. the name lord is a name of sovereignty, of power, and of might. for without a lord might not the common profit stand secure, neither the company of men might be peaceable and quiet. for if power and might of rightful lords were withholden and taken away, then were malice free, and goodness and innocence never secure, as saith isidore. a rightful lord, by way of rightful law, heareth and determineth causes, pleas, and strifes, that be between his subjects, and ordaineth that every man have his own, and draweth his sword against malice, and putteth forth his shield of righteousness, to defend innocents against evil doers, and delivereth small children and such as be fatherless, and motherless, and widows, of them that overset them. and he pursueth robbers and rievers, thieves, and other evil doers. and useth his power not after his own will, but he ordaineth and disposeth it as the law asketh.... by reason of one good king and one good lord, all a country is worshipped, and dreaded, and enhanced also. also this name lord is a name of peace and surety. for a good lord ceaseth war, battle, and fighting; and accordeth them that be in strife. and so under a good, a strong, and a peaceable lord, men of the country be secure and safe. for there dare no man assail his lordship, ne in no manner break his peace. meat and drink be ordained and convenient to dinners and to feasts, for at feasts first meat is prepared and arrayed, guests be called together, forms and stools be set in the hall, and tables, cloths, and towels be ordained, disposed, and made ready. guests be set with the lord in the chief place of the board, and they sit not down at the board before the guests wash their hands. children be set in their place, and servants at a table by themselves. first knives, spoons, and salts be set on the board, and then bread and drink, and many divers messes; household servants busily help each other to do everything diligently, and talk merrily together. the guests be gladded with lutes and harps. now wine and now messes of meat be brought forth and departed. at the last cometh fruit and spices, and when they have eaten, board, cloths, and relief are borne away, and guests wash and wipe their hands again. then grace is said, and guests thank the lord. then for gladness and comfort drink is brought yet again. when all this is done at meat, men take their leave, and some go to bed and sleep, and some go home to their own lodgings. iii mediaeval medicine the seventh book of the "de proprietatibus" treats of the human body and its ailments. at first glance it might seem that such a subject would be repulsive, either in matter or handling, to the general reader of today, but it will, we think, be found that there are many points of interest in it for us, some of which we proceed to indicate. mankind has always felt a deep interest in certain diseases, to which we are even now subject, and so parts of the chapters on leprosy and hydrophobia have been reproduced. the accounts given of frenzy and madness interest us both as a picture of the change in manners, as an example of the methods of cure proposed, and as throwing light on many passages. thus chaucer, speaking of arcite, describes his passion as compounded of melancholy which deprives him of reason, overflowing into the foremost cell of his brain, the cell fantastic, and causing him to act as if mad. "nought oonly lyke the loveres maladye of hereos, but rather lyk manye, engendered of humour malencolyk byforen in his selle fantastyk." k. t., , etc. physicians recommend music as a cure in mental troubles, but that it is no new discovery is attested by shakespeare and our author. compare what bartholomew says of the voice, with richard's speech: "this music mads me, let it sound no more, for though it have holp madmen to their wits, in me it seems it will make wise men mad." the origin of the brutality towards madmen warred against by charles reade, and described in "romeo and juliet"-- "not mad, but bound more than a madman is, shut up in prison, kept without my food, whipp'd and tormented"-- is seen in our extracts, which recall, too, in their insistence on bleeding the "head vein," juvenal's remark on his friend about to marry: "o medici, mediam pertundite venam." some space has already been devoted (p. ) to the physiology of the human body, but this chapter would not be complete if we did not devote some space to the explanations given of the working of the heart, veins, and arteries, at a time when the circulation of the blood was unknown. it may not be amiss to remind the reader that arteries carry blood from the heart, to which it is returned by the veins, after passing through a fine network of tubes called the capillaries. turning to what may be called the popular physiology of the time, we may note the change, since mediaeval times, in the allocation of properties to the organs of the body. in our days, the heart and brain set aside, we find no organ mentioned in connection with the various faculties of the body, while up to shakespeare's time each organ had its passion. some of these emotions have much changed their seats. true love, which now reigns over the heart, then took its rise in the liver. the friar in "much ado about nothing" says of claudio, "if ever love had interest in his liver"; and the duke in "twelfth night," speaking of women's love, says: "alas, their love may be call'd appetite, no motion of the liver, but the palate." the heart, on the other hand, was considered as the seat of wisdom. the spleen is now almost a synonym for bitterness of spirit, but it used to be regarded as the source of laughter. isabella in "measure for measure," after the well-known quotation about man dressed in a little brief authority who plays such apish tricks as make the angels weep, says they would laugh instead if they had spleens: "who, with our spleens, would all themselves laugh mortal." the brain in mediaeval times was regarded only as the home of the "wits of feeling"--the senses. some other points of interest in mediaeval medicine are the strange remedies prescribed, and the way in which they were hit upon. the editor has not made many selections to illustrate this, nor has he sought out the most strange. and lastly, in this, as in most of the other chapters, much may be learnt of the customs of the time from the indications of the text. these be the signs of frenzy, woodness and continual waking, moving and casting about the eyes, raging, stretching, and casting out of hands, moving and wagging of the head, grinding and gnashing together of the teeth; always they will arise out of their bed, now they sing, now they weep, and they bite gladly and rend their keeper and their leech: seldom be they still, but cry much. and these be most perilously sick, and yet they wot not then that they be sick. then they must be soon holpen lest they perish, and that both in diet and in medicine. the diet shall be full scarce, as crumbs of bread, which must many times be wet in water. the medicine is, that in the beginning the patient's head be shaven, and washed in lukewarm vinegar, and that he be well kept or bound in a dark place. diverse shapes of faces and semblance of painting shall not be shewed tofore him, lest he be tarred with woodness. all that be about him shall be commanded to be still and in silence; men shall not answer to his nice words. in the beginning of medicine he shall be let blood in a vein of the forehead, and bled as much as will fill an egg-shell. afore all things (if virtue and age suffereth) he shall bleed in the head vein. over all things, with ointments and balming men shall labour to bring him asleep. the head that is shaven shall be plastered with lungs of a swine, or of a wether, or of a sheep; the temples and forehead shall be anointed with the juice of lettuce, or of poppy. if after these medicines are laid thus to, the woodness dureth three days without sleep, there is no hope of recovery. madness is infection of the foremost cell of the head, with privation of imagination, like as melancholy is the infection of the middle cell of the head, with privation of reason. madness cometh sometime of passions of the soul, as of business and of great thoughts, of sorrow and of too great study, and of dread: sometime of the biting of a wood hound, or some other venomous beast: sometime of melancholy meats, and sometime of drink of strong wine. and as the causes be diverse, the tokens and signs be diverse. for some cry and leap and hurt and wound themselves and other men, and darken and hide themselves in privy and secret places. the medicine of them is, that they be bound, that they hurt not themselves and other men. and namely, such shall be refreshed, and comforted, and withdrawn from cause and matter of dread and busy thoughts. and they must be gladded with instruments of music, and somedeal be occupied. our lord set a token in cain, that was quaking of head, as strabus saith in the gloss: "every man (saith strabus) that findeth me, by quaking of head and moving of wood heart, shall know that i am guilty to die." among all the passions and evils of the wits of feeling, blindness is most wretched. for without any bond, blindness is a prison to the blind. and blindness beguileth the virtue imaginative in knowing; for in deeming of white the blind deem it is black, and ayenward. it letteth the virtue of avisement in deeming. for he deemeth and aviseth, and casteth to go eastward, and is beguiled in his doom, and goeth westward. and blindness over-turneth the virtue of affection and desire. for if men proffer the blind a silver penny and a copper to choose the better, he desireth to choose the silver penny, but he chooseth the copper. the blind man's wretchedness is so much, that it maketh him not only subject to a child, or to a servant, for ruling and leading, but also to an hound. and the blind is oft brought to so great need, that to pass and scape the peril of a bridge or of a ford, he is compelled to trust in a hound more than to himself. also oft in perils where all men doubt and dread, the blind man, for he seeth no peril, is secure. and in like wise there as is no peril, the blind dreadeth most. he spurneth oft in plain way, and stumbleth oft; there he should heave up his foot, he boweth it downward. and in like wise there as he should set his foot to the ground, he heaveth it upward. he putteth forth the hand all about groping and grasping, he seeketh all about his way with his hand and with his staff. seldom he doth aught securely, well nigh always he doubteth and dreadeth. also the blind man when he lieth or sitteth thereout, he weeneth that he is under covert; and ofttimes he thinketh himself hid when everybody seeth him. also sometimes the blind beateth and smiteth and grieveth the child that leadeth him, and shall soon repent the beating by doing of the child. for the child hath mind of the beating, and forsaketh him, and leaveth him alone in the middle of a bridge, or in some other peril, and teacheth him not the way to void the peril. therefore the blind is wretched, for in house he dare nothing trustly do, and in the way he dreadeth lest his fellow will forsake him. universally this evil [leprosy] hath much tokens and signs. in them the flesh is notably corrupt, the shape is changed, the eyen become round, the eyelids are revelled, the sight sparkleth, the nostrils are straited and revelled and shrunk. the voice is hoarse, swelling groweth in the body, and many small botches and whelks hard and round, in the legs and in the utter parts; feeling is somedeal taken away. the nails are boystous and bunchy, the fingers shrink and crook, the breath is corrupt, and oft whole men are infected with the stench thereof. the flesh and skin is fatty, insomuch that they may throw water thereon, and it is not the more wet, but the water slides off, as it were off a wet hide. also in the body be diverse specks, now red, now black, now wan, now pale. the tokens of leprosy be most seen in the utter parts, as in the feet, legs, and face; and namely in wasting and minishing of the brawns of the body. to heal or to hide leprosy, best is a red adder with a white womb, if the venom be away, and the tail and the head smitten off, and the body sod with leeks, if it be oft taken and eaten. and this medicine helpeth in many evils; as appeareth by the blind man, to whom his wife gave an adder with garlick instead of an eel, that it might slay him, and he ate it, and after that by much sweat, he recovered his sight again. the biting of a wood hound is deadly and venomous. and such venom is perilous. for it is long hidden and unknown, and increaseth and multiplieth itself, and is sometimes unknown to the year's end, and then the same day and hour of the biting, it cometh to the head, and breedeth frenzy. they that are bitten of a wood hound have in their sleep dreadful sights, and are fearful, astonied, and wroth without cause. and they dread to be seen of other men, and bark as hounds, and they dread water most of all things, and are afeared thereof full sore, and squeamous also. against the biting of a wood hound wise men and ready used to make the wounds bleed with fire or with iron, that the venom may come out with blood, that cometh out of the wound. then consider thou shortly hereof, that a physician visiteth oft the houses and countries of sick men. and seeketh and searcheth the causes and circumstances of the sicknesses, and arrayeth and bringeth with him divers and contrary medicines. and he refuseth not to grope and handle, and to wipe and cleanse wounds of sick men. and he behooteth to all men hope and trust of recovering of health; and saith that he will softly burn that which shall be burnt, and cut that which shall be cut. and lest the whole part should corrupt, he spareth not to burn and to cut off the part that is rotted, and if a part in the right side acheth, he spareth not to smite in the left side. a good leech leaveth not cutting or burning for weeping of the patient. and he hideth and covereth the bitterness of the medicine with some manner of sweetness. he drinketh and tasteth of the medicine, though it be bitter: that it be not against the sick man's heart, and refraineth the sick man of meat and drink; and letteth him have his own will, of the whose health is neither hope nor trust of recovering. the veins have that name for that they be the ways, conduits, and streams of the fleeting of the blood, and sheddeth it into all the body. and constantine saith, that the veins spring out of the liver, as the arteries and wosen do out of the heart, and the sinews out of the brain. and veins are needful as vessels of the blood to bear and to bring blood from the liver, to feed and nourish the members of the body. also needly, the veins are more tender and nesh in kind than sinews. therefore that they be nigh to the liver may somewhat change the blood that cometh to them. and all the veins are made of one curtel, and not of two, as the arteries and wosen. for the arteries receive spirits, and they keep and save them. and the veins coming out of the liver, suck thereof, as it were of their own mother, feeding of blood, and dealeth and departeth that feeding to every member as it needeth. and so the veins spread into all the parts of the body, and by a wonder wit of kind, they do service each to other. also among other veins open and privy, there is a vein, and it is called artery, which is needful in kind to bear and bring kindly heat from the heart to all the other members. and these arteries are made and composed of two small clothings or skins, called curtels, and they be like in shape, and divers in substance. the inner have wrinkles and folding overthwart, and their substance is hard, and more boystous than the utter be. and without they have wrinkles and folding in length: of whom the substance is hard for needfulness of moving, opening, and closing. for by opening, itself doth receive from the heart and that by the wrinklings and folding in length; by closing, itself doth put out superfluous fumosity, which is done by wrinkling and folding the curtels overthwart and in breadth, in the which the spirit is drawn from the heart. wherefore they be harder without than all the other veins, and that is needful lest they break lightly and soon. also these veins spring out of the left hollowness of the heart. and twain of that side are called pulsative, of which one that is the innermost hath a nesh skin, and this vein is needful to bring great quantity of blood and spirits to the lungs, and to receive in air, and to medley it with blood, to temper the ferventness of the blood. this vein entereth into the lungs and is departed there in many manner wises. the other artery is more than the first, and aristotle calleth it horren; this artery cometh up from the heart, and is departed in twain, and the one part cometh upward, and carrieth blood, that is purified and spirit of life to the brain; that so the spirit of feeling may be bred, nourished, kept, and saved. the other part goeth downward, and is departed in many manner wise toward the right side and toward the left. then mark well, that a vein is the bearer and carrier of blood, keeper and warden of the life of beasts. and containeth in itself the four bloody humours clean and pure, which are ordained for feeding of all the parts of the body. moreover, a vein is hollow to receive blood the more easily, and as it needeth in kind, that one vein bring and give blood to another vein. also a vein is messager of health and of sickness. for by the pulse of the arteries and disposition of the veins, physicians deem of the feebleness and strength of the heart. also if a vein be corrupt, and containeth corrupt blood, it corrupteth and infecteth all the body, as it fareth in lepers, whose blood is most corrupt in the veins, of the which the members are fed by sucking of blood, and seeketh thereby corruption and sickness incurable. also the vein of the arm is oft grieved, constrained and wranged, opened and slit, and wounded, to relieve the sickness of all the body by hurting of that vein. the spittle of a man fasting hath a manner strength of privy infection. for it grieveth and hurteth the blood of a beast, if it come into a bleeding wound, and is medlied with the blood. and that, peradventure, is, as saith avicenna, by reason of rawness. for raw humour medlied with blood that hath perfect digestion, is contrary thereto in its quality, and disturbeth the temperance thereof, as authors say. and therefore it is that holy men tell that the spittle of a fasting man slayeth serpents and adders, and is venom to venomous beasts, as saith basil. a discording voice and an inordinate troubleth the accord of many voices. but according voices sweet and ordinate, gladden and move to love, and show out the passions of the soul, and witness the strength and virtue of the spiritual members, and show pureness and good disposition of them, and relieve travail, and put off disease and sorrow. and make to be known the male and the female, and get and win praising, and change the affection of the hearers; as it is said in fables of one orpheus, that pleased trees, woods, hills, and stones, with sweet melody of his voice. also a fair voice is according and friendly to kind. and pleaseth not only men but also brute beasts, as it fareth in oxen that are excited to travail more by sweet song of the herd, than by strokes and pricks. also by sweet songs of harmony and accord or music, sick men and frantic come oft to their wit again and health of body. some men tell that orpheus said, "emperors pray me to feasts, to have liking of me; but i have liking of them which would bend their hearts from wrath to mildness, from sorrow to gladness, from covetousness to largeness, from dread to boldness." this is the ordinance of music, that is known above the sweetness of the soul. now it is known by these foresaid things, how profitable is a merry voice and sweet. and contrariwise is of an unordinate voice and horrible, that gladdeth not, nother comforteth; but is noyful and discomforteth and grieveth the ears and the wit. therefore constantine saith that a philosopher was questioned, why an horrible man is more heavy than any burden or wit. and men say that he answered in this manner. an horrible man is burden to the soul and wit. the lungs be the bellows of the heart. it beateth in opening of itself that it may take in breath, and thrusting together may put it out, and so it is in continual moving, in drawing in and out of breath. the lungs be the proper instrument of the heart, for it keleth the heart, and by subtlety of its substance, changeth the air that is drawn in, and maketh it more subtle. the lungs shapeth the voice, and ceaseth never of moving. for it closeth itself and spreadeth, and keepeth the air to help the heat in its dens and holes. and therefore a beast may not live under the water without stifling, but as long as he may hold in the air that is gathered within. the lungs by continual moving putteth off air that is gathered within, cleanseth and purgeth it, and ministereth continual and convenable feeding to the vital spirit. and departeth the heart from the instruments of feeling, and breedeth foamy humours, and beclippeth aside half the substance of the heart. and when the lungs be grieved by any occasion, it speedeth to death- ward. the liver hath name, for fire hath place therein, that passeth up anon to the brain, and cometh thence to the eyen, and to the other wits and limbs. and the liver by its heat, draweth woose and juice and turneth it into blood, and serveth the body and members therewith, to the use of feeding. in the liver is the place of voluptuousness and liking of the flesh. the ends of the liver hight fibra, for they are straight and passing as tongs, and beclip the stomach, and give heat to digestion of meat: and they hight fibra, because the necromancers brought them to the altars of their god phoebus and offered them there, and then they had answers. the liver is the chief fundament of kindly virtue, and greatest helper of the first digestion in the stomach, and the liver maketh perfectly the second digestion in the stomach, in the hollowness of its own substance, and departeth clean and pured, from unclean and unpured, and sendeth feeding to all the members, and exciteth love or bodily lust, and receiveth divers passions. then the liver is a noble and precious member, by whose alteration the body is altered, and the liver sendeth feeding and virtues of feeding to the other members, to the nether without mean, and to the other, by mean of the heart. some men ween, that the milt is cause of laughing. for by the spleen we are moved to laugh, by the gall we are wroth, by the heart we are wise, by the brain we feel, by the liver we love. iv mediaeval geography the fourteenth and fifteenth books of the "de proprietatibus" are treatises on the geography of the time. very few words of the editor's are needed to introduce them to modern readers. they may be divided into two classes: one, interesting because of the legends they preserve for us, the other, as reflecting the social life of the time. the first class is represented here by the accounts of the amazons, of india, of ireland, and of finland. here we have the outlines of the stories-- "of antres vast, and deserts idle, rough quarries, rocks, and hills whose heads touch heaven, and of the cannibals that each other eat, the anthropophagi, and men whose heads do grow beneath their shoulders"-- told by othello to desdemona. in the other we class such accounts as those of france and of paris, of the frisians, flanders, scotland, and iceland. such countries as these were well known in the thirteenth century, and the feelings of our author about them can be gathered easily enough. the tone of the chapters about england and scotland would be enough alone to prove that bartholomew was an englishman, it there were no other reason to think it. there is a lake that hight lake asphaltus, and is also called the dead sea for its greatness and deepness: for it breedeth, ne receiveth, no thing that hath life. therefore it hath nother fish ne fowls, but whensoever thou wouldst have drowned therein anything that hath life with any craft or gin, then anon it plungeth and cometh again up; though it be strongly thrust downward, it is anon smitten upward. and it moveth not with the wind, for glue withstandeth wind and storms, by which glue all [the] water is stint. and therein may no ship row nor sail, for all thing that hath no life sinketh down to the ground; nor he sustaineth no kind, but it be glued. and a lantern without its light sinketh therein, as it telleth, and a lantern with light floateth above. as the master of histories saith, this lake casteth up black clots of glue. in the brim thereof trees grow, the apples whereof are green till they are ripe: and if ye cut them when they are ripe, ye shall find ashes within them. and so it is said in the gloss; and there grow most fair apples, that make men that see them have liking to eat of them, and if one take them, they fade and fall in ashes and smoke, as though they were burning. olympus is a mount of macedon, and is full high, so that it is said, that the clouds are thereunder, as virgil saith. this mount departeth macedonia and thracia, and is so high, that it passeth all storms and other passions of the air. and therefore philosophers went up to see the course and places of stars, and they might not live there, but if they had sponges with water to make the air more thick by throwing and sprinkling of water: as the master of histories saith. amazonia, women's land, is a country part in asia and part in europe, and is nigh to albania, and hath that name of amazonia, of women that were the wives of the men that were called goths, the which men went out of the nether scythia, and were cruelly slain, and then their wives took their husbands' armour and weapons, and resed on the enemies with manly hearts, and took wreck of the death of their husbands. for with dint of sword they slew all the young males, and old men, and children, and saved the females, and departed prey, and purposed to live ever after without company of males. and by ensample of their husbands that had alway two kings over them, these women ordained them two queens, that one hight marsepia, and that other lampeta, that one should travail with a host, and fight against enemies, and that other should in the mean time, govern and rule the communities. and they were made so fierce warriors in short time, that they had a great part of asia under their lordship nigh a hundred years: among them they suffered no male to live nor abide, in no manner of wise. but of nations that were nigh to them, they chose husbands because of children, and went to them in times that were ordained, and when the time was done, then they would compel their lovers to go from them, and get other places to abide in, and would slay their sons, or send them to their fathers in certain times. and they saved their daughters, and taught them to shoot and to hunt. and for the shooting of arrows should not be let with great breasts, in the th year (as it is said), they burnt off their breasts, and therefore they were called amazons. and as it is said, hercules adaunted first the fierceness of them, and then achilles. but that was more by friendship than by strength, as it is contained in deeds and doings of the greeks, and the amazons were destroyed and brought to death by great alexander. but the story of alexander saith not so. but it is said that alexander demanded tribute of the queen of the amazons, and she wrote to him again by messengers in this manner. "of thy wit i wonder, that thou purposest to fight with women, for if fortune be on our side, and if it hap that thou be overcome, then art thou shamed for evermore, when thou art overcome of women, and if our gods be wroth with us, and thou overcomest us, it shall turn thee to little worship, that thou have the mastery of women." the noble king wondered on her answer, and said, that it is not seemly to overcome women with sword and with woodness, but rather with fairness and with love: and therefore he granted them freedom and made them subject to his empire, not with violence but with friendship and with love. england is the most island of ocean, and is beclipped all about by the sea, and departed from the roundness of the world, and hight sometimes albion: and had that name of white rocks, which were seen on the sea cliffs. and by continuance of time, lords and noble men of troy, after that troy was destroyed, went from thence, and were accompanied with a great navy, and fortuned to the cliffs of the foresaid island, and that by revelation of their feigned goddess pallas, as it is said, and the trojans fought with giants long time that dwelled therein, and overcame the giants, both with craft and with strength, and conquered the island, and called the land britain, by the name of brute that was prince of that host: and so the island hight britain, as it were an island conquered of brute that time, with arms and with might. of this brute's offspring came most mighty kings. and who that hath liking to know their deeds, let him read the story of brute. and long time after, the saxons won the island with many and divers hard battles and strong, and their offspring had possession after them of the island, and the britons were slain or exiled, and the saxons departed the island among them, and gave every province a name, by the property of its own name and nation, and therefore they cleped the island anglia, by the name of engelia the queen, the worthiest duke of saxony's daughter, that had the island in possession after many battles. isidore saith, that this land hight anglia, and hath that name of angulus, a corner, as it were land set in the end, or a corner of the world. but saint gregory, seeing english children to sell at rome, when they were not christened, and hearing that they were called english: according with the name of the country, he answered and said: truly they be english, for they shine in face right as angels: it is need to send them message, with word of salvation. for as beda saith, the noble kind of the land shone in their faces. isidore saith, britain, that now hight anglia, is an island set afore france and spain, and containeth about times miles. also therein be many rivers and great and hot wells. there is great plenty of metals, there be enough of the stones agates, and of pearls, the ground is special good, most apt to bear corn and other good fruit. there be, namely, many sheep with good wool, there be many harts and other wild beasts; there be few wolves or none, therefore there be many sheep, and may be securely left without ward, in pasture and in fields, as beda saith. england is a strong land and a sturdy, and the plenteousest corner of the world, so rich a land that unneth it needeth help of any land, and every other land needeth help of england. england is full of mirth and of game, and men oft times able to mirth and game, free men of heart and with tongue, but the hand is more better and more free than the tongue. cedar is the name of the country in which dwelled the ishmaelites, that were the children of kedar, that was ishmael's eldest son. and more truly they be there clept agareni than saraceni, though they mistake the name of sarah in vain, and be proud thereof, as though they were gendered of sarah. these men build no houses, but go about in large wildernesses, as wild men, and dwell in tents, and live by prey and by venison. yet hereafter, as methodius saith, they shall once be gathered together, and go out of the desert, and win and hold the roundness of the earth, eight weeks of years, and their way shall be called the way of anguish and of woe. for they shall overcome cities and kingdoms. and they shall slay priests in holy places, and lie there with women, and drink of holy vessels, and tie beasts to sepultures of holy saints, for the wickedness of the christian men that shall be in that time. these and many other things he doth rehearse that ishmaelites, men of kedar, shall do in the world wide. ethiopia, blue men's land, had first that name of colour of men. for the sun is nigh, and roasteth and toasteth them. and so the colour of men showeth the strength of the star, for there is continual heat. for all that is under the south pole about the west is full of mountains, and about the middle full of gravel, and in the east side most desert and wilderness: and stretcheth from the west of atlas toward the east unto the ends of egypt, and is closed in the south with ocean, and in the north with the river nile. in this land be many nations with divers faces wonderly and horribly shapen: also therein be many wild beasts and serpents, and also rhinoceros, and the beast that hight cameleon, a beast with many colours. also there be cockatrices and great dragons, and precious stones be taken out of their brains, jacinth, and chrysophrase, topaz, and many other precious stones be found in those parts, and cinnamon is there gathered. there be two ethiopias, one is in the east, and the other is in mauritania in the west, and that is more near spain. and then is numidia, and the province of carthage. then is getula, and at last against the course of the sun in the south is the land that hight ethiopia adusta, burnt; and fables tell, that there beyond be the antipodes, men that have their feet against our feet. the men of ethiopia have their name of a black river, and that river is of the same kind as nilus, for they breed reeds and bullrushes, and rise and wax in one time. in the wilderness there be many men wonderly shapen. some oft curse the sun bitterly in his rising and downgoing, and they behold the sun and curse him always: for his heat grieveth them full sore. and other as trogodites dig them dens and caves, and dwell in them instead of houses; and they eat serpents, and all that may be got; their noise is more fearful in sounding than the voice of other. others there be which like beasts live without wedding, and dwell with women without law, and such be called garamantes. others go naked, and be not occupied with travail, and they be called graphasantes. there be other that be called bennii, and it is said, they have no heads, but they have eyes fixed in their breasts. and there be satyrs, and they have only shape of men, and have no manners of mankind. also in ethiopia be many other wonders, there be ethiops, saith plinius, among whom all four-footed beasts be brought forth without ears, and also elephants. also there be some that have a hound for their king, and divine by his moving, and do as they will. and other have three or four eyes in their foreheads, as it is said, not that it is so in kind, but that it is feigned, for they use principally looking and sight of arrows. also some of them hunt lions and panthers, and live by their flesh, and their king hath only one eye in his forehead. other men of ethiopia live only by honeysuckles dried in smoke, and in the sun, and these live not past forty years. in the over egypt be many divers deserts, in whom are many monstrous and wonderful beasts. there be pards, tigers, satyrs, cockatrices, and horrible adders and serpents. for in the ends of egypt and of ethiopia fast by the well where men suppose is the head of nilus that runneth by egypt, be bred wild beasts, that hight cacothephas, the which beast is little of body, and uncrafty of members and slow, and hath a full heavy head. and therefore they bear it always downward toward the earth, and that by ordinance of kind for the salvation of mankind, for it is so wicked and so venomous, that no man may behold it right in the face, but he die anon without remedy. fraunce hight francia and gallia also, and had first that name francia of men of germany, who were called franci: and hath the rhine and germayn in the east side, and in the north-east side the mountains alpes pennini: and in the south the province of narbonne, in the north-west the british ocean, and in the north the island of britain.... this land of france is a rank country, and plentiful of trees, of vines, of corn, and of fruits, and is noble by the affluence of rivers and fountains; through the borders of which land run two most noble rivers, that is to wit, rhone and rhine. therein be noble quarries and stones both to build and to rear buildings and houses upon, and therein be special manner stones, and namely in the ground about paris, that is most passing, namely in a manner stone that is hight gypsum, that men of that country call plaster in their language, for the ground is glassy and bright, and by mineral virtue turneth into stone; this manner stone burnt and tempered with water, turneth into cement, and so thereof is made edifices and vaults, walls and diverse pavements. and such cement laid in works waxeth hard anon again as it were stone; and in france be many noble and famous cities, but among all paris beareth the prize; for as sometime the city of athens, mother of liberal arts and of letters, nurse of philosophers, and well of all sciences, made it solemn in science and in conditions among greeks, so doth paris in this time, not only france, but also all the other deal of europe. for as mother of wisdom she receiveth all that cometh out of every country of the world, and helpeth them in all that they need, and ruleth all peaceably, and as a servant of soothness, she sheweth herself detty to wise men and unwise. this city is full good and mighty of riches, it rejoiceth in peace: there is good air of rivers according to philosophers, there be fair fields, meads, and mountains to refresh and comfort the eyen of them that be weary in study, there be convenable streets and houses, namely for studiers. and nevertheless the city is sufficient to receive and to feed all others that come thereto, and passeth all other cities in these things, and in such other like. though this province be little in space, yet it is wealthful of many special things and good. for this land is plenteous and full of pasture, of cattle, and of beasts, royal and rich of the best towns, havens of the sea, and of famous rivers, and well nigh all about is moisted with scaldelia. the men thereof be seemly and fair of body and strong, and they get many children. and they be rich of all manner merchandises and chaffer, and generally fair and seemly of face, mild of will, and fair of speech, sad of bearing, honest of clothing, peaceable to their own neighbours, true and trusty to strangers, passing witty in wool craft, by their crafty working a great part of the world is succoured and holpen in woollen clothes. for of the principal wool which they have out of england, with their subtle craft be made many noble cloths, and be sent by sea and also by land into many diverse countries. the men of germany call men of this land frisons, and between them and the germans is great difference in clothing and in manner. for wellnigh all men be shorn round; and the more noble they be, the more worship they account to be shorn the more high. and the men be high of body, strong of virtue, stern and fierce of heart, and swift and quiver of body. and they use iron spears instead of arrows.... the men be free, and not subject to lordship of other nations, and put them in peril of death by cause of freedom. and they had liefer die than be under the yoke of thraldom. therefore they forsake dignity of knighthood, and suffer none to rise and to be greater among them under the title of knighthood; but they be subject to judges that they chose of themselves from year to year, which rule the community among them. they love well chastity, and punish all the unchaste right grievously: and they keep their children chaste unto the time that they be of full age, and so when they be wedded, they get manly children and strong. and, as it is said, some of the indians till the earth, and some use chivalry, and some use merchandise and lead out chaffer; some rule and govern the community at best; and some be about the kings, and some be justices and doomsmen, some give them principally to religions and to learning of wit and of wisdom. and as among all countries and lands india is the greatest and most rich: so among all lands india is most wonderful. for as pliny saith, india aboundeth in wonders. in india be many huge beasts bred, and more greater hounds than in other lands. also there be so high trees that men may not shoot to the top with an arrow, as it is said. and that maketh the plenty and fatness of the earth and temperateness of weather, of air, and of water. fig trees spread there so broad, that many great companies of knights may sit at meat under the shadow of one tree. also there be so great reeds and so long that every piece between two knots beareth sometime three men over the water. also there be men of great stature, passing five cubits in height, and they never spit, nor have never headache nor toothache, nor sore eyes, nor they be not grieved with passing heat of the sun, but rather made more hard and sad therewith. also their philosophers that they call gymnosophists stand in most hot gravel from the morning till evening, and behold the sun without blemishing of their eyes. also there, in some mountains be men with soles of the feet turned backwards, and the foot also with viii toes on one foot. also there be some with hounds' heads, and be clothed in skins of wild beasts, and they bark as hounds, and speak none other wise: and they live by hunting and fowling: and they be armed with their nails and teeth, and be full many, about six score thousand as he saith. also among some nations of india be women that bear never child but once, and the children wax whitehaired anon as they be born. there be satyrs and other men wondrously shapen. also in the end of east india, about the rising of ganges, be men without mouths, and they be clothed in moss and in rough hairy things, which they gather off trees, and live commonly by odour and smell at the nostrils. and they nother eat nother drink, but only smell odour of flowers and of wood apples, and live so, and they die anon in evil odour and smell. and other there be that live full long, and age never, but die as it were in middle age. also some be hoar in youth, and black in age. pliny rehearseth these wonders, and many other mo. yrlonde hight hibernia, and is an island of the ocean in europe, and is nigh to the land of britain, and is more narrow and straight than britain, but it is more plenteous place.... in this land is much plenty of corn fields, of wells and of rivers, of fair meads and woods, of metal and of precious stones. for there is gendered a six cornered stone, that is to wit, iris, that maketh a rainbow in the air, if it be set in the sun. and there is jet found, and white pearls. and concerning the wholesome air, ireland is a good temperate country. there is little or none passing heat or cold; there be wonderful lakes, ponds, and wells. for there is a lake, in which if a staff or a pole of tree be pight, and tarrieth long time therein, the part that is in the earth turneth into iron, and the part that is in the water turneth into stone, and the part that is above the water, abideth still in its kind of tree. there is another lake in which in that thou throwest rods of hazel, it turneth those rods into ash: and ayenward if ye cast ashen rods therein, they turn into hazel. therein be places in which dead carrions never rot: but abide there always uncorrupt. also in ireland is a little island, in which men die not, but when they be overcome with age, they be borne out of that island to die without. in ireland is no serpent, no frogs, nor venomous addercop; but all the land is so contrary to venemous beasts that if the earth of that land be brought into another land, and spronge on the ground, it slayeth serpents and toads. also venomous beasts flee irish wool, skins, and fells. and if serpents or toads be brought into ireland by shipping, they die anon. solinus speaketh of ireland, and saith the inhabitants thereof be fierce, and lead an unhuman life. the people there use to harbour no guests, they be warriors, and drink men's blood that they slay, and wash first their faces therewith: right and unright they take for one.... men of ireland be singularly clothed and unseemly arrayed and scarcely fed, they be cruel of heart, fierce of cheer, angry of speech, and sharp. nathless they be free hearted, and fair of speech and goodly to their own nation, and namely those men that dwell in woods, marshes, and mountains. these men be pleased with flesh, apples, and fruit for meat, and with milk for drink: and give them more to plays and to hunting, than to work and travail. the land scotia hath the name of scots that dwell therein, and the same nation that was sometime first in ireland, and all according thereto in tongue, in manners, and in kind. the men are light of heart, fierce, and courageous on their enemies. they love nigh as well death as thraldom, and they account it for sloth to die in bed, and a great worship and virtue to die in a field fighting against enemies. the men be of scarce living, and many suffer hunger long time, and eat selde tofore the sun going down, and use flesh, milk, meats, fish, and fruits more than britons: and use to eat the less bread, and though the men be seemly enough of figure and of shape, and fair of face generally by kind, yet their own scottish clothing disfigures them full much. and scots be said in their own tongue of bodies painted, as it were cut and slit. for in old time they were marked with divers figures and shapes on their flesh and skin, made with iron pricks. and by cause of medlying with englishmen, many of them have changed the old manners of scots into better manners for the more part, but the wild scots and irish account great worship to follow their forefathers in clothing, in tongue, and in living, and in other manner doing. and despise somedeal the usages of other men in comparison to their own usage. and so each laboureth to be above, they detract and blame all other, and envy all other: they deride all other, and blame all other men's manners; they be not ashamed to lie, and they repute no man, of what nation, blood, or puissance so-ever he be, to be hardy and valiant, but themselves. they delight in their own; they love not peace. in that land is plenteous ground, merry woods, moist rivers and wells, many flocks of beasts. there be earth-tillers for quantity of the place enow. thanet is a little island of ocean, and is departed from britain with a little arm of the sea, and hath wheat fields and noble grounds, and hath its name of death of serpents. for the earth of that land carried into any country of the world, slayeth serpents forthwith, as isidore saith. finland is a country beside the mountains of norway toward the east, and stretcheth upon the cliff of ocean: and is not full plenteous, but in wood, herbs, and grass. the men of that country be strange and somewhat wild and fierce: and they occupy themselves with witchcraft. and so to men that sail by their coasts, and also to men that abide with them for default of wind, they proffer wind to sailing, and so they sell wind. they use to make a clue of thread, and they make divers knots to be knit therein. and then they command to draw out of the clue unto three knots, or mo or less, as they will have the wind more soft or strong. and for their misbelief fiends move the air, and arise strong tempests or soft, as he draweth of the clue more or less knots. and sometimes they move the wind so strongly, that the wretches that believe in such doings, are drowned by rightful doom of god. iceland is the last region in europe in the north beyond norway. in the uttermost parts thereof it is always ice and frozen, and stretcheth upon the cliff of ocean toward the north, where the sea is frozen for great and strong cold. and iceland hath the over scythia in the east side, and norway in the south, and the irish ocean in the west, and the sea that is far in the north, and is called iceland, as it were the land of ice and of glass. for it is said that there be mountains of snow froze as hard as ice or glass; there crystal is found. also in that region are white bears most great and right fierce; that break ice and glass with their claws, and make many holes therein, and dive there-through into the sea, and take fish under the ice and glass, and draw them out through the same holes, and bring them to the cliff and live thereby. the land is barren, out-take a few places in the valleys, in the which places unneth grow oats. in the places that men dwell in, only grow herbs, grass, and trees. and in those places breed beasts, tame and wild. and so for the more part men of the land live by fish and by hunting of flesh. sheep may not live there for cold. and therefore men of the land wear, for cold, fells and skins of bears and of wild beasts that they take with hunting. other clothing may they not have, but it come of other lands. the men are full gross of body and strong and full white, and give them to fishing and hunting. v mediaeval natural history--trees the seventeenth book of the "de proprietatibus" deals with the properties of plants. the sources from which bartholomew derives his information are aristotle and albertus magnus' gloss on the "de vegetalibus," albumazar, pliny, isaac on foods, hugo, and the platearius. the text professes to deal with those trees and plants alone which are mentioned in the gloss, but many others are incidentally mentioned, and we are thus enabled to learn the chief food-stuffs of our ancestors. the cereals of the time are wheat, barley, oats, and rye, just as at present; but the dinner-table of the day had neither turnip, cabbage, nor potato, and supplied their place with the parsnip, cole, and rape. garlic, radishes, and lettuce were widely used, the former being valued in proportion to its power of overcoming any other odour. flax seems to have been widely grown, and rushlights were then a luxury. the subject of trees and plants does not so readily lend itself to fables as some other parts of natural history, but we refer the reader to the accounts of aloes, pepper, and mandragora as a specimen of the tales told, as our author says, "to make things dear, and of great price." aloes is a tree with good savour, and breedeth in india, and sometime a part thereof is set afire upon the altar in the stead of incense. it is found in the great river of babylon, that joineth with a river of paradise. therefore many men trow that the aforesaid tree groweth among the trees of paradise, and cometh out of paradise by some hap or drift into [the] river of ind. men that dwell by that river take this tree out of the water by nets, and keep it to the use of medicine, for it is a good medicinal tree. of cannel and of cassia men told fables in old time, that it is found in birds' nests, and specially in the phoenix' nest. and may not be found, but what falleth by its own weight, or is smitten down with lead arrows. but these men do feign, to make things dear and of great price; but as the sooth meaneth, cannel groweth among the trogodites in the little ethiopia, and cometh by long space of the sea in ships to the haven of gelenites. no man hath leave to gather thereof tofore the sun-rising, nor after the sun going down. and when it is gathered, the priest by measure dealeth the branches and taketh thereof a part; and so by space of time, merchants buy that other deal. of this tree [bays] speaketh the master in history, and saith that rebecca (gen. xvii.) for trembling of nations she had seen in them that perished, laid a manner laurel tree that she called tripodem under her head, and sat her upon boughs of an herb that hight agnus castus, for to use very revelations and sights and not fantasies. the emperor tiberius caesar in thundering and lightning used a garland of laurel tree on his head against dread of lightning, as it is said. also plinius telleth a wonder thing, that the emperor sat by drusilla the empress in a certain garden, and an eagle threw from a right high place a wonder white hen into the empress' lap whole and sound, and the hen held in her bill a bough of laurel tree full of bays, and diviners took heed to the hen, and sowed the bays, and kept them wisely, and of them came a wood, that was called silva triumphans, as it were the wood of worship for victory and mastery. the green leaves thereof, that smell full well if they be stamped, heal stinging of bees and of wasps, and do away all swellings, and keep books and clothes there it is among from moths and other worms, and save them fro fretting and gnawing. the fruit of laurel trees are called bays, and are brown or red without, and white within and unctuous. it is said that a hind taught first the virtue of diptannus, for she eateth this herb that she may calve easilier and sooner; and if she be hurt with an arrow, she seeketh this herb and eateth it, which putteth the iron out of the wound. and ash hath so great virtue that serpents come not in shadow thereof in the morning nor at even. and if a serpent be set within a fire and ash leaves, he will flee into the fire sooner than into the leaves. beans be damned by pythagoras' sentence, for it is said, that by oft use thereof the wits are dulled and cause many dreams. or else as other men mean, for dead men's souls be therein. therefore varro saith that the bishop should not eat beans. and many medley beans with bread corn, to make the bread more heavy. the stalk [of wheat] is called stipula as ustipula, and hath that name of usta, burnt. for when it is gathered some of the straw is burnt to help and amend the land. and some is kept to fodder of beasts, and is called palea: for it is first meat that is laid tofore beasts, namely in some countries as in tuscany. as pliny saith, if the seed be touched with tallow or grease it is spoilt and lost. among the best wheat sometimes grow ill weeds and venomous, as cockle and other such, also there it is said, of corrupt dew that cleaveth to the leaves cometh corruption in corn, and maketh it as it were red or rusty. among all manner corn, wheat beareth the prize, and to mankind nothing is more friendly, nothing more nourishing. flax groweth in even stalks, and bears yellow flowers or blue, and after cometh hops, and therein is the seed, and when the hop beginneth to wax, then the flax is drawn up and gathered all whole, and is then lined, and afterward made to knots and little bundles, and so laid in water, and lieth there long time. and then it is taken out of the water, and laid abroad till it be dried, and twined and wend in the sun, and then bound in pretty niches and bundles. and afterward knocked, beaten, and brayed, and carfled, rodded and gnodded, ribbed and heckled, and at the last spun. then the thread is sod and bleached, and bucked, and oft laid to drying, wetted and washed, and sprinkled with water until that it be white, after divers working and travail. flax is needful to divers uses. for thereof is made clothing to wear, and sails to sail, and nets to fish and to hunt, and thread to sew, ropes to bind, and strings to shoot, bonds to bind, lines to mete and to measure, and sheets to rest in, and sacks, bags, and purses, to put and to keep things in. and so none herb is so needful, to so many divers uses to mankind, as is the flax. ryndes thereof [_i.e._ of mandragora] sodden in wine cause sleep, and abate all manner of soreness, and so that time a man feeleth unneth though he be cut, but yet mandragora must be warily used: for it slayeth if men take much thereof.... they that dig mandragora be busy to beware of contrary winds while they dig, and make three circles about with a sword, and abide with the digging unto the sun going down, and trow so to have the herb with the chief virtues. papyrus is a manner rush, that is dried to kindle fire and lanterns, and hight the feeding of fire. and this herb is put to burn in prickets and in tapers. the rind is stripped off unto the pith, and is so dried, and a little is left of the rind on the one side, to sustain the tender pith; and the less is left of the rind, the more clear the pith burneth in a lamp, and is the sooner kindled. and about memphis and in ind be such great rushes, that they make boats thereof, as the gloss saith. and alexander's story saith the same. and of rushes are charters made, in the which were epistles written, and sent by messengers. also of rushes be made paniers, boxes, and cases, and baskets to keep letters and other things in. and also they make thereof paper to write with. pepper is the seed or the fruit of a tree that groweth in the south side of the hill caucasus, in the strong heat of the sun. and serpents keep the woods that pepper groweth in. and when the woods of pepper are ripe, men of that country set them on fire, and chase away the serpents by violence of fire. and by such burning the grain of pepper that was white by kind, is made black and rively. woods be wild places, waste and desolate, that many trees grow in without fruit, and also few having fruit. in these woods be oft wild beasts and fowls, therein grow herbs, grass leas, and pasture, and namely medicinal herbs in woods be found. in summer woods are beautied with boughs and branches, with herbs and grass. in woods is place of deceit and hunting. for therein wild beasts are hunted, and watches and deceits are ordained and set of hounds and of hunters. there is place of hiding and of lurking, for oft in woods thieves are hid, and oft in their awaits and deceits passing men come, and are spoiled and robbed, and oft slain. and so for many and divers ways and uncertain, strange men oft err and go out of the way, and take uncertain ways, and the way that is unknown tofore the way that is known, and come oft to the place there thieves lie in await, and not without peril. therefore be oft knots made on trees and in bushes, in boughs and in branches of trees, in token and mark of the highway, to show the certain and sure way to wayfaring men; but oft the thieves in turning and meeting of ways, change such knots and signs, and beguile many men, and bring them out of the right way by false tokens and signs. it hath many hard twigs and branches with knots, and therewith often children are chastised and beaten on the bare buttocks and loins. and of the boughs and branches thereof are besoms made to sweep and to clean houses of dust and of other uncleanness. wild men of woods and forests use that seed in stead of bread. and this tree hath much sour juice, and somewhat biting. and men use therefore in springing time and in harvest to slit the rinds, and to gather the humour that cometh out thereof, and drink it in stead of wine. hards is the cleansing of hemp or of flax. for with much breaking, heckling, and rubbing, hards are departed fro the substance of hemp and of flax, and is great when it is departed, and more knotty, short, and rough. and is therefore not full able to be spun for thread thereof to be made, nathless thereof is thread spun that is full great, uneven, and full of knobs, and thereof are made bonds and bindings, and matches or candles; for it is full dry and taketh soon fire and burneth. a board hight table, and is areared and set upon feet, and compassed with a list about. and, in another manner, table is a playing board, that men play on at the dice and other games; and this manner of table is double, and arrayed with divers colours. in the third manner it is a thin plank and plane, and therein are letters writ with colours, and sometimes small shingles are planed and made somedeal hollow in either side, and filled full of wax, black, green, or red, to write therein. boards and tables garnish houses, nathless when they be set in solar floors, they serve all men and beasts that are therein. then they be dressed, hewed, and planed, and made convenable to use of ships, of bridges, of hulks, and coffers, and many other needful things of building. also in shipbreach men flee to a board, and are oft saved in peril. roofs are trees areared and stretched fro the walls up to the top of the house, and bear up the covering thereof. and stand wide beneath, and come together upwards, and so they nigh nearer and nearer, and are joined either to other in the top of the house. it holdeth up heling, slates, shingle, and laths. the lath is long and somewhat broad, and plain and thin, and is nailed thwart over to the rafters, and thereon hang slates, tiles, and shingles. the rafters are strong and square, and hewn plain and are made fair within with fair joists and boards. a vineyard is busily tilthed and kept, and purged and cleaned of superfluities, and oft visited and overseen of the earth tilthers and keepers of vines, that it be not apaired neither destroyed with beasts, and is closed about with walls and with hedges, and a wait is there set in a high place to keep the vineyard that the fruit be not destroyed. and is left in winter without keeper or waiter, but in harvest time many come and haunt the vineyard. in winter the vineyard is full pale, and waxeth green and bloometh in springing time and in summer, and smelleth full sweet, and is pleasant with fruit in harvest time. the smell of the vineyard that bloometh is contrary to all venomous things, and therefore when the vineyard bloometh, adders and serpents flee, and toads also, and may not sustain and suffer the noble savour thereof. foxes lurk and hide themselves under vine leaves, and gnaw covetously and fret the grapes of the vineyard, and namely when the keepers and wards be negligent and reckless, and it profiteth not that some unwise men do, that close within the vineyard hounds, that are adversaries to foxes. for few hounds, so closed, waste and destroy more grapes than many foxes should destroy that come and eat thereof thievishly. therefore wise wardens of vineyards be full busy to keep, that no swine nor tame hounds nor foxes come in to the vineyard. from fretting and gnawing of flies and of other worms, a vineyard may not be kept nor saved, but by his succour and help that all thing hath and pursueth in his power and might, and keepeth and saveth all lordly and mighty. the worthiness and praising of wine might not bacchus himself describe at the full, though he were alive. for among all liquors and juice of trees, wine beareth the prize, for passing all liquors, wine moderately drunk most comforteth the body, and gladdeth the heart, and saveth wounds and evils. wine strengtheneth all the members of the body, and giveth to each might and strength, and deed and working of the soul showeth and declareth the goodness of wine. and wine breedeth in the soul forgetting of anguish, of sorrow, and of woe, and suffereth not the soul to feel anguish and woe. wine sharpeth the wit and maketh it cunning to enquire things that are hard and subtle, and maketh the soul bold and hardy, and so the passing nobility of wine is known. and use of wine accordeth to all men's ages and times and countries, if it be taken in due manner, and as his disposition asketh that drinketh it. red wine that is temperate in its qualities, and is drunk temperately and in due manner, helpeth kind and gendreth good blood, and maketh savour in meat and in drink, and exciteth desire and appetite, and comforteth the virtue of life and of kind, and helpeth the stomach to have appetite, and to have and to make good digestion. and quencheth thirst, and changeth the passions of the soul and thoughts out of evil into good. for it turneth the soul out of cruelness into mildness, out of covetousness into largeness, out of pride into meekness, and out of dread into boldness. and shortly to speak, wine drunk measurably is health of body and of soul. and nothing is worse passing out of measure. and so andronides, a clear man of wit and of wisdom, wrote to the great alexander, to restrain wine kind in drinking, and said in this manner:--"king, have mind that thou drinkest blood of the earth, for wine drinking untemperately is to mankind heavy and venomous." and if alexander had done by his counsel, truly he had not slain his own friend in drunkenness. if wine be often taken, anon by drunkenness it quencheth the sight of reason, and comforteth beastly madness, and so the body abideth as it were a ship in the sea without stern and without lodesman, and as chivalry without prince or duke. vi mediaeval natural history--birds and fishes in following out his plan of describing the productions of each element before considering the next in order, bartholomew was led to consider air and its products early in his scheme. accordingly his twelfth book is devoted to birds, and his thirteenth to the inhabitants of the waters. there is hardly any reason in these books for omitting any part more than another except space, but the editor hopes that those chosen will put the reader in possession of a key to the more common allusions in pre-restoration literature. when the editor spoke of the wholesale way in which our author is conveyed by elizabethan poets, he had in mind this and the following chapters. a single example will show this. let the reader compare the account of the peacock with the following stanza from chester's "love's martyr": "the proud sun-braving peacocke with his feathers, walkes all along, thinking himself a king, and with his voice prognosticates all weathers, although, god knows, but badly he doth sing; but when he looks downe to his base blacke feete, he droopes and is asham'd of things unmeet." our author's knowledge of birds is largely derived--the authentic from aristotle; the legendary from the fathers, ambrose, austin, basil, and gregory,--the gloss,--and from pliny. some of these legends seem to be pointed at in the hebrew scriptures. thus ps. ciii. , "thy youth is renewed like the eagle's," either gave rise to, or refers to, the tradition quoted in our account of the eagle: and likewise job xxxviii. , and ps. cxlvii. , seem to be responsible for the tradition in the account of the raven. it would be interesting to learn whether any independent traditions of this nature exist. it is worth pointing out that our author has contributed to the "gesta romanorum" several stories. the "wild tale," as warton calls it, of the elephant and the maidens, as well as the story of "the storke wreker of avouterie" mentioned by chaucer in the "assemblie of foules," and derived from neckham, and the similar tale of the lioness, obtained their wide circulation through the popularity of bartholomew's book. it would be an interesting task to trace these tales to their origin, but this is neither the place nor the time to do so; and the editor similarly leaves to lovers of shakespeare the pleasure of proving to themselves his intimate acquaintance with the book. in the part of the chapter quoted from the thirteenth book, the editor has tried to get together some of those stories which impressed people's minds most. such a one is the tale of the remora. we remember jonson's use of it in the "poetaster": "death, i am seized here by a land remora; i cannot stir nor move, but as he pleases." other tales remind us of olaus magnus, and some of them are plainly eastern. now it pertaineth to speak of birds and fowls, and in particular and first of the eagle, which hath principality among fowls. among all manner kinds of divers fowls, the eagle is the more liberal and free of heart. for the prey that she taketh, but it be for great hunger, she eateth not alone, but putteth it forth in common to fowls that follow her. but first she taketh her own portion and part. and therefore oft other fowls follow the eagle for hope and trust to have some part of her prey. but when the prey that is taken is not sufficient to herself, then as a king that taketh heed to a community, she taketh the bird that is next to her, and giveth it among the others, and serveth them therewith. austin saith, and plinius also, that in age the eagle hath darkness and dimness in eyen, and heaviness in wings. and against this disadvantage she is taught by kind to seek a well of springing water, and then she flieth up into the air as far as she may, till she be full hot by heat of the air, and by travail of flight, and so then by heat the pores are opened and the feathers chafed, and she falleth suddenly in to the well, and there the feathers are changed, and the dimness of her eyes is wiped away and purged, and she taketh again her might and strength. the eagle's feathers done and set among feathers of wings of other birds corrupteth and fretteth them. as strings made of wolf-gut done and put into a lute or in an harp among strings made of sheep-gut do destroy, and fret, and corrupt the strings made of sheep-gut, if it so be that they be set among them, as in a lute or in an harp, as pliny saith. among all fowls, in the eagle the virtue of sight is most mighty and strong. for in the eagle the spirit of sight is most temperate and most sharp in act and deed of seeing and beholding the sun in the roundness of its circle without blemishing of eyen. and the sharpness of her sight is not rebounded again with clearness of light of the sun, nother disperpled. there is one manner eagle that is full sharp of sight, and she taketh her own birds in her claws, and maketh them to look even on the sun, and that ere their wings be full grown, and except they look stiffly and steadfastly against the sun, she beateth them, and setteth them even tofore the sun. and if any eye of any of her birds watereth in looking on the sun she slayeth him, as though he went out of kind, or else driveth him out of the nest and despiseth him, and setteth not by him. the goshawk is a royal fowl, and is armed more with boldness than with claws, and as much as kind taketh from her in quantity of body, it rewardeth her with boldness of heart. and two kinds there be of such fowls, for some are tame and some are wild. and she that is tame taketh wild fowls and taketh them to her own lord, and she that is wild taketh tame fowls. and this hawk is of a disdainful kind. for if she fail by any hap of the prey that she reseth to, that day unneth she cometh unto her lord's hand. and she must have ordinate diet, nother too scarce, ne too full. for by too much meat she waxeth ramaious or slow, and disdaineth to come to reclaim. and if the meat be too scarce then she faileth, and is feeble and unmighty to take her prey. also the eyen of such birds should oft be seled and closed, or hid, that she bate not too oft from his hand that beareth her, when she seeth a bird that she desireth to take; and also her legs must be fastened with gesses, that she shall not fly freely to every bird. and they be borne on the left hand, that they may somewhat take of the right hand, and be fed therewith. and so such tame hawks be kept in mews, that they may be discharged of old feathers and hard, and be so renewed in fairness of youth. also men give them meat of some manner of flesh, which is some-deal venomous, that they may the sooner change their feathers. and smoke grieveth such hawks and doth them harm. and therefore their mews must be far from smoky places, that their bodies be not grieved with bitterness of smoke, nor their feathers infect with blackness of smoke. they should be fed with fresh flesh and bloody, and men should use to give them to eat the hearts of fowls that they take. all the while they are alive and are strong and mighty to take their prey, they are beloved of their lords, and borne on hands, and set on perches, and stroked on the breast and on the tail, and made plain and smooth, and are nourished with great business and diligence. but when they are dead, all men hold them unprofitable and nothing worth, and be not eaten, but rather thrown out on dunghills. the properties of bees are wonderful noble and worthy. for bees have one common kind as children, and dwell in one habitation, and are closed within one gate: one travail is common to them all, one meat is common to them all, one common working, one common use, one fruit and flight is common to them all, and one generation is common to them all. also maidenhood of body without wem is common to them all, and so is birth also. for they are not medlied with service of venus, nother resolved with lechery, nother bruised with sorrow of birth of children. and yet they bring forth most swarms of children. bees make among them a king, and ordain among them common people. and though they be put and set under a king, yet they are free and love their king that they make, by kind love, and defend him with full great defence, and hold [it] honour and worship to perish and be spilt for their king, and do their king so great worship that none of them dare go out of their house, nor to get meat, but if the king pass out and take the principality of flight. and bees chose to their king him that is most worthy and noble in highness and fairness, and most clear in mildness, for that is chief virtue in a king. for though their king have a sting yet he useth it not in wreck. and also bees that are unobedient to the king, they deem themselves by their own doom for to die by the wound of their own sting. and of a swarm of bees is none idle. some fight, as it were in battle, in the field against other bees, some are busy about meat, and some watch the coming of showers. and some behold concourse and meting of dues, and some make wax of flowers, and some make cells now round, now square with wonder binding and joining, and evenness. and yet nevertheless, among so diverse works none of them doth espy nor wait to take out of other's travail, neither taketh wrongfully, neither stealeth meat, but each seeketh and gathereth by his own flight and travail among herbs and flowers that are good and convenable. bees sit not on fruit but on flowers, not withered but fresh and new, and gather matter of the which they make both honey and wax. and when the flowers that are nigh unto them be spent, then they send spies for to espy meat in further places. and if the night falleth upon them in their journey, then they lie upright to defend their wings from rain, and from dew, that they may in the morrow tide fly the more swifter to their work with their wings dry and able to fly. and they ordain watches after the manner of castles, and rest all night until it be day, till one bee wake them all with twice buzzing or thrice, or with some manner trumping; then they fly all, if the day be fair on the morrow. and the bees that bring and bear what is needful, dread blasts of wind, and fly therefore low by the ground when they be charged, lest they be letted with some manner of blasts, and charge themselves sometimes with gravel or with small stones, that they may be the more stedfast against blasts of wind by heaviness of the stones. the obedience of bees is wonderful about the king, for when he passeth forth, all the swarm in one cluster passeth with him. and he is beclipped about with the swarm, as it were with an host of knights. and is then unneth seen that time for the multitude that followeth and serveth him, and when the people of bees are in travail, he is within, and as it were governor, and goeth about to comfort others for to work. and only he is not bound to travail. and all about him are certain bees with stings, as it were champions, and continual wardens of the king's body. and he passeth selde out, but when all the swarm shall go out. his outgoing is known certain days tofore by voice of the host, as it were arraying itself to pass out with the king. the culvour is messager of peace, ensample of simpleness, clean of kind, plenteous in children, follower of meekness, friend of company, forgetter of wrongs. the culvour is forgetful. and therefore when the birds are borne away, she forgetteth her harm and damage, and leaveth not therefore to build and breed in the same place. also she is nicely curious. for sitting on a tree, she beholdeth and looketh all about toward what part she will fly, and bendeth her neck all about as it were taking avisement. but oft while she taketh avisement of flight, ere she taketh her flight, an arrow flieth through her body, and therefore she faileth of her purpose, as gregory saith. also as ambrose saith, in egypt and in syria a culvour is taught to bear letters, and to be messager out of one province into another. for it loveth kindly the place and the dwelling where it was first fed and nourished. and be it never so far borne into far countries, always it will return home again, if it be restored to freedom. and oft to such a culvour a letter is craftily bound under the one wing, and then it is let go. then it flieth up into the air, and ceaseth never till it come to the first place in which it was bred. and sometimes in the way enemies know thereof, and let it with an arrow, and so for the letters that it beareth, it is wounded and slain, and so it beareth no letter without peril. for oft the letter that is so borne is cause and occasion of the death of it. the crow is a bird of long life, and diviners tell that she taketh heed of spyings and awaitings, and teacheth and sheweth ways, and warneth what shall fall. but it is full unlawful to believe, that god sheweth his privy counsel to crows. it is said that crows rule and lead storks, and come about them as it were in routs, and fly about the storks and defend them, and fight against other birds and fowls that hate storks. and take upon them the battle of other birds, upon their own peril. and an open proof thereof is: for in that time, that the storks pass out of the country, crows are not seen in places there they were wont to be. and also for they come again with sore wounds, and with voice of blood, that is well known, and with other signs and tokens and show that they have been in strong fighting. also there it is said, that the mildness of the bird is wonderful. for when father and mother in age are both naked and bare of covering of feathers, then the young crows hide and cover them with their feathers, and gather meat and feed them. the raven beholdeth the mouths of her birds when they yawn. but she giveth them no meat ere she know and see the likeness of her own blackness, and of her own colour and feathers. and when they begin to wax black, then afterward she feedeth them with all her might and strength. it is said that ravens' birds are fed with dew of heaven all the time that they have no black feathers by benefit of age. among fowls, only the raven hath four and sixty changings of voice. the swan feigneth sweetness of sweet songs with accord of voice, and he singeth sweetly for he hath a long neck diversely bent to make divers notes. and it is said that, in the countries that are called hyperborean, the harpers harping before, the swans' birds fly out of their nests and sing full merrily. shipmen trow that it tokeneth good if they meet swans in peril of shipwreck. always the swan is the most merriest bird in divinations. shipmen desire this bird for he dippeth not down in the waves. when the swan is in love he seeketh the female, and pleaseth her with beclipping of the neck, and draweth her to him- ward; and he joineth his neck to the female's neck, as it were binding the necks together. phoenix is a bird, and there is but one of that kind in all the wide world. therefore lewd men wonder thereof, and among the arabs, there this bird is bred, he is called singular--alone. the philosopher speaketh of this bird and saith that phoenix is a bird without make, and liveth three hundred or five hundred years: when the which years are past, and he feeleth his own default and feebleness, he maketh a nest of right sweet-smelling sticks, that are full dry, and in summer when the western wind blows, the sticks and the nest are set on fire with burning heat of the sun, and burn strongly. then this bird phoenix cometh willfully into the burning nest, and is there burnt to ashes among these burning sticks, and within three days a little worm is gendered of the ashes, and waxeth little and little, and taketh feathers and is shapen and turned to a bird. ambrose saith the same in the hexameron: of the humours or ashes of phoenix ariseth a new bird and waxeth, and in space of time he is clothed with feathers and wings and restored into the kind of a bird, and is the most fairest bird that is, most like to the peacock in feathers, and loveth the wilderness, and gathereth his meat of clean grains and fruits. alan speaketh of this bird and saith, that when the highest bishop onyas builded a temple in the city of heliopolis in egypt, to the likeness of the temple in jerusalem, on the first day of easter, when he had gathered much sweet-smelling wood, and set it on fire upon the altar to offer sacrifice, to all men's sight such a bird came suddenly, and fell into the middle of the fire, and was burnt anon to ashes in the fire of the sacrifice, and the ashes abode there, and were busily kept and saved by the commandments of the priests, and within three days, of these ashes was bred a little worm, that took the shape of a bird at the last, and flew into the wilderness. the crane is a bird of great wings and strong flight, and flieth high into the air to see the countries towards the which he will draw. and is a bird that loveth birds of his own kind, and they living in company together have a king among them and fly in order. and the leader of the company compelleth the company to fly aright, crying as it were blaming with his voice. and if it hap that he wax hoarse, then another crane cometh after him, and taketh the same office. and after they fall to the earth crying, for to rest, and when they sit on the ground, to keep and save them, they ordain watches that they may rest the more surely, and the wakers stand upon one foot, and each of them holdeth a little stone in the other foot, high from the earth, that they may be waked by falling of the stone, if it hap that they sleep. a griffin is accounted among flying things (deut. xiiii.) and there the gloss saith, that the griffin is four-footed, and like to the eagle in head and in wings, and is like to the lion in the other parts of the body. and dwelleth in those hills that are called hyperborean, and are most enemies to horses and men, and grieveth them most, and layeth in his nest a stone that hight smaragdus against venomous beasts of the mountain. a pelican is a bird of egypt, and dwelleth in deserts beside the river nile. all that the pelican eateth, he plungeth in water with his foot, and when he hath so plunged it in water, he putteth it into his mouth with his own foot, as it were with an hand. only the pelican and the popinjay among fowls use the foot instead of an hand. the pelican loveth too much her children. for when the children be haught, and begin to wax hoar, they smite the father and the mother in the face, wherefore the mother smiteth them again and slayeth them. and the third day, the mother smiteth herself in her side, that the blood runneth out, and sheddeth that hot blood on the bodies of her children. and by virtue of that blood, the birds that were before dead quicken again. master jacobus de vitriaco in his book of the wonders of the eastern parts telleth another cause of the death of pelicans' birds. he saith that the serpent hateth kindly this bird. wherefore when the mother passeth out of the nest to get meat, the serpent climbeth on the tree, and stingeth and infecteth the birds. and when the mother cometh again, she maketh sorrow three days for her birds, as it is said. then (he saith) she smiteth herself in the breast and springeth blood upon them, and reareth them from death to life, and then for great bleeding the mother waxeth feeble, and the birds are compelled to pass out of the nest to get themselves meat. and some of them for kind love feed the mother that is feeble, and some are unkind and care not for the mother, and the mother taketh good heed thereto, and when she cometh to her strength, she nourisheth and loveth those birds that fed her in her need, and putteth away her other birds, as unworthy and unkind, and suffereth them not to dwell nor live with her. the peacock hath an unsteadfast and evil shapen head, as it were the head of a serpent, and with a crest. and he hath a simple pace, and small neck and areared, and a blue breast, and a tail full of eyes distinguished and high with wonder fairness, and he hath foulest feet and rivelled. and he wondereth of the fairness of his feathers, and areareth them up as it were a circle about his head, and then he looketh to his feet, and seeth the foulness of his feet, and like as he were ashamed he letteth his feathers fall suddenly, and all the tail downward, as though he took no heed of the fairness of his feathers. and as one saith, he hath the voice of a fiend, head of a serpent, pace of a thief. for he hath an horrible voice. in this bird [the vulture] the wit of smelling is best. and therefore by smelling he savoureth carrions that be far from him, that is beyond the sea, and ayenward. therefore the vulture followeth the host that he may feed himself with carrions of men and of horses. and therefore (as a diviner saith), when many vultures come and fly together, it tokeneth battle. and they know that such a battle shall be, by some privy wit of kind. he eateth raw flesh, and therefore he fighteth against other fowls because of meat, and he hunteth fro midday to night, and resteth still fro the sunrising to that time. and when he ageth, his over bill waxeth long and crooked over the nether, and [he] dieth at the last for hunger. and some men say, by error of old time, that the vulture was sometime a man, and was cruel to some pilgrims, and therefore he hath such pain of his bill, and dieth for hunger, but that is not lawful to believe. jorath saith, that there is a great fish in the sea, that hight bellua, that casteth out water at his jaws with vapour of good smell, and other fish feel the smell and follow him, and enter and come in at his jaws following the smell, and he swalloweth them and is so fed with them. also he saith that dolphins know by the smell if a dead man, that is on the sea, ate ever of dolphin's kind; and if the dead man hath eat thereof, he eateth him anon; and if he did not, he keepeth and defendeth him fro eating and biting of other fish, and shoveth him, and bringeth him to the cliff with his own working? enchirius is a little fish unneth half a foot long: for though he be full little of body, nathless he is most of virtue. for he cleaveth to the ship, and holdeth it still stedfastly in the sea, as though the ship were on ground therein. though winds blow, and waves arise strongly, and wood storms, that ship may not move nother pass. and that fish holdeth not still the ship by no craft, but only cleaving to the ship. it is said of the same fish that when he knoweth and feeleth that tempests of wind and weather be great, he cometh and taketh a great stone, and holdeth him fast thereby, as it were by an anchor, lest he be smitten away and thrown about by waves of the sea. and shipmen see this and beware that they be not overset unwarily with tempest and with storms. the crab is enemy to the oyster. for he liveth by fish thereof with a wonderful wit. for because that he may not open the hard shell of the oyster, he spieth and awaiteth when the oyster openeth, and then the crab, that lieth in await, taketh a little stone, and putteth it between the shells, that the oyster may not close himself. and when the closing is so let, the crab eateth and gnaweth the flesh of the oyster. it is said that the whale hath great plenty of sperm, and after that he gendereth, superfluity thereof fleeteth above the water; and if it be gathered and dried it turneth to the substance of amber. and in age, for greatness of body, on his ridge powder and earth is gathered, and so digged together that herbs and small trees and bushes grow thereon, so that that great fish seemeth an island. and if shipmen come unwarily thereby, unneth they scape without peril. for he throweth as much water out of his mouth upon the ship, that he overturneth it sometime or drowneth it. also he is so fat that when he is smitten with fishers' darts he feeleth not the wound, but it passeth throughout the fatness. but when the inner fish is wounded, then is he most easily taken. for he may not suffer the bitterness of the salt water, and therefore he draweth to the shoreward. and also he is so huge in quantity, that when he is taken, all the country is better for the taking. also he loveth his whelps with a wonder love, and leadeth them about in the sea long time. and if it happeth that his whelps be let with heaps of gravel, and by default of water, he taketh much water in his mouth, and throweth upon them, and delivereth them in that wise out of peril, and bringeth them again into the deep sea. and for to defend them he putteth himself against all things that he meeteth if it be noyful to them, and setteth them always between himself and the sun on the more secure side. and when strong tempest ariseth, while his whelps are tender and young, he swalloweth them up into his own womb. and when the tempest is gone and fair weather come, then he casteth them up whole and sound. also jorath saith, that against the whale fighteth a fish of serpent's kind, and is venomous as a crocodile. and then other fish come to the whale's tail, and if the whale be overcome the other fish die. and if the venomous fish may not overcome the whale, then he throweth out of his jaws the whale throweth out of his mouth a sweet smelling smoke, and putteth off the stinking smell, and defendeth and saveth himself and his in that manner wise. vii mediaeval natural history--animals the eighteenth book of the "de proprietatibus" is devoted to the properties of animals. it is composed of selections from pliny and aristotle, from the works of the mediaeval physicians and romancers, from magister jacobus de vitriaco, from the "historia alexandri magni de proeliis," from physiologus and the bestiarium. the editor has been obliged to reduce some of these extracts to make room for others. among these the reader will find many examples of those legends, which made up the popular natural history of early days, originally imported from the east through spain and italy. the memory of these survives even now in our popular locutions. "licked into shape" refers to the tale we give in our account of the bear. the royal nature of the lion is a commonplace: jonson and spenser speak of the sweet breath of the panther. drayton, in his "heroical epistles," quotes the siren and the hyena as examples: "to call for aid, and then to lie in wait, so the hyena murthers by deceit, by sweet enticement sudden death to bring, so from the rocks th' alluring mermaids sing." trevisa has invented an adjective for us that expresses the midnight caterwaul--"ghastful." bartholomew probably suffered from those two minor curses of humanity--the amorous cat and the wandering cur. but he has preserved for us a noble eulogy of the dog, and has a reference to the tale of the dog of montargis, the standing example of canine fidelity among a chivalrous folk. it is said, that in india is a beast wonderly shapen, and is like to the bear in body and in hair, and to a man in face. and hath a right red head, and a full great mouth, and an horrible, and in either jaw three rows of teeth distinguished atween. the outer limbs thereof be as it were the outer limbs of a lion, and his tail is like to a wild scorpion, with a sting, and smiteth with hard bristle pricks as a wild swine, and hath an horrible voice, as the voice of a trumpet, and he runneth full swiftly, and eateth men. and among all beasts of the earth is none found more cruel, nor more wonderly shape, as avicenna saith. and this beast is called baricos in greek. the boar is so fierce a beast, and also so cruel, that for his fierceness and his cruelness, he despiseth and setteth nought by death, and he reseth full piteously against the point of a spear of the hunter. and though it be so that he be smitten or sticked with a spear through the body, yet for the greater ire and cruelness in heart that he hath, he reseth on his enemy, and taketh comfort and heart and strength for to wreak himself on his adversary with his tusks, and putteth himself in peril of death with a wonder fierceness against the weapon of his enemy, and hath in his mouth two crooked tusks right strong and sharp, and breaketh and rendeth cruelly with them those which he withstandeth. and useth the tusks instead of a sword. and hath a hard shield, broad and thick in the right side, and putteth that always against his weapon that pursueth him, and useth that brawn instead of a shield to defend himself. and when he spieth peril that should befall, he whetteth his tusks and frotteth them, and assayeth in that while fretting against trees, if the points of his tusks be all blunt. and if he feel that they be blunt, he seeketh a herb which is called origanum, and gnaweth it and cheweth it, and cleanseth and comforteth the roots of his teeth therewith by vertue thereof. the ass is fair of shape and of disposition while he is young and tender, or he pass into age. for the elder the ass is, the fouler he waxeth from day to day, and hairy and rough, and is a melancholy beast, that is cold and dry, and is therefore kindly heavy and slow, and unlusty, dull and witless and forgetful. nathless he beareth burdens, and may away with travail and thraldom, and useth vile meat and little, and gathereth his meat among briars and thorns and thistles.... and the ass hath another wretched condition known to nigh all men. for he is put to travail over-night, and is beaten with staves, and sticked and pricked with pricks, and his mouth is wrung with a bernacle, and is led hither and thither, and withdrawn from leas and pasture that is in his way oft by the refraining of the bernacle, and dieth at last after vain travails, and hath no reward after his death for the service and travail that he had living, not so much that his own skin is left with him, but it is taken away, and the carrion is thrown out without sepulture or burials; but it be so much of the carrion that by eating and devouring is sometimes buried in the wombs of hounds and wolves. and such [adders] lie in await for them that sleep: and if they find the mouth open of them or of other beasts, then they creep in: for they love heat and humour that they find here. but against such adders a little beast fighteth that hight saura, as it were a little ewt, and some men mean that it is a lizard; for when this beast is aware that this serpent is present, then he leapeth upon his face that sleepeth, and scratcheth with his feet to wake him, and to warn him of the serpent. and when this little beast waxeth old, his eyen wax blind, and then he goeth into an hole of a wall against the east, and openeth his eyen afterward when the sun is risen, and then his eyen heat and take light. this slaying adder and venomous hath wit to love and affection, and loveth his mate as it were by love of wedlock, and liveth not well without company. therefore if the one is slain, the other pursueth him that slew that other with so busy wreak and vengeance, that passeth weening. and knoweth the slayer, and reseth on him, be he in never so great company of men and of people, and busieth to slay him, and passeth all difficulties and spaces of ways, and with wreak of the said death of his mate. and is not let, ne put off, but it be by swift flight, or by waters or rivers. marcianus saith that the asp grieveth not men of africa or moors; for they take their children that they have suspect, and put them to these adders: and if the children be of their kind, this adder grieveth them not, and if they be of other kind, anon they die by venom of the adder. an oxherd hight bubulcus, and is ordained by office to keep oxen: he feedeth and nourisheth oxen, and bringeth them to leas and home again: and bindeth their feet with a langhaldes and spanells and nigheth and cloggeth them while they be in pasture and leas, and yoketh and maketh them draw at the plough: and pricketh the slow with a goad, and maketh them draw even. and pleaseth them with whistling and with song, to make them bear the yoke with the better will for liking of melody of the voice. and this herd driveth and ruleth them to draw even, and teacheth them to make even furrows: and compelleth them not only to ear, but also to tread and to thresh. and they lead them about upon corn to break the straw in threshing and treading the flour. and when the travail is done, then they unyoke them and bring them to the stall: and tie them to the stall, and feed them thereat. the cockatrice hight basiliscus in greek, and regulus in latin; and hath that name regulus of a little king, for he is king of serpents, and they be afraid, and flee when they see him. for he slayeth them with his smell and with his breath: and slayeth also anything that hath life with breath and with sight. in his sight no fowl nor bird passeth harmless, and though he be far from the fowl, yet it is burned and devoured by his mouth. but he is overcome of the weasel; and men bring the weasel to the cockatrice's den, where he lurketh and is hid. for the father and maker of everything left nothing without remedy. among the hisperies and ethiopians is a well, that many men trow is the head of nile, and there beside is a wild beast that hight catoblefas, and hath a little body, and nice in all members, and a great head hanging always toward the earth, and else it were great noying to mankind. for all that see his eyen, should die anon, and the same kind hath the cockatrice, and the serpent that is bred in the province of sirena; and hath a body in length and in breadth as the cockatrice, and a tail of twelve inches long, and hath a speck in his head as a precious stone, and feareth away all serpents with hissing. and he presseth not his body with much bowing, but his course of way is forthright, and goeth in mean. he drieth and burneth leaves and herbs, not only with touch but also by hissing and blast he rotteth and corrupteth all things about him. and he is of so great venom and perilous, that he slayeth and wasteth him that nigheth him by the length of a spear, without tarrying; and yet the weasel taketh and overcometh him, for the biting of the weasel is death to the cockatrice. and nevertheless the biting of the cockatrice is death to the weasel. and that is sooth, but if the weasel eat rue before. and though the cockatrice be venomous without remedy, while he is alive, yet he loseth all the malice when he is burnt to ashes. his ashes be accounted good and profitable in working of alchemy, and namely in turning and changing of metals. nothing is more busy and wittier than a hound, for he hath more wit than other beasts. and hounds know their own names, and love their masters, and defend the houses of their masters, and put themselves wilfully in peril of death for their masters, and run to take prey for their masters, and forsake not the dead bodies of their masters. we have known that hounds fought for their lords against thieves, and were sore wounded, and that they kept away beasts and fowls from their masters' bodies dead. and that a hound compelled the slayer of his master with barking and biting to acknowledge his trespass and guilt. also we read that garamantus the king came out of exile, and brought with him two hundred hounds, and fought against his enemies with wondrous hardiness. other hounds flee and avoid the wood hound as pestilence and venom: and he is always exiled as it were an outlaw, and goeth alone wagging and rolling as a drunken beast, and runneth yawning, and his tongue hangeth out, and his mouth drivelleth and foameth, and his eyes be overturned and reared, and his ears lie backward, and his tail is wrinkled by the legs and thighs; and though his eyes be open, yet he stumbleth and spurneth against every thing. and barketh at his own shadow.... pliny saith that under the hound's tongue lieth a worm that maketh the hound wood, and if this worm is taken out of the tongue, then the evil ceaseth.... also an hound is wrathful and malicious, so that for to awreak himself, he biteth oft the stone that is thrown to him: and biteth the stone with great woodness, that he breaketh his own teeth, and grieveth not the stone, but his own teeth full sore. also he is guileful and deceivable, and so oft he fickleth and fawneth with his tail on men that pass by the way, as though he were a friend, and biteth them sore if they take none heed backward. and the hound hateth stones and rods, and is bold and hardy among them that he knoweth, and busieth to bite and to fear all other, and is not bold when he passeth among strangers. also the hound is envious, and gathereth herbs privily, and is right sorry if any man know the virtue of those herbs, as is also evil apaid if any strange hounds and unknown come into the place where he dwelleth; and dreadeth lest he should fare the worse for the other hound's presence, and fighteth with him therefore. also he is covetous and scarce, and busy to lay up and to hide the relief that he leaveth. and therefore he commoneth not, nor giveth flesh and marrow-bones that he may not devour to other hounds: but layeth them up busily, and hideth them until he hungereth again.... and at the last the hound is violently drawn out of the dunghill with a rope or with a whip bound about his neck, and is drowned in the river, or in some other water, and so he endeth his wretched life. and his skin is not taken off, nor his flesh is not eaten or buried, but left finally to flies, and to other divers worms. in pontus is a manner kind of beasts, that dwelleth now in land and now in water, and maketh houses and dens arrayed with wonder craft in the brinks of rivers and of waters. for these beasts live together in flocks, and love beasts of the same kind, and come together and cut rods and sticks with their teeth, and bring them home to their dens in a wonder wise, for they lay one of them upright on the ground, instead of a sled or of a dray, with his legs and feet reared upward, and lay and load the sticks and wood between his legs and thighs, and draw him home to their dens, and unlade and discharge him there, and make their dwelling places right strong by great subtlety of craft. in their houses be two chambers or three distinguished, as it were three cellars, and they dwell in the over place when the water ariseth, and in the nether when the water is away, and each of them hath a certain hole properly made in the cellar, by the which hole he putteth out his tail in the water, for the tail is of fishy kind, it may not without water be long kept without corruption. if the crocodile findeth a man by the brim of the water, or by the cliff, he slayeth him if he may, and then he weepeth upon him, and swalloweth him at the last. the dragon is most greatest of all serpents, and oft he is drawn out of his den, and riseth up into the air, and the air is moved by him, and also the sea swelleth against his venom, and he hath a crest with a little mouth, and draweth breath at small pipes and straight, and reareth his tongue, and hath teeth like a saw, and hath strength, and not only in teeth, but also in his tail, and grieveth both with biting and with stinging, and hath not so much venom as other serpents: for to the end to slay anything, to him venom is not needful, for whom he findeth he slayeth, and the elephant is not secure of him, for all his greatness of body. oft four or five of them fasten their tails together, and rear up their heads, and sail over sea and over rivers to get good meat. between elephants and dragons is everlasting fighting, for the dragon with his tail bindeth and spanneth the elephant, and the elephant with his foot and with his nose throweth down the dragon, and the dragon bindeth and spanneth the elephant's legs, and maketh him fall, but the dragon buyeth it full sore: for while he slayeth the elephant, the elephant falleth upon him and slayeth him. also the elephant seeing the dragon upon a tree, busieth him to break the tree to smite the dragon, and the dragon leapeth upon the elephant, and busieth him to bite him between the nostrils, and assaileth the elephant's eyen, and maketh him blind sometime, and leapeth upon him sometime behind, and biteth him and sucketh his blood. and at the last after long fighting the elephant waxeth feeble for great blindness, in so much that he falleth upon the dragon, and slayeth in his dying the dragon that him slayeth. the cause why the dragon desireth his blood, is coldness of the elephant's blood, by the which the dragon desireth to cool himself. jerome saith, that the dragon is a full thirsty beast, insomuch that unneth he may have water enough to quench his great thirst; and openeth his mouth therefore against the wind, to quench the burning of his thirst in that wise. therefore when he seeth ships sail in the sea in great wind, he flieth against the sail to take their cold wind, and overthroweth the ship sometimes for greatness of body, and strong rese against the sail. and when the shipmen see the dragon come nigh, and know his coming by the water that swelleth ayenge him, they strike the sail anon, and scape in that wise. horses be joyful in fields, and smell battles, and be comforted with noise of trumpets to battle and to fighting; and be excited to run with noise that they know, and be sorry when they be overcome, and glad when they have the mastery. and so feeleth and knoweth their enemies in battle so far forth that they a-rese on their enemies with biting and smiting, and also some know their own lords, and forget mildness, if their lords be overcome: and some horses suffer no man to ride on their backs, but only their own lords. and many horses weep when their lords be dead. and it is said that horses weep for sorrow, right as a man doth, and so the kind of horse and of man is medlied. also oft men that shall fight take evidence and divine and guess what shall befall, by sorrow or by the joy that the horse maketh. old men mean that in gentle horse, noble men take heed of four things, of shape, and of fairness, of wilfulness, and of colour. in his forehead when he is foaled is found iconemor, a black skin of the quantity of a sedge, that hight also amor's veneficium; and the mother licketh it off with her tongue, and taketh it away and hideth it or eateth it. for women that be witches use that skin in their sayings, when they will excite a man to love.... the colt is not littered with straw, nor curried with an horse comb, nor arrayed with trapping and gay harness, nor smitten with spurs, nor saddled with saddle, nor tamed with bridle, but he followeth his mother freely, and eateth grass, and his feet be not pierced with nails, but he is suffered to run hither and thither freely: but at the last he is set to work and to travail, and is held and tied and led with halters and reins, and taken from his mother, and may not suck his dam's teats; but he is taught in many manner wise to go easily and soft. and he is set to carts, chariots, and cars, and to travel and bearing of horsemen in chivalry: and so the silly horse colt is foaled to divers hap of fortune. isidore saith, that horses were sometime hallowed in divers usage of the gods. among beasts the elephant is most of virtue, so that unneth among men is so great readiness found. for in the new moon they come together in great companies, and bathe and wash them in a river, and lowte each to other, and turn so again to their own places, and they make the young go tofore in the turning again; and keep them busily and teach them to do in the same wise: and when they be sick, they gather good herbs, and ere they use the herbs they heave up the head, and look up toward heaven, and pray for help of god in a certain religion. and they be good of wit, and learn well: and are easy to teach, insomuch that they be taught to know the king and to worship him, and busy to do him reverence and to bend the knees in worship of him. if elephants see a man coming against them that is out of the way in the wilderness, for they would not affray him, they will draw themselves somewhat out of the way, and then they stint, and pass little and little tofore him, and teach him the way. and if a dragon come against him, they fight with the dragon and defend the man, and put them forth to defend the man strongly and mightily: and do so namely when they have young foals, for they dread that the man seeketh their foals. and therefore they purpose first to deliver them of the man, that they may more securely feed their children and keep them the more warily.... elephants be best in chivalry when they be tame: for they bear towers of tree, and throw down sheltrons, and overturn men of arms, and that is wonderful; for they dread not men of arms ranged in battle, and dread and flee the voice of the least sound of a swine. when they be taken, they be made tame and mild with barley: and a cave or a ditch is made under the earth, as it were a pitfall in the elephant's way, and unawares he falleth therein. and then one of the hunters cometh to him and beateth and smiteth him, and pricketh him full sore. and then another hunter cometh and smiteth the first hunter, and doth him away, and defendeth the elephant, and giveth him barley to eat, and when he hath eaten thrice or four times, then he loveth him that defended him, and is afterward mild and obedient to him. i have read in physiologus' book that the elephant is a beast that passeth all other four-footed beasts in quantity, in wit, and in mind. for among other doings elephants lie never down in sleeping; but when they be weary they lean to a tree and so rest somewhat. and men lie in wait to espy their resting places privily, for to cut the tree in the other side: and the elephant cometh and is not aware of the fraud, and leaneth to the tree and breaketh it with the weight of his body, and falleth down with the breaking, and lieth there. and when he seeth he may not help himself in falling he crieth and roareth in a wonder manner: and by his noise and crying come suddenly many young elephants, and rear up the old little and little with all their strength and might: and while they arear him with wonder affection and love, they bend themselves with all their might and strength. ... also there is another thing said that is full wonderful: among the ethiopians in some countries elephants be hunted in this wise: there go in the desert two maidens all naked and bare, with open hair of the head: and one of them beareth a vessel, and the other a sword. and these maidens begin to sing alone: and the beast hath liking when he heareth their song, and cometh to them, and licketh their teats, and falleth asleep anon for liking of the song, and then the one maid sticketh him in the throat or in the side with a sword, and the other taketh his blood in a vessel, and with that blood the people of the same country dye cloth, and done colour it therewith. satyrs be somewhat like men, and have crooked nose and horns in the forehead, and like to goats in their feet. saint anthony saw such a one in the wilderness, as it is said, and he asked what he was, and he answered anthony, and said: "i am deadly, and one of them that dwelleth in the wilderness." these wonderful beasts be divers: for some of them be called cyno[ce]phali, for they have heads as hounds, and seem by the working, beasts rather than men, and some be called cyclops, and have that name, for one of them hath but one eye, and that in the middle of the forehead, and some be all headless and noseless, and their eyen be in the shoulders, and some have plain faces without nostrils, and the nether lips of them stretch so, that they hele therewith their faces when they be in the heat of the sun: and some of them have closed mouths, in their breasts only one hole, and breathe and suck as it were with pipes and veins, and these be accounted tongueless, and use signs and becks instead of speaking. also in scythia be some with so great and large ears, that they spread their ears and cover all their bodies with them, and these be called panchios.... and other be in ethiopia, and each of them have only one foot so great and so large, that they beshadow themselves with the foot when they lie gaping on the ground in strong heat of the sun; and yet they be so swift, that they be likened to hounds in swiftness of running, and therefore among the greeks they be called cynopodes. also some have the soles of their feet turned backward behind the legs, and in each foot eight toes, and such go about and stare in the desert of lybia. the griffin is a beast with wings, and is four footed: and breedeth in the mountains hyperborean, and is like to the lion in all the parts of the body, and to the eagle only in the head and wings. and griffins keep the mountains in which be gems and precious stones, and suffer them not to be taken from thence. the hyena is a cruel beast like to the wolf in devouring and gluttony, and reseth on dead men, and taketh their carcase out of the earth, and devoureth them. it is his kind to change sex, for he is now found male, and now female, and is therefore an unclean beast, and cometh to hoveys by night, and feigneth man's voice as he may, for men should trow that it is a man. pliny saith: it is said he is one year male and another female. and she bringeth forth her brood without male, as the common people trow. but aristotle denieth that. and hath the neck of the adder, and the ridge of an elephant, and may not bend but if he bear all the body about. and herds tell that among stables, he feigneth speech of mankind, and calleth some man by his own name, and rendeth him when he hath him without. and he feigneth oft the name of some man, for to make hounds run out, that he may take and eat them.... and his shadow maketh hounds leave barking and be still, if he come near them. and if this beast hyena goeth thrice about any beast, that beast shall stint within his steps. pliny saith that the hyena hateth the panther. and it is said that if both their skins be hanged together, the hair of the panther's skin shall fall away. this beast hyena fleeth the hunter, and draweth toward the right side, to occupy the trace of the man that goeth before: and if he cometh not after, he telleth that he goeth out of his wit, or else the man falleth down off his horse. and if he turn against the hyena, the beast is soon taken, as magicians tell. and also witches use the heart of this beast and the liver, in many witchcrafts. some lions be short with crisp hair and mane, and these lions fight not; and some lions have simple hair of mane, and those lions have sharp and fierce hearts, and by their foreheads and tails their virtue is known in the beast, and their stedfastness in the head: and when they be beset with hunters, then they behold the earth, for to dread the less the hunters and their gins, that them have beset about: and he dreadeth noise and rushing of wheels, but he dreadeth fire much more. and when they sleep their eyes wake: and when they go forth or about, they hele and hide their fores and steps, for hunters should not find them.... it is the kind of lions, not to be wroth with man, but if they be grieved or hurt. also their mercy is known by many and oft examples: for they spare them that lie on the ground, and suffer them to pass homeward that were prisoners and come out of thraldom, and eat not a man or slay him but in great hunger. pliny saith that the lion is in most gentleness and nobility, when his neck and shoulders be heled with hair and main. and he that is gendered of the pard, lacketh that nobility. the lion knoweth by smell, if the pard gendereth with the lioness, and reseth against the lioness that breaketh spousehood, and punisheth her full sore, but if she wash her in a river, and then it is not known. the lion liveth most long, and that is known by working and wasting of his teeth: and when in age he reseth on a man: for his virtue and might faileth to pursue great beasts and wild. and then he besiegeth cities to ransom and to take men: but when the lions be taken, then they be hanged, for other lions should dread such manner pain. the old lion reseth woodly on men, and only grunteth on women, and reseth seldom on children, but in great hunger.... in peril the lion is most gentle and noble, for when he is pursued with hounds and with hunters, the lion lurketh not nor hideth himself, but sitteth in fields where he may be seen, and arrayeth himself to defence. and runneth out of wood and covert with swift running and course, as though he would account vile shame to lurk and to hide himself. and he hideth himself not for dread that he hath, but he dreadeth himself sometime, only for he would not be dreaded. and when he pursueth man or beast in lands, then he leapeth when he reseth on him. when he is wounded, he taketh wonderly heed, and knoweth them that him first smiteth, and reseth on the smiter, though he be never in so great multitude: and if a man shoot at him, the lion chaseth him and throweth him down, and woundeth him not, nor hurteth him.... he hideth himself in high mountains, and espieth from thence his prey. and when he seeth his prey he roareth full loud, and at the voice of him other beasts dread and stint suddenly: and he maketh a circle all about them with his tail, and all the beasts dread to pass out over the line of the circle, and the beasts stand astonied and afraid, as it were abiding the hest and commandment of their king.... and he is ashamed to eat alone the prey that he taketh; therefore of his grace of free heart, he leaveth some of his prey to other beasts that follow him afar.... and the lion is hunted in this wise: one double cave is made one fast by that other, and in the second cave is set a whiche, that closeth full soon when it is touched: and in the first den and cave is a lamb set, and the lion leapeth therein, when he is an hungered, for to take the lamb. and when he seeth that he may not break out of the den, he is ashamed that he is beguiled, and would enter in to the second den to lurk there, and falleth smell, if the pard gendereth with the lioness, and reseth against the lioness that breaketh spousehood, and punisheth her full sore, but if she wash her in a river, and then it is not known. the lion liveth most long, and that is known by working and wasting of his teeth: and when in age he reseth on a man: for his virtue and might faileth to pursue great beasts and wild. and then he besiegeth cities to ransom and to take men: but when the lions be taken, then they be hanged, for other lions should dread such manner pain. the old lion reseth woodly on men, and only grunteth on women, and reseth seldom on children, but in great hunger.... in peril the lion is most gentle and noble, for when he is pursued with hounds and with hunters, the lion lurketh not nor hideth himself, but sitteth in fields where he may be seen, and arrayeth himself to defence. and runneth out of wood and covert with swift running and course, as though he would account vile shame to lurk and to hide himself. and he hideth himself not for dread that he hath, but he dreadeth himself sometime, only for he would not be dreaded. and when he pursueth man or beast in lands, then he leapeth when he reseth on him. when he is wounded, he taketh wonderly heed, and knoweth them that him first smiteth, and reseth on the smiter, though he be never in so great multitude: and if a man shoot at him, the lion chaseth him and throweth him down, and woundeth him not, nor hurteth him.... he hideth himself in high mountains, and espieth from thence his prey. and when he seeth his prey he roareth full loud, and at the voice of him other beasts dread and stint suddenly: and he maketh a circle all about them with his tail, and all the beasts dread to pass out over the line of the circle, and the beasts stand astonied and afraid, as it were abiding the hest and commandment of their king.... and he is ashamed to eat alone the prey that he taketh; therefore of his grace of free heart, he leaveth some of his prey to other beasts that follow him afar.... and the lion is hunted in this wise: one double cave is made one fast by that other, and in the second cave is set a whiche, that closeth full soon when it is touched: and in the first den and cave is a lamb set, and the lion leapeth therein, when he is an hungered, for to take the lamb. and when he seeth that he may not break out of the den, he is ashamed that he is beguiled, and would enter in to the second den to lurk there, and falleth into it, and it closeth anon as he is in, and letteth him not pass out thereof, but keepeth him fast therein, until he be taken out and bound with chains till he be tame.... the lion is cruel and wood when he is wroth, and biteth and grieveth himself for indignation, and gnasheth with his teeth, and namely when he hungreth, and spieth and lieth in wait, to take beasts which pass by the way. he hideth himself in privy caves, and reseth on beasts unawares, and slayeth them with his teeth and claws, and breaketh all their members, and eateth them piecemeal: and if he see any come against him to take away his prey, then he beclippeth the prey, and grunteth and smiteth the earth with his tail, and if he nigheth him he leapeth on him, and overcometh him, and turneth to the prey. first he drinketh and licketh the blood of the beast that he slayeth, and rendeth and haleth the other-deal limb- meal, and devoureth and swalloweth it. the leopard is a beast most cruel, and is gendered in spouse-breach of a pard and of a lioness, and pursueth his prey startling and leaping and not running, and if he taketh not his prey in the third leap, or in the fourth, then he stinteth for indignation, and goeth backward as though he were overcome. and he is less in body than the lion, and therefore he dreadeth the lion, and maketh a cave under earth with double entering, one by which he goeth in, and the other by which he goeth out. and that cave is full wide and large in either entering, and more narrow and straight in the middle. and so when the lion cometh, he fleeth and falleth suddenly into the cave, and the lion pursueth him with a great rese, and entereth also into the cave, and weeneth there to have the mastery over the leopard, but for greatness of his body he may not pass freely by the middle of the den which is full straight, and when the leopard knoweth that the lion is so let and holden in the straight place, he goeth out of the den forward, and cometh again into the den in the other side behind the lion, and reseth on him behindforth with biting and with claws, and so the leopard hath often in that wise the mastery of the lion by craft and not by strength, so the less beast hath oft the mastery of the strong beast by deceit and guile in the den, and dare not rese on him openly in the field, as homer saith in the book of the battles and wiles of beasts. churls speak of him [the wolf] and say that a man loseth his voice, if the wolf seeth him first. therefore to a man that is suddenly still, and leaveth to speak it is said, "lupus est in fabula," "the wolf is in the tale." and certainly if he know that he is seen first, he loseth his boldness, hardihood, and fierceness. the wolf is an evil beast, when he eateth, and resteth much when he hath no hunger: he is full hardy, and loveth well to play with a child, if he may take him; and slayeth him afterward, and eateth him at the last. it is said, that if the wolf be stoned, he taketh heed of him that threw the first stone, and if that stone grieveth him he will slay him: and if it grieveth him not, and he may take him that throweth that stone, he doth him not much harm, but some harm he doth him as it were in wrath, and leaveth him at last.... the wolf may not bend his neck backward in no month of the year but in may alone, when it thundereth. and when he goeth by night to a fold for to take his prey, he goeth against the wind for hounds should not smell him. and if it happeth in any wise that his foot maketh noise, treading upon anything, then he chasteneth that foot with hard biting.... i have read in a book that a string made of a wolf's gut, put among harp strings made of the guts of sheep, destroyeth and corrupteth them, as the eagle's feathers put among culvours', pulleth and gnaweth them, if they be there left together long in one place. he [the cat] is a full lecherous beast in youth, swift, pliant, and merry, and leapeth and reseth on everything that is to fore him: and is led by a straw, and playeth therewith: and is a right heavy beast in age and full sleepy, and lieth slyly in wait for mice: and is aware where they be more by smell than by sight, and hunteth and reseth on them in privy places: and when he taketh a mouse, he playeth therewith, and eateth him after the play. in time of love is hard fighting for wives, and one scratcheth and rendeth the other grievously with biting and with claws. and he maketh a ruthful noise and ghastful, when one proffereth to fight with another: and unneth is hurt when he is thrown down off an high place. and when he hath a fair skin, he is as it were proud thereof, and goeth fast about: and when his skin is burnt, then he bideth at home; and is oft for his fair skin taken of the skinner, and slain and flayed. physiologus speaketh of the panther and saith that he hateth the dragon, and the dragon fleeth him: and when he hath eat enough at full, he hideth him in his den, and sleepeth continually nigh three days, and riseth after three days and crieth, and out of his mouth cometh right good air and savour, and is passing measure sweet: and for the sweetness all beasts follow him. and only the dragon is a- feared when he heareth his voice, and fleeth into a den, and may not suffer the smell thereof; and faileth in himself, and looseth his comfort. for he weeneth that his smell is very venom. all four-footed beasts have liking to behold the divers colours of the panther and tiger, but they are a-feared of the horribleness of their heads, and therefore they hide their heads, and toll the beasts to them with fairness of that other-deal of the body, and take them when they come so tolled, and eat them. the mermaid is a sea beast wonderly shapen, and draweth shipmen to peril by sweetness of song. the gloss on is. xiii. saith that sirens are serpents with crests. and some men say, that they are fishes of the sea in likeness of women. some men feign that there are three sirens some-deal maidens, and some-deal fowls with claws and wings, and one of them singeth with voice, and another with a pipe, and the third with an harp, and they please so shipmen, with likeness of song, that they draw them to peril and to shipbreach, but the sooth is, that they were strong hores, that drew men that passed by them to poverty and to mischief. and physiologus saith it is a beast of the sea, wonderly shapen as a maid from the navel upward and a fish from the navel downward, and this wonderful beast is glad and merry in tempest, and sad and heavy in fair weather. with sweetness of song this beast maketh shipmen to sleep, and when she seeth that they are asleep, she goeth into the ship, and ravisheth which she may take with her, and bringeth him into a dry place, and maketh him first lie by her, and if he will not or may not, then she slayeth him and eateth his flesh. of such wonderful beasts it is written in the great alexander's story. the tiger is the swiftest beast in flight, as it were an arrow, for the persees call an arrow tigris, and is a beast distinguished with divers specks, and is wonderly strong and swift. and pliny saith that they be beasts of dreadful swiftness, and that is namely known when he is taken, for the whelp is all glimy and sinewy; and the hunter lieth in await, and taketh away the whelps, and fleeth soon away on the most swift horse that he may have. and when the wild beast cometh and findeth the den void, and the whelps away, then he reseth headlong, and taketh the fore of him that beareth the whelps away, and followeth him by smell, and when the hunter heareth the grutching of that beast that runneth after him, he throweth down one of the whelps; and the mother taketh the whelp in her mouth, and beareth him into her den and layeth him therein, and runneth again after the hunter. but in the meantime the hunter taketh a ship, and hath with him the other whelps, and scapeth in that wise; and so she is beguiled and her fierceness standeth in no stead, and the male taketh no wood rese after. for the male recketh not of the whelps, and he that will bear away the whelps, leaveth in the way great mirrors, and the mother followeth and findeth the mirrors in the way, and looketh on them and seeth her own shadow and image therein, and weeneth that she seeth her children therein, and is long occupied therefore to deliver her children out of the glass, and so the hunter hath time and space for to scape, and so she is beguiled with her own shadow, and she followeth no farther after the hunter to deliver her children. avicenna saith that the bear bringeth forth a piece of flesh imperfect and evil shapen, and the mother licketh the lump, and shapeth the members with licking.... for the whelp is a piece of flesh little more than a mouse, having neither eyes nor ears, and having claws some-deal bourgeoning, and so this lump she licketh, and shapeth a whelp with licking.... and it is wonder to tell a thing, that theophrastus saith and telleth that bear's flesh sodden that time (of their sleeping) vanisheth if it be laid up, and is no token of meat found in the almery, but a little quantity of humour.... when he is taken he is made blind with a bright basin, and bound with chains, and compelled to play, and tamed with beating; and is an unsteadfast beast, and unstable and uneasy, and goeth therefore all day about the stake, to the which he is strongly tied. he licketh and sucketh his own feet, and hath liking in the juice thereof. he can wonderly sty upon trees unto the highest tops of them, and oft bees gather honey in hollow trees, and the bear findeth honey by smell, and goeth up to the place that the honey is in, and maketh a way into the tree with his claws, and draweth out the honey and eateth it, and cometh oft by custom unto such a place when he is an-hungered. and the hunter taketh heed thereof, and pitcheth full sharp hooks and stakes about the foot of the tree, and hangeth craftily a right heavy hammer or a wedge tofore the open way to the honey. and then the bear cometh and is an- hungered, and the log that hangeth there on high letteth him: and he putteth away the wedge despiteously, but after the removing the wedge falleth again and hitteth him on the ear. and he hath indignation thereof, and putteth away the wedge despiteously and right fiercely, and then the wedge falleth and smiteth him harder than it did before, and he striveth so long with the wedge, until his feeble head doth fail by oft smiting of the wedge, and then he falleth down upon the pricks and stakes, and slayeth himself in that wise. theophrastus telleth this manner hunting of bears, and learned it of the hunters in the country of germany. a fox is called vulpes, and hath that name as it were wallowing feet aside, and goeth never forthright, but always aslant and with fraud. and is a false beast and deceiving, for when him lacketh meat, he feigneth himself dead, and then fowls come to him, as it were to a carrion, and anon he catcheth one and devoureth it. the fox halteth always, for the right legs are shorter than the left legs. his skin is right hairy rough and hot, his tail is great and rough; and when an hound weeneth to take him by the tail, he taketh his mouth full of hair and stoppeth it. the fox doth fight with the brock for dens, and defileth the brock's den, and hath so the mastery over him with fraud and deceit, and not by strength.... the fox feigneth himself tame in time of need, but by night he waiteth his time and doeth shrewd deeds. and though he be right guileful in himself and malicious, yet he is good and profitable in use of medicine. the sources of the book adamantius (fl. ). origen it quoted under this name. his commentaries on the old testament are the works quoted from. aegidius corboliensis, of corbeil (d. ). a doctor at montpellier, and canon of paris. alanus de insulis, or de ryssel (d. ). a monk of canterbury, most probably an englishman. his principal work is a poem in books, called anti-claudianus, largely quoted by all middle age writers. an account of it is given in the notes on the secreta secretorum (e.e.t.s.). he also wrote de planctu naturae, parabolae, etc. albertus magnus ( - ). a famous doctor in the university of paris and a dominican theologian. the works quoted are commentaries on the natural histories of aristotle. they have often been printed. he was teacher of thomas aquinas and a contemporary of our author. albumazar (d. ). an arab astronomer. alcuin ( - ). an english theologian: the work quoted is his "de septem artibus." alexander neckham, or nequam ( - ). his principal work is "de naturis rerum," a book little known on the continent. its use by bartholomew is thus another proof of his english birth. alfaragus ( th cent.). an arab astronomer, whose work is notable as being the chief source of the celebrated astronomical treatise, "the sphere," of johannes sacrobosco (john of halifax), a contemporary englishman. it was the popular text-book for over three centuries, and was as well known as euclid. alfredus anglicus (fl. ). a physician and translator of aristotle. see jacob's aesop for a discussion on his works. al ghazel ( - ). a sceptic opponent of averroes. ambrose (d. ). the hexameron is the work used. anselm ( - ). theologian, archbishop of canterbury. the inventor of scholasticism. archelaus. a greek geographer. aristotle ( - b.c.). i would refer the reader to brÃ�chillet jourdain on the early translations of aristotle, where he will find a mine of information on the works of this writer used in the middle age. augustine (d. ). aurora, the. a metrical version of the bible by petrus de riga, canon of rheims (d. ). averroes (d. ). moorish commentator on aristotle. avicebron (d. ), or ibn gebirol. a spanish jew. author of the fontis vita. a work translated by gundisalvi, of the greatest influence on the metaphysic of the middle age. see munck, mÃ�langes. avicenna ( - ). an arab physician, and commentator on aristotle. aymon, or haymon (d. ). an english franciscan, afterwards general of the order, who revised the breviary and rubrics. basil ( - ). in hexameron. bede ( - ). the work by which he was best known in the thirteenth century was not his history but the works on the _calendar_, etc. beleth, john (before ). a french writer on ecclesiastical matters. bernard ( - ). bestiarium. a collection of early myths on animals; of eastern origin. there are many different forms of this work. all are founded on physiologus. boethius ( - ). his treatise on arithmetic is the work quoted here. his "consolation" was almost unknown in the early middle age, his popularity resting on his translations of aristotle and his treatises on music and arithmetic, the latter being a very important work in the history of the science. callisthenes, pseudo-. author of the historia alexandri magni de preliis. see budge's syriac version of this work. cassiodorus ( - ). de septem disciplinis. one of the favourite middle age text-books. cato ( - b.c.). on agriculture. chalcidius ( rd cent.). a commentator on the timaeus of plato. only a part of this is preserved. cicero ( - b.c.). in somn. scipionis. constantinus afer (d. ). a benedictine monk of monte cassino, and most probably the introducer of arab medicine into italy. he wrote the viaticum and the pantegna ( books). he introduced arab medicine into europe through the school of salerno, translating many arab authors. cyprian (d. ). a syriac astrologer, afterwards bishop of antioch, and martyr in the diocletian persecution. damascene ( th cent.). quoted by constantinus afer. a physician. damascene, john (end of th cent.). an arab physician. damascius (circ. ). a syrian commentator on aristotle, who took refuge in persia. author of a work on wonders quoted by photius. dioscorides (d. b.c.). dionysius areopagitus, pseudo- (circ. ). de celesti hierarchia, de divinis nominibus. donatus ( ). a grammarian. euficius (circ. ). a disciple of gregory. fulgentius (circ. ). a grammarian. galen ( - ). gilbertus (circ. ). a celebrated english physician in france; wrote compendium medicinae. gregory (circ. ). on job. haly (circ. ). a jewish physician. wrote a pantegni or complementum medicinae. the first medical work translated by constantius afer. hermes. in alchemia (not now extant). hippocrates ( - b.c.). hugution pizanus (d. ). a jurisconsult and writer on grammar. hyginus, pseudo- ( th cent.). writer on astronomy. innocent iii. (d. ). wrote "de contemptu mundi," etc. isaac (circ. ). an arab physician, who translated many greek authors into arabic. isidore (d. ). bishop of seville. he wrote a work on etymology in books, one of the most popular works of the middle age. jacobus de vitriaco (d. ). a crusading bishop, afterwards cardinal legate. wrote an exemplar, and books of eastern and western history. jerome ( - ). joseph ben gorion ( ). abridgment of jewish history containing many legends. josephus ( - ). jewish historian. jorath. de animalibus. a syriac writer (?). lapidarium. see marbodius de gemmis. there are many treatises under this name. leo ix. ( ). see migne, patrologia. lucan (d. ). one of the most popular latin poets of the middle age. macer floridus ( th cent.). on the virtues of herbs. macrobius (circ. ). his commentary on the dream of scipio was a favourite work in medieval times. martianus capella (circ. ). wrote a poem, the marriage of mercury and philologia, treating of the seven liberal arts, which was the standard text-book from the th century for the schools. messahala (circ. ). methodius, pseudo- ( th cent.). de agarini. michael scot (circ. ). at this time concerned in the translation of some arabic works on astronomy, and aristotle's de coelo and de mundo de anima, and historia naturalis with commentaries. misalath astrologus (?). papias (circ. ). grammarian. [milan, , etc.] perspectiva sciencia. i cannot say whether this is bacon's, peckham's, or albertus magnus', but i believe it to be peckham's, who was an englishman, and afterwards archbishop of canterbury. petrus comestor (d. ). named magister historiarum or master of histories, wrote an account of the world from the creation, which, when translated into french, was called the "mer des histoires." a favourite medieval book. philaretus ( ). a writer on medicine. physiologus. a syriac compilation of moralities on animal myths. it first appears in western europe as theobaldus de naturis xii. animalium. of alexandrian origin, it dates from before the fourth century, and appears to have been altered at the will of each writer. platearius salernitanus (circ. ) was johannes, one of a family of physicians at salerno. his work is called the practica. a book on the virtues of herbs. [lugd., , etc.] plato ( - b.c.). the timaeus is quoted, probably from chalcidius. pliny (d. ). natural history. this and isidore's work are the two chief sources of medieval knowledge of nature. priscian (circ. ). grammarian and physicist. ptolemy (circ. ). an alexandrian astronomer, known through arabic translations only at that time. [ven., , etc.] rabanus maurus ( - ) of fulda, pupil of alcuin. a benedictine, afterwards archbishop of mayence, who wrote de universo mundo. [ ; col., , etc.] rasis (d. ). an arab physician, perhaps the greatest of the school. [ven., , etc.] remigius (d. ). a teacher of grammar in the school of paris. his grammar remained in use there four centuries. he wrote a gloss on marcianus capella. ricardus de st. victor (d. ). a scottish theologian, prior of st. victor. a mystic of considerable acuteness. [ven., , etc.] ricardus rufus (circ. ). a cornishman who was a doctor in great renown, both at oxford and paris. he afterwards joined the franciscans. robertus lincoln., grostÃ�te (d. ), the celebrated bishop of lincoln and patron of bacon. taught at paris and at oxford. commentaries on aristotle. salustius (d. ?). de diis et mundo. a geographer. schola salernitana (circ. ). a treatise on the preservation of health in leonine verse for popular use, said to be addressed to robert of england. it has been translated and commented on hundreds of times. the middle age very sensibly thought preservation from disease a branch of medicine equally important with the cure of it. secundus. a writer on medicine. solinus (circ. ). wrote an account of things in general-- polyhistoria. stephanus (circ. ). commentary on galen. strabus (d. ). a benedictine, abbot of reichenau, near constance. one of the authors of the gloss. symon cornubiensis (?). varro, m. t. ( - b.c.). most celebrated grammarian. virgil ( - b.c.). william conches (d. ). lectured at paris, , on grammar, wrote de natura. zeno (circ. ), a writer on medicine, and teacher at alexandria. _this list of authorities cited is that given at the end of the complete work of bartholomew._ bibliography _latin editions_ date. place printer. remarks. hc * pr pell july lyon . philippi & reinhard. hc köln . koelhoff hc nov. lyon . petrus of hungary hc a dec. lyon . philippi & reinhard. hc * jan. köln . koelhoff. h may nürnberg koberger h * feb. strassburg press xv. hc * may heidelberg press i. h .. .. strassburg (panzer i , ) hc * aug. strassburg press xv. hc * june nürnberg koberger h .. .. strassburg (panzer i , ) hc * n.d. köln press viii. [circ ] formerly attributed to zell. hc * n.d. basel ruppel.[circ ] .. aug. strassburg husner. .. may nürnberg peypus f.j.koberger .. venezia (graesse iii. ) .. paris. (graesse iii. ) .. strassburg (graesse iii. ) .. frankfurt richter b.m. .. frankfurt stein bib. nat. _dutch version_ h ? ? hc haarlem bellaert note--pr. = proctor. _french version by jehan corbichon in_ date place printer remarks hc pr pell . nov. lyon huss. hc . oct. lyon huss. hc .. . -[ ],jan. lyon le roy h .. . , april lyon huss. hc . -[ ],mar. lyon huss. .. . -[ ] lyon huss. (cop. ii ) hc .. .. . lyon le diamantier hc . n.d. lyon siber (c. ) .. . ? lyon? imperfect hc .. . n.d. paris for a. verard .. paris for petit& lenoir (brunet ii ) .. rouen n.p. (brunet ii ) .. paris for petit & lenoir bib.nat. .. paris p. lenoir b.m. .. ,may paris gandoul voynich. .. c. [paris] b.m. .. paris longis b.m. .. paris l'anglier (brunet ii ), grasse says .. paris groulleau bib. nat. .. paris de banville bib. nat. .. paris m.boursette b.m. bib nat. _spanish version by fr. vincent de burgos_ hc pr pell ,sep. toulouse mayer toledo de avila b.m. _english version by john of trevisa in_ hc pr n.d. westminster w. de worde [c. ] london berthelet b.m. london east b.m. bibliography the first edition of this selection was published at london in . the edition has unpaged leaves (title, table, prologue, and book i.), numbered leaves, and printer's mark of lucretia. the following errors in pagination are noted: for , for , for , for , for . the chief point of interest in the bibliography is the question raised by wynkyn de worde's positive statement in his edition in his epilogue: and also of your charyte call to remembraunce the soule of william caxton first prynter of this boke in latin tonge at coleyn hymself to avaunce that every well disposyd man may theron loke and john tate the yonger joy mote he broke which late hathe in englond doo make this paper thynne that now in our englyssh this boke is prynted inne. mr. gordon duff is disposed to think that caxton may have worked on the undated cologne edition (h.c. * ), which must in that case be put before , finding a link between his bruges type and the cologne presses in a work printed at louvain in which contains type of both descriptions. most of these editions are in the british museum. the copy of the berthelet edition there has an autograph of shakespeare in it--one of the ireland forgeries. glossary accord, _n._, harmony according, _part._, punning, or in harmony adamant, _n._, a diamond addercop, _n._, a spider afeard, _part._, affrighted afore, _prep._, before almery, _n._, a cupboard, a buttery anon, _adv._, immediately apaid, _v._, served, repaid apaired, _adj._, injured, impaired areared, _adj._, upright assay, _v._, to try aught, _n._, anything avisement, _n._, forethought, counsel away with, _v._, to suffer awreak, _v._, revenge ayencoming, _n._, returning ayenge, _prep._, against ayenward, _adv._, vice versa bate, _v._, _hawking_, to flutter the wings as if preparing for flight bays, _n._, the fruit of the laurel because, _conj._, in order that beclip, _v._, embrace, enfold behind forth, _adv._, from back to front behooteth, _v._, advises, gives behove, _v._, to be necessary bernacle, _n._, a bridle beshine, _v._, to illuminate bisse, _n._, a second blemish, _v._, shrink, blench blow, _v._, to obtain lead, etc., from ores in a furnace boisterous, boystous, _adj._, thick, strong, solid bourgeon, _v._, to bud, burst forth bray, _v._, to pound brock, _n._, a badger buck, _v._, to wash busily, _adv._, carefully but, _prep._, except car, _n._, means or instrument carfle, _v._, to pound carrions, _n._, corpses cast, _v._, to intend chaffer, _n._, trade chine, _n._, chink, cleft clarity, _n._, clearness clepe, _v._, call cliff, _n._, shore clue, _n._, a clew or hank (of yarn) comfort, _v._, to strengthen common, _v._, to share one's food with others and ayenward conject, _v._, conjecture coverture, _n._, covering craftily, _adv._, skilfully culvour, _n._, pigeon curtel, _n,_, a kirtle, a short coat, a covering deadly, _adv._, mortal deeming, _n._, judgment, opinion default, _n._, deficiency depart, _v._, to separate, share out despiteously, _adv._, contemptuously detty, _adj._, generous disperple, _v._, to scatter, destroy do, done, _v._, to put, to don doomsman, _n._, judge draust, _n._, dross, impurity ear, _v._, to reap else, _adv._, otherwise enform, _v._, to make even tofore, _adv._, opposite to expert, _adv._, tried fare, _v._, to happen fear, _v. a._, to frighten fell, _n._, an undressed skin fen, _n._, clay fine, _n._, a boundary fleet, _v._, to float, to swim; _cf_. "to flit" flux, _n._, a flow, a catarrh fore, _n._, trail, spoor; _cf_. "foor" frot, _v._, to rub fumous, _adj._, vaporous, cloudy fumosity, _n._, vapour fundament, _n._, foundation gentle, _adj._, noble, high-minded gesses, _n._, jesses, cords for fastening the legs of a hawk gete, _n._, goats ghastful, _adj._, frightful gin, _a._, machine glad, _v. a._, to please glimy, _adj._, slimy gloss, _n._, the comment on scripture, compiled in the ninth century from the fathers glue, _n._. any glutinous substance gnod, _v._, to rub? grieve, _v._, to hurt grutching, _n._, growling gutter, _n._, drop hale, _v._, to drag hap, _n._, chance hards, hirds, _n._, tow haught, _part._, hatched heckle, _v._, to straighten out lint by a coarse comb hele, _v._, to cover; _cf._, heling hight, _v._, is called hoar, _adj._, feathered hop, _n._, the seed case of the flaxplant horrible, _adj._, unpleasant to hear housebond, _n._, husband hovey, _part._, hovel, cottage hoving, _part._, staying infect, _adj._, spotted, injured intendment, _n._, understanding jape, _v._, to cry out kele, _v._, to cool kind, _n._, nature kindly, _adj._, natural; _adv._, naturally langhaldes, _n._, ropes connecting the fore and hind legs of a horse or cow to stay it from jumping latten, _n._, a kind of brass lea, _n._, pasture land lesings, _n._, untruths let, _v._, to hinder lewd, _adj._, ignorant liefer, _adv._, rather likelihood, _n._, resemblance limb, _n._, an instrument; _cf._, "limb of the law" limbmeal, _adv._, limb by limb; _cf._, "piecemeal" list, _n._, a limit, border lodesman, _n._, pilot lowte, _v._, to trumpet make, _n._, a mate manner, _adj._, manner of, kind of mawmet, _n._, an idol or toy mean, _n._, intermediary, means mean, _v._, to assert, consider medley, _v._, to mix meinie, _n._, domestics, household merry, _adj._, fortunate meselry, _n._, leprosy mess,_n._, portion messager, _n._, messenger mete, _v._, measure, apportion mews, _n._, originally a place in which hawks were kept "mewed up" mildness, _n._, generosity minish, _v._, to narrow mirror, _n._, seems to have been used only when the surface was curved, the word "shewer" being used for a plane mirror mistake, _v._, to take wrongly namely, _adj._, especially nathless, _con._, nevertheless ne, _con._, nor needly, _adj._, necessarily nerve, _n._, sinew nesh, _adj._, soft nether, _adj._, lower nice, _adj._, silly, small, trifling nicely, _adv._, sillily nother, _con._, neither noyful, _adj._, noxious, hurtful noying, _n._, harm ordinate, _adj._, ordered, prescribed otherdeal, _adv._, otherwise overthwart, _adj._, crossed over on itself passing, _adj._, surpassing patent, _n._, a plate or paten (patine) pight, _adj._, put, pitched powder, _n._, dust of any kind pricket, _n._, a spike used for candlestick, hence a candle principles, _n._, indecomposable elements pure, _v.a._, to purify pursueth, _v_, suiteth? quicken, _v.i._, to come to life quiver, _adj._, nimble, active ramaious, _adj._, (_hawking_), slow ravish, _v._, to snatch reclaim, _n._, (_hawking_}, the calling back of a hawk refudation, _n._, a process in which vinegar is poured on lead, distilled off, and again suffered to act on it relief, _n._, a dessert rese, _v._, to rush on anyone resolve, _v._, to loosen, weaken, to dissolve rheum, _n._, salt humour ribbed, _adj._, beaten with a "rib," in dressing flax ridge, _n._, the back bone riever, _n._, a violent, robber, a raider rivelled, _adj._, wrinkled rively, _adv._, wrinkled, shrunk rodded, _adj._, separated from tow--"redded" routs, _n._, crowds ruthful, _adj._, sorrowful sad, _adj._, steadfast, solid sanguine, _adj._, blood-like scarce, _adj._, sparing, avaricious seethe, _v._, to boil selde, _adv._, seldom sele, _v._, to cover shamefast, _adj._, shamefaced sheltrons, _n._, palisades shern, _adj._, shore shewer, _n._, a looking-glass shingle, _n._, in _roofing_, brushwood, or small boards shipbreach, _n._, shipwreck shore, _adj._, shorn (of the hair) shrewd, _adj._, bitter; _cf._, shrew silly, _adj._, blessed, _hence_ innocent, _hence_ simple sinew, _n._, a nerve slubber, _v._, to do anything carelessly smirch, _v._, to soil sod, _adj._, stewed solar, _n._, an upper floor solemn, _adj._, celebrated, earnest somedeal, _adv._, somewhat sometime, _adv._, once sooth, _n._, truth spanells, _n._, ropes connecting the fore or hind feet of an animal to impede its movements spousehood, _n._, marriage spousebreach, _n._, adultery spronge, _adj._, sprinkled stare, _v._, to stay startling, _part._, leaping and jumping stint, _v._, to stop stint, _adj._, stopped straight, _adj._, confined straited, _adj._, narrowed sty, _v._, to climb suspect, _adj._, in suspicion tatch, _n._, spot tatched, _adj._, spotted tewly, livid tilth, _v._, to cultivate tilth, _n._, tillage tofore, _prep._, before toll, _v._, to entice trow, _v._, to believe; _cf._, trust unmighty, _adj._, unable unneth, _adv._, hardly uplandish, _adj._, rustic utter, _adj._, outer very, _adj._, true wait, _n._, a guard wanhope, _n._, despair warily, _adv._, carefully ween, _v._, consider, think wem, _n._, blemish, fault wend, _adj._, wound up werish, _adj._, insipid whelk, _n._, a swelling whet, _v._, to sharpen whiche, _n._, a wicket-gate _cf._, "wych gate" wilful, _adj._, of set purpose wit, _n._, a sense; _cf_ "out of his wits" witty, _adj._, sensibly wonder, _adj._, wondrous wonderly, _adv._, wondrously wood, _adj._, crazy, frantic woodness, _n._, madness woose, _n._, fluid worship, _n._, reverence, authority wosen, _n._, the arteries wot, _v._, knew wrang, _adj._, injured, wrung wreak, _n._, revenge wreck, _v._, to revenge wrecker, _n._, avenger medieval people by eileen power m.a., d.lit. _late reader in history in the university of london and sometime fellow and lecturer of girton college, cambridge_ 'i counsel thee, shut not thy heart nor thy library' charles lamb _first published, published in eighth printing, _ _to my colleagues and students at girton college, cambridge - _ for if heuene be on this erthe . and ese to any soule, it is in cloistere or in scole . by many skilles i fynde; for in cloistre cometh no man . to chide ne to fizte, but alle is buxomnesse there and bokes . to rede and to lerne, in scole there is scorne . but if a clerke wil lerne, and grete loue and lykynge . for eche of hem loueth other. --langland, _piers plowman_ _author's preface_ social history sometimes suffers from the reproach that it is vague and general, unable to compete with the attractions of political history either for the student or for the general reader, because of its lack of outstanding personalities. in point of fact there is often as much material for reconstructing the life of some quite ordinary person as there is for writing a history of robert of normandy or of philippa of hainault; and the lives of ordinary people so reconstructed are, if less spectacular, certainly not less interesting. i believe that social history lends itself particularly to what may be called a personal treatment, and that the past may be made to live again for the general reader more effectively by personifying it than by presenting it in the form of learned treatises on the development of the manor or on medieval trade, essential as these are to the specialist. for history, after all, is valuable only in so far as it lives, and maeterlinck's cry, 'there are no dead', should always be the historian's motto. it is the idea that history is about dead people, or, worse still, about movements and conditions which seem but vaguely related to the labours and passions of flesh and blood, which has driven history from bookshelves where the historical novel still finds a welcome place. in the following series of sketches i have tried to illustrate at the same time various aspects of social life in the middle ages and various classes of historical material. thus bodo illustrates peasant life, and an early phase of a typical medieval estate; marco polo, venetian trade with the east; madame eglentyne, monastic life; the ménagier's wife, domestic life in a middle-class home, and medieval ideas about women; thomas betson, the wool trade, and the activities of the great english trading company of merchants of the staple; and thomas paycocke, the cloth industry in east anglia. they are all quite ordinary people and unknown to fame, with the exception of marco polo. the types of historical evidence illustrated are the estate book of a manorial lord, the chronicle and traveller's tale, the bishop's register, the didactic treatise in household management, the collection of family letters, and houses, brasses, and wills. at the end of the book i have added a bibliography of the sources which form the raw material for my reconstructions, and a few additional notes and references. i hope that this modest attempt to bring to life again some of 'our fathers that begat us', may perhaps interest for an hour or two the general reader, or the teacher, who wishes to make more concrete by personification some of the general facts of medieval social and economic history. my thanks are due to my publishers, messrs. methuen and co., for allowing me to incorporate in chapter vi the greater part of a chapter in my book 'the paycockes of coggeshall', and to the cambridge university press for similarly allowing me to repeat in chapter iii a few sentences from my study of 'medieval english nunneries'. i have also to thank my friends miss m.g. jones and miss h.m.r. murray of girton college, cambridge, for various suggestions and criticisms, and my sister miss rhoda power for making the index. _may _ eileen power _london school of economics and political science university of london_ _preface to the tenth edition_ for years after the first edition of _medieval people_ had come out, eileen power collected notes and made plans for several essays to be included in an enlarged edition of the book. of these essays only one, "the precursors", had been written out in full before she died; and it has now been added to the present edition. in its published form it is not in every respect identical with the author's original text. the essay was taking shape as munich came and went and as the war itself was drawing near. no historian writing at that time about rome menaced by the barbarians--and least of all an historian as sensitive to the extra-mural world as eileen power was--could have helped noting the similarities between the roman empire in the fifth or sixth centuries and europe in the nineteen-thirties. in the end, having finished the essay, she decided to withold it from publication for the time being and to present it instead to a friendly audience as a tract for the times. this she did at a meeting of the cambridge history club in the winter of : and for that occasion she replaced the opening and concluding pages of the original essay with passages, or rather notes for passages, more suited to the purpose. i am sure that she never intended these passages to be perpetuated in her _medieval people_ and i have therefore done what i could to replace them with a reconstructed version of her first draft. the reconstruction had to be done from somewhat disjointed notes and cannot therefore be word-faithful. the readers must therefore bear in mind that the first two and the last page of the essay are mere approximations to what eileen power in fact wrote. _april_, m.m. postan _peterhouse, cambridge_. _contents_ i the precursors ii bodo, a frankish peasant in the time of charlemagne iii marco polo, a venetian traveller of the thirteenth century iv madame eglentyne, chaucer's prioress in real life v the mÉnagier's wife, a paris housewife in the fourteenth century vi thomas betson, a merchant of the staple in the fifteenth century vii thomas paycocke of coggeshall, an essex clothier in the days of henry vii notes and sources notes on illustrations index _list of illustrations_ i bodo at his work from _ms. tit. b.v., pt. i_. british museum ii embarkation of the polos at venice from _bodleian ms. _. oxford iii part of a landscape by chao mÊng-fu from the original in the british museum iv madame eglentyne at home from _ms. add. _. british museum v the mÉnagier's wife has a garden party from _harl. ms. _. british museum vi the mÉnagier's wife cooks his supper with the aid of his book from _ms. royal, d. i_. british museum vii calais about the time of thomas betson from _cott. ms. aug. i, vol. ii_. british museum viii thomas paycocke's house at coggeshall from _the paycockes of coggeshall_ by eileen power (methuen & co. ltd.) a map of the journeys of the polos - let us now praise famous men and our fathers that begat us.... there be of them that have left a name behind them, that their praises might be reported. and some there be which have no memorial; who are perished, as though they had never been; and are become as though they had never been born; and their children after them. but these were merciful men, whose righteousness hath not been forgotten. with their seed shall continually remain a good inheritance, and their children are within the covenant. their seed standeth fast, and their children for their sakes. their seed shall remain for ever, and their glory shall not be blotted out. their bodies are buried in peace; but their name liveth for evermore. ecclesiasticus xliv. chapter i _the precursors_ i. rome in decline every schoolboy knows that the middle ages arose on the ruins of the roman empire. the decline of rome preceded and in some ways prepared the rise of the kingdoms and cultures which composed the medieval system. yet in spite of the self-evident truth of this historical preposition we know little about life and thought in the watershed years when europe was ceasing to be roman but was not yet medieval. we do not know how it felt to watch the decline of rome; we do not even know whether the men who watched it knew what they saw, though we can be quite certain that none of them foretold, indeed could have foreseen, the shape which the world was to take in later centuries. yet the tragic story, its main themes and protagonists were for all to see. no observer should have failed to notice that the roman empire of the fourth and fifth centuries was no longer the roman empire of the great antonine and augustan age; that it had lost its hold over its territories and its economic cohesion and was menaced by the barbarians who were in the end to overwhelm it. the territory of the roman empire had at its height stretched from the lands bordering the north sea to the lands on the northern fringes of the sahara, and from the atlantic coast of europe to the central asiatic steppes; it comprised most of the regions of the former hellenic, iranian, and phoenician empires, and it either ruled or kept in check great clusters of peoples and principalities beyond its gallic and north african frontiers. from these farthest frontiers rome of the fourth century had retreated and was still retreating. within its frontiers great currents of inter-regional commerce had in earlier centuries flowed along the routes which bound all the provinces of the empire to rome and most of the provinces to each other. but from the third century onwards the economic unity of the empire was in dissolution, and by the fifth century most of the great currents of inter-regional trade had ceased to flow, and provinces and districts had been thrown upon themselves and their own resources. and with the wealth of the provinces reduced, their commerce restricted, the great provincial cities also declined in population, wealth, political power. yet to its very last days the empire endeavoured to defend its frontiers against the converging barbarians. not only did the barbarian conquests, like all conquests, threaten destruction and ruin, but the way of life the barbarians stood for was the very denial of what roman civilization had been, though alas, was gradually ceasing to be. however, it was not in material things, that the contemporaries found, or should have found the sharpest conflict between rome and the barbarian prospects before it. above all roman civilization was a civilization of the mind. it had behind it a long tradition of thought and of intellectual achievement, the legacy of greece, to which it had in turn made its own contribution. the roman world was a world of schools and universities, writers, and builders. the barbarian world was a world in which mind was in its infancy and its infancy was long. the battle sagas of the race, which have all but disappeared or have survived only as legends worked up in a later age; the few rude laws which were needed to regulate personal relationships, this was hardly civilization in the roman sense. king chilperic, trying to make verses in the style of sedulius, though he could not distinguish between a long foot and a short and they all hobbled; charlemagne himself, going to bed with his slate under his pillow in order to practice in the watches of the night that art of writing which he never mastered; what have they in common with julius caesar and marcus aurelius and that great julian called the apostate? they sum up in their very persons the whole wide gulf that yawned between germany and rome. rome and the barbarians were thus not only protagonists but two different attitudes to life, civilization and barbarism. we cannot here discuss in detail the question as to why, in the clash between the two, it was civilization which perished and barbarism which prevailed. but it is important to remember that while the empire tried to defend its frontiers against the barbarian hosts, it gradually opened them to barbarian settlers. this peaceful infiltration of barbarians which altered the whole character of the society which it invaded would have been impossible, of course, if that society had not been stricken by disease. the disease is plain enough to see by the third century. it shows itself in those internecine civil wars in which civilization rends itself, province against province and army against army. it shows itself in the great inflationary crisis from about and in the taxation which gradually crushed out the smaller bourgeoisie while the fortunes of the rich escaped its net. it shows itself in the gradual sinking back of an economy based upon free exchange into more and more primitive conditions when every province seeks to be self-sufficient and barter takes the place of trade. it shows itself in the decline of farming and in the workless city population kept quiet by their dole of bread and their circuses, whose life contrasted so dramatically, so terribly with that of the haughty senatorial families and the great landowners in their palatial villas and town houses. it shows itself in the rise of mystical faiths on the ruins of philosophy, and of superstition (more especially astrology) on the ruins of reason. one religion in particular grew mighty, by clasping its sacred book and addressing itself with words of hope to the victims of social injustice, but although it was able to bring comfort to individuals it could do nothing, indeed it did not try, to give new strength or inspiration to the embattled civilization. true to its own ethos it was impartial as between barbarian and roman, or between the romans who prospered and ruled and those outside the pale. the most obvious manifestation of roman society in decline was the dwindling numbers of roman citizens. the empire was being depopulated long before the end of the period of peace and prosperity which stretched from augustus to marcus aurelius. does not augustus himself summon the poor man of fiesole who has a family of eight children, thirty-six grandchildren and eighteen great grandchildren, and organize in his honour a fête in the capitol, accompanied by a great deal of publicity? does not tacitus, half-anthropologist and half-rousseau, describing the noble savage with his eye on fellow citizens, remark that among the germans it is accounted a shameful thing to limit the number of your children? the long duration of augustus's legislation to raise the birthrate is significant; successful it was not, but the fact that it was maintained on the statute book and systematically revised and developed for three centuries shows that it was at least accounted necessary. it is true of course that the mortality rate was a far more important factor in those days than it is in our own, and the mortality from pestilence and civil war from marcus aurelius onwards was exceptional. and it is plain that the proportion of celibates was high in the roman empire and that the fall in the fertility of marriages was going on. it is the childless marriage, the small family system that contemporary writers deplore. in seeley's striking phrase: 'the human harvest was bad,' it was bad in all classes, but the decline was most marked in the upper ranks, the most educated, the most civilized, the potential leaders of the race. in the terrible words of swift, facing his own madness, the roman empire might have cried: 'i shall die like a tree--from the top downwards.' why (the insistent question forces itself) did this civilization lose the power to reproduce itself? was it, as polybius said, because people preferred amusements to children or wished to bring their children up in comfort? hardly, for it is more marked among the rich than the poor and the rich can have the best of both worlds. was it because people had grown discouraged and disheartened, no longer believing in their own civilization and loath to bring children into the darkness and disaster of their war-shattered world? we do not know. but we can see the connection of the falling population with the other evils of the empire--the heavy cost of administration relatively heavier when the density of the population is low; the empty fields, the dwindling legions which did not suffice to guard the frontier. to cure this sickness of population the roman rulers knew no other way than to dose it with barbarian vigour. just a small injection to begin with and then more and more till in the end the blood that flowed in its veins was not roman but barbarian. in came the germans to settle the frontier, to till the fields, to enlist first in the auxiliaries and then in the legions, to fill the great offices of state. the army is barbarized, and a modern writer, mr moss, has quoted most effectively the complaint of the egyptian mother clamouring to get back her son who (as she says) has gone off with the barbarians--he means that he has enlisted in the roman legions. the legions are barbarized and they barbarize the emperor. for them he is no longer the majestic embodiment of law, he is their leader, their führer, and they raise him on their shields. and side by side with the barbarization of the army goes the barbarization of civil manners too. in honorius has to pass an edict forbidding the wearing of german fashions within the precincts of rome. and in the end, half barbarian themselves, they have only barbarians to defend them against barbarism. such was the general picture of the great ruin of civilization amidst which the romans of the fourth, fifth, and sixth centuries lived. what then did it feel like to live at a time when civilization was going down before the forces of barbarism? did people realize what was happening? did the gloom of the dark ages cast its shadow before? it so happens that we can answer these questions very clearly if we fix our eyes on one particular part of the empire, the famous and highly civilized province of gaul. we can catch the decline at three points because in three consecutive centuries, gallo-roman writers have left us a picture of their life and times. in the fourth century we have ausonius, in the fifth sidonius apollinarius, in the sixth gregory of tours and fortunatus, a stranger from italy, who made his home in poitiers. they show us auvergne and the bordelais in the evening light. the fourth, the fifth, and the sixth centuries--going, going, gone! . ausonius going! this is the world of ausonius, south-western france in the latter half of the fourth century, 'an indian summer between ages of storm and wreckage'. ausonius himself is a scholar and a gentleman, the friend alike of the pagan symmachus and of st paulinus of nela. he is for thirty years professor of rhetoric in the university of bordeaux, for some time tutor to a prince, praetorian prefect of gaul, consul, and in his last years just an old man contentedly living on his estates. his most famous poem is a description of the moselle, which for all its literary affectations evokes most magically the smiling countryside which was the background of his life. high above the river on either bank stand the villas and country houses, with their courts and lawns and pillared porticos, and the hot baths from which, if you will, you can plunge into the stream. the sunny hillside is covered with vines, and from slope to hill-top the husbandmen call to each other and the wayfarer on the towpath or the bargemen floating by, shout their rude jests to the loitering vinedressers. far out in midstream the fisherman trails his dripping net and on a rock by the shore the angler plies his rod. and, as twilight falls, the deepening shadow of the green hillside is reflected in the water and gazing downward the boatman can almost count the trembling vines and almost see the swelling of the grapes. equally peaceful, equally pleasant is life on ausonius' own estate in the bordelais, his little patrimony (he calls it) although he had a thousand acres of vineyard and tillage and wood. miss waddell has reminded us, on the authority of saintsbury (whom else?) that 'to this day it boasts itself as château-ausone, one of the two best of the st emilion clarets.' here he tends his roses and sends his boy round to the neighbours to bid them to luncheon, while he interviews the cook. six, including the host, is the right number--if more it is not a meal but a melée. then there are all his relatives to be commemorated in verse, his grandfather and his grandmother and his sisters and his cousins and his aunts (especially his aunts). and when the family circle palls there is the senior common room to fall back upon and the professors of bordeaux to be celebrated in their turn. professors were important people in the empire of the fourth century; symmachus says that it is the mark of a flourishing state that good salaries should be paid to professors; though what exactly we are to deduce from that in the light of history i should hesitate to say. so ausonius writes a collection of poems about the professors of bordeaux. there are thirty-two of them and all are celebrated. there is minervius the orator, who had a prodigious memory and after a game of backgammon was wont to conduct a post-mortem over every move. there is anastasius the grammarian, who was so foolish as to leave bordeaux for a provincial university and thenceforth languished in well-merited obscurity. there is attius tiro delphidius, who retired from a legal career into the professorial chair, but could never be got to take any trouble with his men, to the disappointment of their parents. there is jocundus the grammarian, who did not really deserve his title, but was such a kind man that we will commemorate him among men of worth, although he was, strictly speaking, unequal to the job. there is exuperius, who was very good-looking and whose eloquence sounded superb until you examined it and found that it meant nothing. there is dynamius, who slipped from the paths of virtue with a married lady in bordeaux and left the place rather hastily, but fortunately fell on his feet in spain. there is victorius the usher, who liked only the most abstruse historical problems, such as what the pedigree of the sacrificial priest at cureo was long before numa's day, or what castor had to say on all the shadowy kings, and who never got up as far as tully or virgil, though he might have done so if he had gone on reading long enough, but death cut him off too soon. they seem oddly familiar figures (except of course, dynamius) and their chronicler contrives to make them live. such is the world depicted for us by ausonius. but while this pleasant country house and senior common room life was going calmly on, what do we find happening in the history books? ausonius was a man of nearly fifty when the germans swarmed across the rhine in , pillaging forty-five flourishing cities, and pitching their camps on the banks of the moselle. he had seen the great julian take up arms ('o plato, plato, what a task for a philosopher') and in a series of brilliant campaigns drive them out again. ten years later when he was tutor to gratian he had himself accompanied the emperor valentinian on another campaign against the same foes. while he was preening himself on his consulship ten years later still, he must have heard of the disastrous battle of adrianople in the east, when the goths defeated a roman army and slew an emperor. he died in and within twelve years of his death the host of germans had burst across the rhine, 'all gaul was a smoking funeral pyre', and the goths were at the gates of rome. and what have ausonius and his correspondents to say about this? not a word. ausonius and symmachus and their set ignore the barbarians as completely as the novels of jane austen ignore the napoleonic wars. . sidonius apollinaris going, going.... some thirty-five years after the death of ausonius, in the midst of the disastrous sixth century, was born sidonius apollinaris, gallo-roman aristocrat, father-in-law of an emperor, sometime prefect of rome and in the end bishop of clermont. sidonius apollinaris, (or thereabouts) to or perhaps a few years later. much had happened between the death of ausonius and his birth. the lights were going out all over europe. barbarian kingdoms had been planted in gaul and spain, rome herself had been sacked by the goths; and in his lifetime the collapse went on, ever more swiftly. he was a young man of twenty when the ultimate horror broke upon the west, the inroad of attila and the huns. that passed away, but when he was twenty-four the vandals sacked rome. he saw the terrible german king-maker ricimer throne and unthrone a series of puppet emperors, he saw the last remnant of gallic independence thrown away and himself become a barbarian subject, and he saw a few years before he died the fall of the empire in the west. they cannot, sidonius and his friends, ignore as ausonius and his friends did, that something is happening to the empire. the men of the fifth century are concerned at these disasters and they console themselves, each according to his kind. there are some who think it cannot last. after all, they say, the empire has been in a tight place before and has always got out of it in the end and risen supreme over its enemies. thus sidonius himself, the very year after they sacked the city; rome has endured as much before--there was porsenna, there was brennus, there was hannibal.... only that time rome did not get over it. others tried to use the disasters to castigate the sins of society. thus salvian of marseilles who would no doubt have been called the gloomy dean if he had not been a bishop. for him all that the decadent roman civilization needs is to copy some of the virtues of these fresh young barbarian people. there is the familiar figure of orosius, defending the barbarians with the argument that when the roman empire was founded it was founded in blood and conquest and can ill afford to throw stones at the barbarians; and after all the barbarians are not so bad. 'if the unhappy people they have despoiled will content themselves with the little that is left them, their conquerors will cherish them as friends and brothers.' others, especially the more thoughtful churchmen are much concerned to explain why an empire which had flourished under paganism should be thus beset under christianity. others desert the empire altogether and (like st augustine) put their hope in a city not made with hands--though ambrose, it is true, let fall the pregnant observation that it was not the will of god that his people should be saved by logic-chopping. 'it has not pleased god to save his people by dialectic.' and how were they living? we have only to read the letters written by sidonius during the period between and , when he was living on his estate in auvergne, to realize that on the surface all is going on exactly as before. gaul is shrunk, it is true, to a mere remnant between three barbarian kingdoms, but save for that we might be back in the days of ausonius. there is the luxurious villa, with its hot baths and swimming pool, its suites of rooms, its views over the lake; and there is sidonius inviting his friends to stay with him or sending round his compositions to the professors and the bishops and the country-gentlemen. sport and games are very popular--sidonius rides and swims and hunts and plays tennis. in one letter he tells his correspondent that he has been spending some days in the country with his cousin and an old friend, whose estates adjoin each other. they had sent out scouts to catch him and bring him back for a week and took it in turns to entertain him. there are games of tennis on the lawn before breakfast or backgammon for the older men. there is an hour or two in the library before we sit down to an excellent luncheon followed by a siesta. then we go out riding and return for a hot bath and a plunge in the river. i should like to describe our luscious dinner parties, he concludes, but i have no more paper. however, come and stay with us and you shall hear all about it. clearly this is no britain, where in the sixth century half-barbarian people camped in the abandoned villas and cooked their food on the floors of the principal rooms. and yet ... it had gone a long way downhill since the days of ausonius, and sidonius could not now ignore the very existence of the barbarians. he has indeed left notable protraits of them, especially of the king of the visigoths and of the burgundians who ruled lyons, where he was born. whenever he went to stay there, he complains, they flocked about him in embarrassing friendliness, breathing leeks and onions and dressing their hair with rancid butter (they were not, it appears, constrained to choose between spears and butter). how can he compose six foot metres, he asks, with so many seven foot patrons around him, all singing and all expecting him to admire their uncouth stream of non-latin words? the shrug of the shoulder, the genial contempt of one conscious of an infinite superiority--how clear it is. one is reminded of a verse of verlaine je suis l'empire a la fin de la decadence qui regarde passer les grands barbares blancs but sidonius's good nature was to be rudely shaken. all barbarians were not friendly giants, and the visigoths next door, under their new king euric, turned covetous eyes upon auvergne. sidonius had not been two years bishop of clermont before he had to organize the defence of the city against their attack. the avernians stood out gallantly; they would fight and they would starve, but they would defend this last stronghold of rome in gaul. but they were a small people; to resist successfully they must have help from rome itself. lest anyone should suspect me of twisting the story, i give it in the words of sidonius's editor, writing twenty years ago. julius nepos was alive to the danger that euric might cross the rhône; but weak as his resources were he could only hope to secure peace by negotiation. the quaestor licinianus had been sent into gaul to investigate the condition of affairs on the spot.... he had now returned and it was soon only too clear that hopes based on his intervention were not likely to be fulfilled. we find sidonius writing for information.... he began to fear that something was going on behind his back, and that the real danger to auvergne came no longer from determined enemies but from pusillanimous friends. his suspicions were only too well founded. on receipt of the quaestor's report a council was held to determine the policy of the empire towards the visigothic king.... the empire did not feel strong enough to support auvergne and it was decided to cede the whole territory to euric, apparently without condition. the despair of sidonius knew no bounds and he writes a nobly indignant letter to a bishop who had been concerned in the negotiations: the state of our unhappy region is miserable indeed. everyone declares that things were better in wartime than they are now after peace has been concluded. our enslavement was made the price of security for a third party; the enslavement, ah--the shame of it!, of those avernians ... who in our own time stood forth alone to stay the advance of the common enemy.... these are the men whose common soldiers were as good as captains, but who never reaped the benefit of their victories: that was handed over for your consolation, while all the crushing burden of defeat they had to bear themselves.... this is to be our reward for braving destitution, fire, sword and pestilence, for fleshing our swords in the enemy's blood and going ourselves starved into battle. this is the famous peace we dreamed of, when we tore the grass from the crannies in the walls to eat.... for all these proofs of our devotion, it would seem that we are to be made a sacrifice. if it be so, may you live to blush for a peace without either honour or advantage. auvergne had been sacrificed to save rome. but rome was not to enjoy her peace with honour for long. these things took place in ; and in the last emperor was desposed by his barbarian bear-leader, and the empire in the west came to an end. as for sidonius, the goths imprisoned him for a time and before he could recover his estate he had to write a panegyric for king euric (he who had written panegyrics for three roman emperors). it is clear that the old country house life went on as before, though the men who exchanged letters and epigrams were now under barbarian rule. but in one letter shortly before his death there breaks from sidonius a single line in which he unpacks his heart. _o neccessitas abjecta nascendi, vivendi misera dura moriendi._ 'o humiliating necessity of birth, sad necessity of living, hard necessity of dying.' shortly after he died and within twenty years clovis had embarked upon his career of conquest and theodoric was ruler of italy. . fortunatus and gregory of tours going, going, gone.... there is only the time and only the heart to look for a moment at the frankish kingdom which once was gaul, and to survey the world of fortunatus and gregory of tours, born both of them just about a century later than sidonius, in the s. for a moment when you look at fortunatus you think the world of the sixth century is the same world as that in which sidonius entertained his friends with epigrams and tennis. fortunatus, that versatile, gentle, genial, boot-licking gourmet, who somehow managed to write two of the most magnificent hymns of the christian church, came from italy on a visit to gaul in and never left it again. he travelled all over the frankish lands, in what had been germania as well as in what had been gaul. from trier to toulouse he made his way with ease by river and by road, and it might be ausonius again. fortunatus too writes a poem on the moselle; and there is the same smiling countryside with terraced vineyards sloping down to the quiet stream and the smoke of villas rising from the woods. fortunatus too made the round of the country houses, especially of the sumptuous villas belonging to leontius bishop of bordeaux, a great gallo-roman aristocrat, whose grandfather had been a friend of sidonius. the hot baths, the pillared porticos, the lawns sloping to the river, are all there; the feasts are even more magnificent (they upset fortunatus's digestion badly) and the talk is still of literature. the more intelligent of the barbarian lords have imitated this refined and luxurious life as best they may. the franks as well as the gallo-romans welcome little eager fortunatus; every count wants a set of latin verses dedicated to himself. it is plain that some of the old country house life at least has survived. the apollinaris set still enjoys its hot baths and its tennis; as dill puts it, the barbarian might rule the land, but the laws of polite society would be administered as before. but when you look again you realize that it is not the same. it is not merely because we know that even these remnants of the social and material civilization of rome would soon themselves die away that the tragedy of the sixth century looms so dark. it is because when we look below the surface we see that the life has gone out of it all, the soul that inflamed it is dead, nothing is now left but the empty shell. these men welcome fortunatus just because he comes from italy, where the rot has gone less far, where there still survives some reputation for learning and for culture. they slake their nostalgia a little in the presence of that _enfant perdue_ of a lost civilization. for this is the world of gregory of tours, of which you may read in his _history of the franks_. the rule under which it lives is the rule of the horrible merovingian kings. side by side with the villas barbarism spreads and flourishes like a jungle growth. learning is dying--hardly the ghost of a university is left--and gregory himself who came of a great gallo-roman family and was a bishop bewails his ignorance of grammar. the towns are shrinking, crouched behind their defences. the synagogues are flaming, and the first step has been taken in that tragic tale of proscription and tallage, tallage and expulsion which (it seems) must never end. as to politics, the will of the leader and his retinue is the rule of the franks, and purge and bloodbath mark every stage in the rivalry of the merovingian princes. the worst of them are devils like chilperic and fredegond, the best of them are still barbarians like that king guntram, who fills so many indulgent pages in gregory of tours. he is a vaguely contemporary figure, a fat, voluble man, now purring with jovial good nature, now bursting into explosions of wrath and violence, a strange mixture of bonhomie and brutality. it is an ironic commentary on what has happened to civilization that gregory should regard him with affection, that he should be known as 'good king guntram' and that the church should actually have canonized him after his death. good king guntram; michelet has summed him up in a phrase 'ce bon roi à qui on ne reprochait que deux ou trois meurtres.' conclusion these were the men who lived through the centuries of roman fall and barbarian triumph, and who by virtue of their elevated position, their learning, and talents, should have seen, if not foretold, the course of events. and yet as one contemplates the world of ausonius and sidonius (for by the time of gregory of tours it was already dead) one is, i think, impelled to ask oneself the question why they were apparently so blind to what was happening. the big country houses go on having their luncheon and tennis parties, the little professors in the universities go on giving their lectures and writing their books; games are increasingly popular and the theatres are always full. ausonius has seen the germans overrun gaul once, but he never speaks of a danger that may recur. sidonius lives in a world already half barbarian, yet in the year before the western empire falls he is still dreaming of the consulship for his son. why did they not realize the magnitude of the disaster that was befalling them? this is indeed a question almost as absorbing as the question why their civilization fell, for _au fond_ it is perhaps the same question. several answers may be suggested in explanation. in the first place the process of disintegration was a slow one, for the whole tempo of life was slow and what might take decades in our own time took centuries then. it is only because we can look back from the vantage point of a much later age that we can see the inexorable pattern which events are forming, so that we long to cry to these dead people down the corridor of the ages, warning them to make a stand before it is too late, hearing no answering echo, 'physician, heal thyself!' they suffered from the fatal myopia of contemporaries. it was the affairs of the moment that occupied them; for them it was the danger of the moment that must be averted and they did not recognize that each compromise and each defeat was a link in the chain dragging them over the abyss. at what point did barbarism within become a wasting disease? yet from the first skinclad german taken into a legion to the great barbarian patricians of italy, making and unmaking emperors, the chain is unbroken. at what point in the assault from without did the attack become fatal? was it the withdrawal from dacia in --allow the barbarians their sphere of influence in the east of europe, fling them the last-won recruit to romania and they will be satiated and leave the west alone? was it the settlement of the goths as _foederati_ within the empire in and the beginning of that compromise between the roman empire and the germans which, as bury says, masked the transition from the rule of one to the rule of the other, from federate states within the empire to independent states replacing it? was this policy of appeasement the fatal error? was it the removal of the legions from britain, a distant people (as a roman senator might have said) of whom we know nothing? or was it that fatal combination of spain and africa, when the vandals ensconced themselves in both provinces by and the vandal fleet (with majorca and the islands for its bases) cut off rome from her corn supplies and broke the backbone of ancient civilization, which was the mediterranean sea? not once alone in the history of europe has the triumph of a hostile rule in africa and spain spelt disaster to our civilization. but if the gradualness of this process misled the romans there were other and equally potent reasons for their blindness. most potent of all was the fact that they mistook entirely the very nature of civilization itself. all of them were making the same mistake. people who thought that rome could swallow barbarism and absorb it into her life without diluting her own civilization; the people who ran about busily saying that the barbarians were not such bad fellows after all, finding good points in their regime with which to castigate the romans and crying that except ye become as little barbarians ye shall not attain salvation; the people who did not observe in that one half of the respublica romanorum had ceased to exist and nourished themselves on the fiction that the barbarian kings were exercising a power delegated from the emperor. all these people were deluded by the same error, the belief that rome (the civilization of their age) was not a mere historical fact with a beginning and an end, but a condition of nature like the air they breathed and the earth they tread _ave roma immortalis_, most magnificent most disastrous of creeds! the fact is that the romans were blinded to what was happening to them by the very perfection of the material culture which they had created. all around them was solidity and comfort, a material existence which was the very antithesis of barbarism. how could they foresee the day when the norman chronicler would marvel over the broken hypocausts of caerleon? how could they imagine that anything so solid might conceivably disappear? their roads grew better as their statesmanship grew worse and central heating triumphed as civilization fell. but still more responsible for their unawareness was the educational system in which they were reared. ausonius and sidonius and their friends were highly educated men and gaul was famous for its schools and universities. the education which these gave consisted in the study of grammar and rhetoric, which was necessary alike for the civil service and for polite society; and it would be difficult to imagine an education more entirely out of touch with contemporary life, or less suited to inculcate the qualities which might have enabled men to deal with it. the fatal study of rhetoric, its links with reality long since severed, concentrated the whole attention of men of intellect on form rather than on matter. the things they learned in their schools had no relation to the things that were going on in the world outside and bred in them the fatal illusion that tomorrow would be as yesterday, that everything was the same, whereas everything was different. so we take our leave of them. going ... going ... gone! gone altogether? perhaps not. hundreds of years of barbarism were to elapse before a new society arose capable of matching or even excelling rome in material wealth, in arts, in sciences, and in gentler modes of existence--the _douceur de la vie_. we cannot say what date marked the moment of final recovery, or who were the men who were to represent advancing civilization as fully as ausonius or gregory of tours represented civilization in retreat: dante, shakespeare, capernicus, newton? but for many centuries, perhaps a whole millennium, before western europe scaled the heights on which these men now stood, it had been gradually raising itself from the depths of post-roman decline. the ascent was not only slow but also discontinuous, yet it was sufficient to establish within a few centuries of gregory of tours a social order different from rome and less glorious to behold across a thousand years of history, but nevertheless sufficiently exalted to draw the interest, and even to command the admiration of other still later ages. in that culture and in that social order much of what ausonius and sidonius and even fortunatus represented was brought to life again, albeit in a form they would not always have recognized as their own. to this extent, at least, they were not only the epigones of rome but the true precursors of the middle ages. chapter ii the peasant bodo life on a country estate in the time of charlemagne three slender things that best support the world: the slender stream of milk from the cow's dug into the pail; the slender blade of green corn upon the ground; the slender thread over the hand of a skilled woman. three sounds of increase: the lowing of a cow in milk; the din of a smithy; the swish of a plough. --from _the triads of ireland_ ( th century) economic history, as we know it, is the newest of all the branches of history. up to the middle of the last century the chief interest of the historian and of the public alike lay in political and constitutional history, in political events, wars, dynasties, and in political institutions and their development. substantially, therefore, history concerned itself with the ruling classes. 'let us now praise famous men,' was the historian's motto. he forgot to add 'and our fathers that begat us'. he did not care to probe the obscure lives and activities of the great mass of humanity, upon whose slow toil was built up the prosperity of the world and who were the hidden foundation of the political and constitutional edifice reared by the famous men he praised. to speak of ordinary people would have been beneath the dignity of history. carlyle struck a significant note of revolt: 'the thing i want to see,' he said, 'is not red-book lists and court calendars and parliamentary registers, but the life of man in england: what men did, thought, suffered, enjoyed.... mournful, in truth, it is to behold what the business called "history" in these so enlightened and illuminated times still continues to be. can you gather from it, read till your eyes go out, any dimmest shadow of an answer to that great question: how men lived and had their being; were it but economically, as, what wages they got and what they bought with these? unhappily you cannot.... history, as it stands all bound up in gilt volumes, is but a shade more instructive than the wooden volumes of a backgammon-board.' carlyle was a voice crying in the wilderness. today the new history, whose way he prepared, has come. the present age differs from the centuries before it in its vivid realization of that much-neglected person the man in the street; or (as it was more often in the earliest ages) the man with the hoe. today the historian is interested in the social life of the past and not only in the wars and intrigues of princes. to the modern writer, the fourteenth century, for instance, is not merely the century of the hundred years' war and of the black prince and edward iii; more significantly it is for him the era of the slow decay of villeinage in england, a fact more epoch-making, in the long run, than the struggle over our french provinces. we still praise famous men, for he would be a poor historian who could spare one of the great figures who have shed glory or romance upon the page of history; but we praise them with due recognition of the fact that not only great individuals, but people as a whole, unnamed and undistinguished masses of people, now sleeping in unknown graves, have also been concerned in the story. our fathers that begat us have come to their own at last. as acton put it, 'the great historian now takes his meals in the kitchen.' this book is chiefly concerned with the kitchens of history, and the first which we shall visit is a country estate at the beginning of the ninth century. it so happens that we know a surprising amount about such an estate, partly because charlemagne himself issued a set of orders instructing the royal stewards how to manage his own lands, telling them everything it was necessary for them to know, down to the vegetables which they were to plant in the garden. but our chief source of knowledge is a wonderful estate book which irminon, the abbot of st germain des prés near paris, drew up so that the abbey might know exactly what lands belonged to it and who lived on those lands, very much as william i drew up an estate book of his whole kingdom and called it _domesday book_. in this estate book is set down the name of every little estate (or _fisc_ as it was called) belonging to the abbey, with a description of the land which was worked under its steward to its own profit, and the land which was held by tenants, and the names of those tenants and of their wives and of their children, and the exact services and rents, down to a plank and an egg, which they had to do for their land. we know today the name of almost every man, woman, and child who was living on those little _fiscs_ in the time of charlemagne, and a great deal about their daily lives. consider for a moment how the estate upon which they lived was organized. the lands of the abbey of st germain were divided into a number of estates, called _fiscs_, each of a convenient size to be administered by a steward. on each of these _fiscs_ the land was divided into seigniorial and tributary lands; the first administered by the monks through a steward or some other officer, and the second possessed by various tenants, who received and held them from the abbey. these tributary lands were divided into numbers of little farms, called manses, each occupied by one or more families. if you had paid a visit to the chief or seigniorial manse, which the monks kept in their own hands, you would have found a little house, with three or four rooms, probably built of stone, facing an inner court, and on one side of it you would have seen a special group of houses hedged round, where the women serfs belonging to the house lived and did their work; all round you would also have seen little wooden houses, where the household serfs lived, workrooms, a kitchen, a bakehouse, barns, stables, and other farm buildings, and round the whole a hedge carefully planted with trees, so as to make a kind of enclosure or court. attached to this central manse was a considerable amount of land--ploughland, meadows, vineyards, orchards, and almost all the woods or forests on the estate. clearly a great deal of labour would be needed to cultivate all these lands. some of that labour was provided by servile workers who were attached to the chief manse and lived in the court. but these household serfs were not nearly enough to do all the work upon the monks' land, and far the greater part of it had to be done by services paid by the other landowners on the estate. [illustration: _january--ploughing_] [illustration: _march--breaking clods_] [illustration: _august--reaping_] [illustration: _december--threshing and winnowing_] . bodo at his work [illustration: ii. embarkation of the polos at venice] beside the seigniorial manse, there were a number of little dependent manses. these belonged to men and women who were in various stages of freedom, except for the fact that all had to do work on the land of the chief manse. there is no need to trouble with the different classes, for in practice there was very little difference between them, and in a couple of centuries they were all merged into one common class of medieval villeins. the most important people were those called _coloni_, who were personally free (that is to say, counted as free men by the law), but bound to the soil, so that they could never leave their farms and were sold with the estate, if it were sold. each of the dependent manses was held either by one family or by two or three families which clubbed together to do the work; it consisted of a house or houses, and farm buildings, like those of the chief manse, only poorer and made of wood, with ploughland and a meadow and perhaps a little piece of vineyard attached to it. in return for these holdings the owner or joint owners of every manse had to do work on the land of the chief manse for about three days in the week. the steward's chief business was to see that they did their work properly, and from every one he had the right to demand two kinds of labour. the first was _field work_: every year each man was bound to do a fixed amount of ploughing on the domain land (as it was called later on), and also to give what was called a _corvée_, that is to say, an unfixed amount of ploughing, which the steward could demand every week when it was needed; the distinction corresponds to the distinction between _week work_ and _boon work_ in the later middle ages. the second kind of labour which every owner of a farm had to do on the monks' land was called handwork, that is to say, he had to help repair buildings, or cut down trees, or gather fruit, or make ale, or carry loads--anything, in fact, which wanted doing and which the steward told him to do. it was by these services that the monks got their own seigniorial farm cultivated. on all the other days of the week these hard-worked tenants were free to cultivate their own little farms, and we may be sure that they put twice as much elbow grease into the business. but their obligation did not end here, for not only had they to pay services, they also had to pay certain rents to the big house. there were no state taxes in those days, but every man had to pay an army due, which charlemagne exacted from the abbey, and which the abbey exacted from its tenants; this took the form of an ox and a certain number of sheep, or the equivalent in money: 'he pays to the host two shillings of silver' comes first on every freeman's list of obligations. the farmers also had to pay in return for any special privileges granted to them by the monks; they had to carry a load of wood to the big house, in return for being allowed to gather firewood in the woods, which were jealously preserved for the use of the abbey; they had to pay some hogsheads of wine for the right to pasture their pigs in the same precious woods; every third year they had to give up one of their sheep for the right to graze upon the fields of the chief manse; they had to pay a sort of poll-tax of _d_. a head. in addition to these special rents every farmer had also to pay other rents in produce; every year he owed the big house three chickens and fifteen eggs and a large number of planks, to repair its buildings; often he had to give it a couple of pigs; sometimes corn, wine, honey, wax, soap, or oil. if the farmer were also an artisan and made things, he had to pay the produce of his craft; a smith would have to make lances for the abbey's contingent to the army, a carpenter had to make barrels and hoops and vine props, a wheelwright had to make a cart. even the wives of the farmers were kept busy, if they happened to be serfs; for the servile women were obliged to spin cloth or to make a garment for the big house every year. all these things were exacted and collected by the steward, whom they called _villicus_, or _major_ (mayor). he was a very hard-worked man, and when one reads the seventy separate and particular injunctions which charlemagne addressed to his stewards one cannot help feeling sorry for him. he had to get all the right services out of the tenants, and tell them what to do each week and see that they did it; he had to be careful that they brought the right number of eggs and pigs up to the house, and did not foist off warped or badly planed planks upon him. he had to look after the household serfs too, and set them to work. he had to see about storing, or selling, or sending off to the monastery the produce of the estate and of the tenants' rents; and every year he had to present a full and detailed account of his stewardship to the abbot. he had a manse of his own, with services and rents due from it, and charlemagne exhorted his stewards to be prompt in their payments, so as to set a good example. probably his official duties left him very little time to work on his own farm, and he would have to put in a man to work it for him, as charlemagne bade his stewards do. often, however, he had subordinate officials called _deans_ under him, and sometimes the work of receiving and looking after the stores in the big house was done by a special cellarer. that, in a few words, is the way in which the monks of st germain and the other frankish landowners of the time of charlemagne managed their estates. let us try, now, to look at those estates from a more human point of view and see what life was like to a farmer who lived upon them. the abbey possessed a little estate called villaris, near paris, in the place now occupied by the park of saint cloud. when we turn up the pages in the estate book dealing with villaris, we find that there was a man called bodo living there.[ ] he had a wife called ermentrude and three children called wido and gerbert and hildegard; and he owned a little farm of arable and meadow land, with a few vines. and we know very nearly as much about bodo's work as we know about that of a smallholder in france today. let us try and imagine a day in his life. on a fine spring morning towards the end of charlemagne's reign bodo gets up early, because it is his day to go and work on the monks' farm, and he does not dare to be late, for fear of the steward. to be sure, he has probably given the steward a present of eggs and vegetables the week before, to keep him in a good temper; but the monks will not allow their stewards to take big bribes (as is sometimes done on other estates), and bodo knows that he will not be allowed to go late to work. it is his day to plough, so he takes his big ox with him and little wido to run by its side with a goad, and he joins his friends from some of the farms near by, who are going to work at the big house too. they all assemble, some with horses and oxen, some with mattocks and hoes and spades and axes and scythes, and go off in gangs to work upon the fields and meadows and woods of the seigniorial manse, according as the steward orders them. the manse next door to bodo is held by a group of families: frambert and ermoin and ragenold, with their wives and children. bodo bids them good morning as he passes. frambert is going to make a fence round the wood, to prevent the rabbits from coming out and eating the young crops; ermoin has been told off to cart a great load of firewood up to the house; and ragenold is mending a hole in the roof of a barn. bodo goes whistling off in the cold with his oxen and his little boy; and it is no use to follow him farther, because he ploughs all day and eats his meal under a tree with the other ploughmen, and it is very monotonous. let us go back and see what bodo's wife, ermentrude, is doing. she is busy too; it is the day on which the chicken-rent is due--a fat pullet and five eggs in all. she leaves her second son, aged nine, to look after the baby hildegard and calls on one of her neighbours, who has to go up to the big house too. the neighbour is a serf and she has to take the steward a piece of woollen cloth, which will be sent away to st germain to make a habit for a monk. her husband is working all day in the lord's vineyards, for on this estate the serfs generally tend the vines, while the freemen do most of the ploughing. ermentrude and the serf's wife go together up to the house. there all is busy. in the men's workshop are several clever workmen--a shoemaker, a carpenter, a blacksmith, and two silversmiths; there are not more, because the best artisans on the estates of st germain live by the walls of the abbey, so that they can work for the monks on the spot and save the labour of carriage. but there were always some craftsmen on every estate, either attached as serfs to the big house, or living on manses of their own, and good landowners tried to have as many clever craftsmen as possible. charlemagne ordered his stewards each to have in his district 'good workmen, namely, blacksmiths, goldsmiths, silversmiths, shoemakers, turners, carpenters, swordmakers, fishermen, foilers, soapmakers, men who know how to make beer, cider, perry, and all other kinds of beverages, bakers to make pasty for our table, netmakers who know how to make nets for hunting, fishing, and fowling, and others too many to be named'.[ ] and some of these workmen are to be found working for the monks in the estate of villaris. but ermentrude does not stop at the men's workshop. she finds the steward, bobs her curtsy to him, and gives up her fowl and eggs, and then she hurries off to the women's part of the house, to gossip with the serfs there. the franks used at this time to keep the women of their household in a separate quarter, where they did the work which was considered suitable for women, very much as the greeks of antiquity used to do. if a frankish noble had lived at the big house, his wife would have looked after their work, but as no one lived in the stone house at villaris, the steward had to oversee the women. their quarter consisted of a little group of houses, with a workroom, the whole surrounded by a thick hedge with a strong bolted gate, like a harem, so that no one could come in without leave. their workrooms were comfortable places, warmed by stoves, and there ermentrude (who, being a woman, was allowed to go in) found about a dozen servile women spinning and dyeing cloth and sewing garments. every week the harassed steward brought them the raw materials for their work and took away what they made. charlemagne gives his stewards several instructions about the women attached to his manses, and we may be sure that the monks of st germain did the same on their model estates. 'for our women's work,' says charlemagne, 'they are to give at the proper time the materials, that is linen, wool, woad, vermilion, madder, wool combs, teasels, soap, grease, vessels, and other objects which are necessary. and let our women's quarters be well looked after, furnished with houses and rooms with stoves and cellars, and let them be surrounded by a good hedge, and let the doors be strong, so that the women can do our work properly.'[ ] ermentrude, however, has to hurry away after her gossip, and so must we. she goes back to her own farm and sets to work in the little vineyard; then after an hour or two goes back to get the children's meal and to spend the rest of the day in weaving warm woollen clothes for them. all her friends are either working in the fields on their husbands' farms or else looking after the poultry, or the vegetables, or sewing at home; for the women have to work just as hard as the men on a country farm. in charlemagne's time (for instance) they did nearly all the sheep shearing. then at last bodo comes back for his supper, and as soon as the sun goes down they go to bed; for their hand-made candle gives only a flicker of light, and they both have to be up early in the morning. de quincey once pointed out, in his inimitable manner, how the ancients everywhere went to bed, 'like good boys, from seven to nine o'clock'. 'man went to bed early in those ages simply because his worthy mother earth could not afford him candles. she, good old lady ... would certainly have shuddered to hear of any of her nations asking for candles. "candles indeed!" she would have said; "who ever heard of such a thing? and with so much excellent daylight running to waste, as i have provided _gratis_! what will the wretches want next?"'[ ] something of the same situation prevailed even in bodo's time. this, then, is how bodo and ermentrude usually passed their working day. but, it may be complained, this is all very well. we know about the estates on which these peasants lived and about the rents which they had to pay, and the services which they had to do. but how did they feel and think and amuse themselves when they were not working? rents and services are only outside things; an estate book only describes routine. it would be idle to try to picture the life of a university from a study of its lecture list, and it is equally idle to try and describe the life of bodo from the estate book of his masters. it is no good taking your meals in the kitchen if you never talk to the servants. this is true, and to arrive at bodo's thoughts and feelings and holiday amusements we must bid goodbye to abbot irminon's estate book, and peer into some very dark corners indeed; for though by the aid of chaucer and langland and a few court rolls it is possible to know a great deal about the feelings of a peasant six centuries later, material is scarce in the ninth century, and it is all the more necessary to remember the secret of the invisible ink. bodo certainly _had_ plenty of feelings, and very strong ones. when he got up in the frost on a cold morning to drive the plough over the abbot's acres, when his own were calling out for work, he often shivered and shook the rime from his beard, and wished that the big house and all its land were at the bottom of the sea (which, as a matter of fact, he had never seen and could not imagine). or else he wished he were the abbot's huntsman, hunting in the forest; or a monk of st germain, singing sweetly in the abbey church; or a merchant, taking bales of cloaks and girdles along the high road to paris; anything, in fact, but a poor ploughman ploughing other people's land. an anglo-saxon writer has imagined a dialogue with him: 'well, ploughman, how do you do your work?' 'oh, sir, i work very hard. i go out in the dawning, driving the oxen to the field and i yoke them to the plough. be the winter never so stark, i dare not stay at home for fear of my lord; but every day i must plough a full acre or more, after having yoked the oxen and fastened the share and coulter to the plough!' 'have you any mate?' 'i have a boy, who drives the oxen with a goad, who is now hoarse from cold and shouting,' (poor little wido!) 'well, well, it is very hard work?' 'yes, indeed it is very hard work.'[ ] nevertheless, hard as the work was, bodo sang lustily to cheer himself and wido; for is it not related that once, when a clerk was singing the 'allelulia' in the emperor's presence, charles turned to one of the bishops, saying, 'my clerk is singing very well,' whereat the rude bishop replied, 'any clown in our countryside drones as well as that to his oxen at their ploughing'?[ ] it is certain too that bodo agreed with the names which the great charles gave to the months of the year in his own frankish tongue; for he called january 'winter-month', february 'mud-month', march 'spring-month', april 'easter-month', may 'joy-month', june 'plough-month', july 'hay-month', august 'harvest-month', september 'wind-month', october 'vintage-month', november 'autumn-month', and december 'holy-month'.[ ] and bodo was a superstitious creature. the franks had been christian now for many years, but christian though they were, the peasants clung to old beliefs and superstitions. on the estates of the holy monks of st germain you would have found the country people saying charms which were hoary with age, parts of the lay sung by the frankish ploughman over his bewitched land long before he marched southwards into the roman empire, or parts of the spell which the bee-master performed when he swarmed his bees on the shores of the baltic sea. christianity has coloured these charms, but it has not effaced their heathen origin; and because the tilling of the soil is the oldest and most unchanging of human occupations, old beliefs and superstitions cling to it and the old gods stalk up and down the brown furrows, when they have long vanished from houses and roads. so on abbot irminon's estates the peasant-farmers muttered charms over their sick cattle (and over their sick children too) and said incantations over the fields to make them fertile. if you had followed behind bodo when he broke his first furrow you would have probably seen him take out of his jerkin a little cake, baked for him by ermentrude out of different kinds of meal, and you would have seen him stoop and lay it under the furrow and sing: earth, earth, earth! o earth, our mother! may the all-wielder, ever-lord grant thee acres a-waxing, upwards a-growing, pregnant with corn and plenteous in strength; hosts of grain shafts and of glittering plants! of broad barley the blossoms, and of white wheat ears waxing, of the whole land the harvest.... acre, full-fed, bring forth fodder for men! blossoming brightly, blessed become! and the god who wrought with earth grant us gift of growing that each of all the corns may come unto our need.[ ] then he would drive his plough through the acre. the church wisely did not interfere with these old rites. it taught bodo to pray to the ever-lord instead of to father heaven, and to the virgin mary instead of to mother earth, and with these changes let the old spell he had learned from his ancestors serve him still. it taught him, for instance, to call on christ and mary in his charm for bees. when ermentrude heard her bees swarming, she stood outside her cottage and said this little charm over them: christ, there is a swarm of bees outside, fly hither, my little cattle, in blest peace, in god's protection, come home safe and sound. sit down, sit down, bee, st mary commanded thee. thou shalt not have leave, thou shalt not fly to the wood. thou shalt not escape me, nor go away from me. sit very still, wait god's will![ ] and if bodo on his way home saw one of his bees caught in a brier bush, he immediately stood still and wished--as some people wish today when they go under a ladder. it was the church, too, which taught bodo to add 'so be it, lord', to the end of his charm against pain. now, his ancestors for generations behind him had believed that if you had a stitch in your side, or a bad pain anywhere, it came from a worm in the marrow of your bones, which was eating you up, and that the only way to get rid of that worm was to put a knife, or an arrow-head, or some other piece of metal to the sore place, and then wheedle the worm out on to the blade by saying a charm. and this was the charm which bodo's heathen ancestors had always said and which bodo went on saying when little wido had a pain: 'come out, worm, with nine little worms, out from the marrow into the bone, from the bone into the flesh, from the flesh into the skin, from the skin into this arrow.' and then (in obedience to the church) he added 'so be it, lord'.[ ] but sometimes it was not possible to read a christian meaning into bodo's doings. sometimes he paid visits to some man who was thought to have a wizard's powers, or superstitiously reverenced some twisted tree, about which there hung old stories never quite forgotten. then the church was stern. when he went to confession the priest would ask him: 'have you consulted magicians and enchanters, have you made vows to trees and fountains, have you drunk any magic philtre?'[ ] and he would have to confess what he did last time his cow was sick. but the church was kind as well as stern. 'when serfs come to you,' we find one bishop telling his priests, 'you must not give them as many fasts to perform as rich men. put upon them only half the penance.'[ ] the church knew well enough that bodo could not drive his plough all day upon an empty stomach. the hunting, drinking, feasting frankish nobles could afford to lose a meal. it was from this stern and yet kind church that bodo got his holidays. for the church made the pious emperor decree that on sundays and saints' days no servile or other works should be done. charlemagne's son repeated his decree in . it runs thus: we ordain according to the law of god and to the command of our father of blessed memory in his edicts, that no servile works shall be done on sundays, neither shall men perform their rustic labours, tending vines, ploughing fields, reaping corn and mowing hay, setting up hedges or fencing woods, cutting trees, or working in quarries or building houses; nor shall they work in the garden, nor come to the law courts, nor follow the chase. but three carrying-services it is lawful to do on sunday, to wit carrying for the army, carrying food, or carrying (if need be) the body of a lord to its grave. item, women shall not do their textile works, nor cut out clothes, nor stitch them together with the needle, nor card wool, nor beat hemp, nor wash clothes in public, nor shear sheep: so that there may be rest on the lord's day. but let them come together from all sides to mass in the church and praise god for all the good things he did for us on that day![ ] unfortunately, however, bodo and ermentrude and their friends were not content to go quietly to church on saints' days and quietly home again. they used to spend their holidays in dancing and singing and buffoonery, as country folk have always done until our own gloomier, more self-conscious age. they were very merry and not at all refined, and the place they always chose for their dances was the churchyard; and unluckily the songs they sang as they danced in a ring were old pagan songs of their forefathers, left over from old mayday festivities, which they could not forget, or ribald love-songs which the church disliked. over and over again we find the church councils complaining that the peasants (and sometimes the priests too) were singing 'wicked songs with a chorus of dancing women,' or holding 'ballads and dancings and evil and wanton songs and such-like lures of the devil';[ ] over and over again the bishops forbade these songs and dances; but in vain. in every country in europe, right through the middle ages to the time of the reformation, and after it, country folk continued to sing and dance in the churchyard. two hundred years after charlemagne's death there grew up the legend of the dancers of kölbigk, who danced on christmas eve in the churchyard, in spite of the warning of the priest, and all got rooted to the spot for a year, till the archbishop of cologne released them. some men say that they were not rooted standing to the spot, but that they had to go on dancing for the whole year; and that before they were released they had danced themselves waist-deep into the ground. people used to repeat the little latin verse which they were singing: equitabat bovo per silvam frondosam ducebat sibi merswindem formosam. quid stamus? cur non imus?[ ] through the leafy forest, bovo went a-riding and his pretty merswind trotted on beside him-- why are we standing still? why can't we go away? another later story still is told about a priest in worcestershire who was kept awake all night by the people dancing in his churchyard and singing a song with the refrain 'sweetheart have pity', so that he could not get it out of his head, and the next morning at mass, instead of saying 'dominus vobiscum', he said 'sweetheart have pity', and there was a dreadful scandal which got into a chronicle.[ ] sometimes our bodo did not dance himself, but listened to the songs of wandering minstrels. the priests did not at all approve of these minstrels, who (they said) would certainly go to hell for singing profane secular songs, all about the great deeds of heathen heroes of the frankish race, instead of christian hymns. but bodo loved them, and so did bodo's betters; the church councils had sometimes even to rebuke abbots and abbesses for listening to their songs. and the worst of it was that the great emperor himself, the good charlemagne, loved them too. he would always listen to a minstrel, and his biographer, einhard, tells us that 'he wrote out the barbarous and ancient songs, in which the acts of the kings and their wars were sung, and committed them to memory';[ ] and one at least of those old sagas, which he liked men to write down, has been preserved on the cover of a latin manuscript, where a monk scribbled it in his spare time. his son, louis the pious, was very different; he rejected the national poems, which he had learnt in his youth, and would not have them read or recited or taught; he would not allow minstrels to have justice in the law courts, and he forbade idle dances and songs and tales in public places on sundays; but then he also dragged down his father's kingdom into disgrace and ruin. the minstrels repaid charlemagne for his kindness to them. they gave him everlasting fame; for all through the middle ages the legend of charlemagne grew, and he shares with our king arthur the honour of being the hero of one of the greatest romance-cycles of the middle ages. every different century clad him anew in its own dress and sang new lays about him. what the monkish chroniclers in their cells could never do for charlemagne, these despised and accursed minstrels did for him: they gave him what is perhaps more desirable and more lasting than a place in history-they gave him a place in legend. it is not every emperor who rules in those realms of gold of which keats spoke, as well as in the kingdoms of the world; and in the realms of gold charlemagne reigns with king arthur, and his peers joust with the knights of the round table. bodo, at any rate, benefited by charles's love of minstrels, and it is probable that he heard in the lifetime of the emperor himself the first beginnings of those legends which afterwards clung to the name of charlemagne. one can imagine him round-eyed in the churchyard, listening to fabulous stories of charles's iron march to pavia, such as a gossiping old monk of st gall afterwards wrote down in his chronicle.[ ] it is likely enough that such legends were the nearest bodo ever came to seeing the emperor, of whom even the poor serfs who never followed him to court or camp were proud. but charles was a great traveller: like all the monarchs of the early middle ages he spent the time, when he was not warring, in trekking round his kingdom, staying at one of his estates, until he and his household had literally eaten their way through it, and then passing on to another. and sometimes he varied the procedure by paying a visit to the estates of his bishops or nobles, who entertained him royally. it may be that one day he came on a visit to bodo's masters and stopped at the big house on his way to paris, and then bodo saw him plain; for charlemagne would come riding along the road in his jerkin of otter skin, and his plain blue cloak (einhard tells us that he hated grand clothes and on ordinary days dressed like the common people);[ ] and after him would come his three sons and his bodyguard, and then his five daughters. einhard has also told us that: he had such care of the upbringing of his sons and daughters that he never dined without them when he was at home and never travelled without them. his sons rode along with him and his daughters followed in the rear. some of his guards, chosen for this very purpose, watched the end of the line of march where his daughters travelled. they were very beautiful and much beloved by their father, and, therefore, it is strange that he would give them in marriage to no one, either among his own people or of a foreign state. but up to his death he kept them all at home saying he could not forgo their society.[ ] then, with luck, bodo, quaking at the knees, might even behold a portent new to his experience, the emperor's elephant. haroun el raschid, the great sultan of the 'arabian nights' had sent it to charles, and it accompanied him on all his progresses. its name was 'abu-lubabah', which is an arabic word and means 'the father of intelligence[a]', and it died a hero's death on an expedition against the danes in .[ ] it is certain that ever afterwards ermentrude quelled little gerbert, when he was naughty, with the threat, 'abu-lubabah will come with his long nose and carry you off.' but wido, being aged eight and a bread-winner, professed to have felt no fear on being confronted with the elephant; but admitted when pressed, that he greatly preferred haroun el raschid's other present to the emperor, the friendly dog, who answered to the name of 'becerillo'. [footnote a: _abu-lubabah_.--it is remarkable that the name should have suffered no corruption in the chronicles.] it would be a busy time for bodo when all these great folk came, for everything would have to be cleaned before their arrival, the pastry cooks and sausage-makers summoned and a great feast prepared; and though the household serfs did most of the work, it is probable that he had to help. the gossipy old monk of st gall has given us some amusing pictures of the excitement when charles suddenly paid a visit to his subjects: there was a certain bishopric which lay full in charles's path when he journeyed, and which indeed he could hardly avoid: and the bishop of this place, always anxious to give satisfaction, put everything that he had at charles's disposal. but once the emperor came quite unexpectedly and the bishop in great anxiety had to fly hither and thither like a swallow, and had not only the palaces and houses but also the courts and squares swept and cleaned: and then, tired and irritated, came to meet him. the most pious charles noticed this, and after examining all the various details, he said to the bishop: 'my kind host, you always have everything splendidly cleaned for my arrival.' then the bishop, as if divinely inspired, bowed his head and grasped the king's never-conquered right hand, and hiding his irritation, kissed it and said: 'it is but right, my lord, that, wherever you come, all things should be thoroughly cleansed.' then charles, of all kings the wisest, understanding the state of affairs said to him: 'if i empty i can also fill.' and he added: 'you may have that estate which lies close to your bishopric, and all your successors may have it until the end of time.' in the same journey, too, he came to a bishop who lived in a place through which he must needs pass. now on that day, being the sixth day of the week, he was not willing to eat the flesh of beast or bird; and the bishop, being by reason of the nature of the place unable to procure fish upon the sudden, ordered some excellent cheese, rich and creamy, to be placed before him. and the most self-restrained charles, with the readiness which he showed everywhere and on all occasions, spared the blushes of the bishop and required no better fare; but taking up his knife cut off the skin, which he thought unsavoury and fell to on the white of the cheese. thereupon the bishop, who was standing near like a servant, drew closer and said: 'why do you do that, lord emperor? you are throwing away the very best part.' then charles, who deceived no one, and did not believe that anyone would deceive him, on the persuasion of the bishop put a piece of the skin in his mouth, and slowly ate it and swallowed it like butter. then approving of the advice of the bishop, he said: 'very true, my good host,' and he added: 'be sure to send me every year to aix two cartloads of just such cheeses.' and the bishop was alarmed at the impossibility of the task and, fearful of losing both his rank and his office, he rejoined: 'my lord, i can procure the cheeses, but i cannot tell which are of this quality and which of another. much i fear lest i fall under your censure.' then charles, from whose penetration and skill nothing could escape, however new or strange it might be, spoke thus to the bishop, who from childhood had known such cheeses and yet could not test them: 'cut them in two,' he said, 'then fasten together with a skewer those that you find to be of the right quality and keep them in your cellar for a time and then send them to me. the rest you may keep for yourself and your ¸clergy and your family.' this was done for two years, and the king ordered the present of cheeses to be taken in without remark: then in the third year the bishop brought in person his laboriously collected cheeses. but the most just charles pitied his labour and anxiety and added to the bishopric an excellent estate whence he and his successors might provide themselves with corn and wine.[ ] we may feel sorry for the poor flustered bishop collecting his two cartloads of cheeses; but it is possible that our real sympathy ought to go to bodo, who probably had to pay an extra rent in cheeses to satisfy the emperor's taste, and got no excellent estate to recompense him. a visit from the emperor, however, would be a rare event in his life, to be talked about for years and told to his grandchildren. but there was one other event, which happened annually, and which was certainly looked for with excitement by bodo and his friends. for once a year the king's itinerant justices, the _missi dominici_, came round to hold their court and to see if the local counts had been doing justice. two of them would come, a bishop and a count, and they would perhaps stay a night at the big house as guests of the abbot, and the next day they would go on to paris, and there they would sit and do justice in the open square before the church and from all the district round great men and small, nobles and freemen and _coloni_, would bring their grievances and demand redress. bodo would go too, if anyone had injured or robbed him, and would make his complaint to the judges. but if he were canny he would not go to them empty-handed, trusting to justice alone. charlemagne was very strict, but unless the _missi_ were exceptionally honest and pious they would not be averse to taking bribes. theodulf, bishop of orleans, who was one of the emperor's _missi_, has left us a most entertaining latin poem, in which he describes the attempts of the clergy and laymen, who flocked to his court, to buy justice.[ ] every one according to his means brought a present; the rich offered money, precious stones, fine materials, and eastern carpets, arms, horses, antique vases of gold or silver chiselled with representations of the labours of hercules. the poor brought skins of cordova leather, tanned and untanned, excellent pieces of cloth and linen (poor ermentrude must have worked hard for the month before the justices came!), boxes, and wax. 'with this battering-ram,' cries the shocked bishop theodulf, 'they hope to break down the wall of my soul. but they would not have thought that they could shake _me_, if they had not so shaken other judges before,' and indeed, if his picture be true, the royal justices must have been followed about by a regular caravan of carts and horses to carry their presents. even theodulf has to admit that, in order not to hurt people's feelings, he was obliged to accept certain unconsidered trifles in the shape of eggs and bread and wine and chickens and little birds, 'whose bodies' (he says, smacking his lips) 'are small, but very good to eat.' one seems to detect the anxious face of bodo behind those eggs and little birds. another treat bodo had which happened once a year; for regularly on the ninth of october there began the great fair of st denys, which went on for a whole month, outside the gates of paris.[ ] then for a week before the fair little booths and sheds sprang up, with open fronts in which the merchants could display their wares, and the abbey of st denys, which had the right to take a toll of all the merchants who came there to sell, saw to it that the fair was well enclosed with fences, and that all came in by the gates and paid their money, for wily merchants were sometimes known to burrow under fences or climb over them so as to avoid the toll. then the streets of paris were crowded with merchants bringing their goods, packed in carts and upon horses and oxen; and on the opening day all regular trade in paris stopped for a month, and every parisian shopkeeper was in a booth somewhere in the fair, exchanging the corn and wine and honey of the district for rarer goods from foreign parts. bodo's abbey probably had a stall in the fair and sold some of those pieces of cloth woven by the serfs in the women's quarter, or cheeses and salted meat prepared on the estates, or wine paid in rent by bodo and his fellow-farmers. bodo would certainly take a holiday and go to the fair. in fact, the steward would probably have great difficulty in keeping his men at work during the month; charlemagne had to give a special order to his stewards that they should 'be careful that our men do properly the work which it is lawful to exact from them, and that they do not waste their time in running about to markets and fairs'. bodo and ermentrude and the three children, all attired in their best, did not consider it waste of time to go to the fair even twice or three times. they pretended that they wanted to buy salt to salt down their winter meat, or some vermilion dye to colour a frock for the baby. what they really wanted was to wander along the little rows of booths and look at all the strange things assembled there; for merchants came to st denys to sell their rich goods from the distant east to bodo's betters, and wealthy frankish nobles bargained there for purple and silken robes with orange borders, stamped leather jerkins, peacock's feathers, and the scarlet plumage of flamingos (which they called 'phoenix skins'), scents and pearls and spices, almonds and raisins, and monkeys for their wives to play with.[ ] sometimes these merchants were venetians, but more often they were syrians or crafty jews, and bodo and his fellows laughed loudly over the story of how a jewish merchant had tricked a certain bishop, who craved for all the latest novelties, by stuffing a mouse with spices and offering it for sale to him, saying that 'he had brought this most precious never-before-seen animal from judea,' and refusing to take less than a whole measure of silver for it.[ ] in exchange for their luxuries these merchants took away with them frisian cloth, which was greatly esteemed, and corn and hunting dogs, and sometimes a piece of fine goldsmith's work, made in a monastic workshop. and bodo would hear a hundred dialects and tongues, for men of saxony and frisia, spain and provence, rouen and lombardy, and perhaps an englishman or two, jostled each other in the little streets; and from time to time there came also an irish scholar with a manuscript to sell, and the strange, sweet songs of ireland on his lips: a hedge of trees surrounds me, a blackbird's lay sings to me; above my lined booklet the thrilling birds chant to me. in a grey mantle from the top of bushes the cuckoo sings: verily--may the lord shield me!-- well do i write under the greenwood.[ ] then there were always jugglers and tumblers, and men with performing bears, and minstrels to wheedle bodo's few pence out of his pocket. and it would be a very tired and happy family that trundled home in the cart to bed. for it is not, after all, so dull in the kitchen, and when we have quite finished with the emperor, 'charlemagne and all his peerage', it is really worth while to spend a few moments with bodo in his little manse. history is largely made up of bodos. chapter iii _marco polo_ a venetian traveller of the thirteenth century et por ce, veul ie que un et autre sachent a tos iors mais les euvres des veneciens, et qui il furent, et dont il vindrent, et qui il sont, et comment il firent la noble cite que l'en apele venise, qui est orendroit la plus bele dou siecle.... la place de monseignor saint marc est orendroit la plus bele place qui soit en tot li monde; que de vers li soleil levant est la plus bele yglise qui soit el monde, c'est l'yglise de monseignor saint marc. et de les cele yglise est li paleis de monseignor li dus, grant e biaus a mervoilles. --martino da canale and kinsai [hangchow] is the greatest city in the whole world, so great indeed that i should scarcely venture to tell of it, but that i have met at venice people in plenty who have been there.... and if anyone should desire to tell of all the vastness and great marvels of this city, a good quire of paper would not hold the matter, i trow. for 'tis the greatest and noblest city, and the finest for merchandise, that the whole world containeth. --odoric of pordenone let us go back in mind--as would that we could go back in body--to the year . it is a year which makes no great stir in the history books, but it will serve us well. in those days, as in our own, venice lay upon her lagoons, a city (as cassiodurus long ago saw her[b]) like a sea-bird's nest afloat on the shallow waves, a city like a ship, moored to the land but only at home upon the seas, the proudest city in all the western world. for only consider her position. lying at the head of the adriatic, half-way between east and west, on the one great sea thoroughfare of medieval commerce, a mediterranean seaport, yet set so far north that she was almost in the heart of europe, venice gathered into her harbour all the trade routes overland and overseas, on which pack-horses could travel or ships sail. merchants bringing silk and spices, camphor and ivory, pearls and scents and carpets from the levant and from the hot lands beyond it, all came to port in venice. for whether they came by way of egypt sailing between the low banks of the nile and jolting on camels to alexandria, or whether they came through the rich and pleasant land of persia and the syrian desert to antioch and tyre, or whether they slowly pushed their way in a long, thin caravan across the highlands of central asia, and south of the caspian sea to trebizond, and so sailed through the black sea and the dardanelles, venice was their natural focus. only constantinople might have rivalled her, and constantinople she conquered. to venice, therefore, as if drawn by a magnet, came the spoils of the east, and from venice they went by horse across the alps by the brenner and st gothard passes to germany and france, or in galleys by way of the straits of gibraltar to england and flanders;[ ] and the galleys and pack-horses came back again to venice, laden with the metals of germany, the furs of scandinavia, the fine wools of england, the cloth of flanders, and the wine of france. [footnote b: 'hic vobis, aquatilium avium more, domus est.'] but if geography gave venice an unrivalled site, the venetians did the rest. through all the early years of their history they defied constantinople to the east of them, and pope and holy roman emperor to the west; sometimes turning to one, sometimes to the other, but stubbornly bent all the while upon independence, replying, when invited to become subjects: 'god, who is our help and protector has saved us to dwell upon these waters. this venice, which we have raised in the lagoons, is our mighty habitation, no power of emperor or of prince can touch us'; apt, if threatened, to retire to their islands and derisively to fire cannon balls of bread into the mainland force, which sought to starve them out.[ ] always they were conscious that their future lay upon the waters, and in that east, whose colour had crept into their civilization and warmed their blood. they were eastern and western both, the venetians, hot hearts for loving and conquering, icy heads for scheming and ruling. bit by bit they secured the ring of mainland behind them, all the while keeping at bay the saracen and slav sea rovers, whose ships were the terror of the mediterranean. then they descended upon the pirates of dalmatia, who thus harassed their trading vessels, and took all the dalmatian coast. the doge of venice became duke of dalmatia. 'true it is,' says their chronicles, 'that the adriatic sea is in the duchy of venice,'[ ] and they called it the 'gulf of venice'. now it was that there was first instituted the magnificent symbolical ceremony of wedding the sea, with the proud words 'desponsamus te mare in signum veri perpetuique domini'![ ] she was a maiden city, bright and free, no guile seduced, no force could violate, and when she took unto herself a mate she must espouse the everlasting sea. and truly it seemed as though the very sea had sworn to honour and obey her. then came the crusades, when europe forgot its differences and threw itself upon the paynim who held the holy places of its faith, when men from all lands marched behind the banner of the cross and the towers of jerusalem were more real than the tower of babel. now, at last, venice saw her dream within her hand. it was venice who provided galleys and venice who provided convoys and commissariat and soldiers, at a good round sum; and when time came for the division of the spoil, venice demanded in every captured town of palestine and syria a church, a counting-house and the right to trade without tolls. her great chance came in the fourth crusade, when her old blind doge enrico dandolo (whose blindness had the nelson touch) upon the pretext that the crusaders could not pay the transport fees agreed upon, turned the whole crusade to the use of venice, and conquered first zara, which had dared to revolt from her, and then her ancient--her only--rival, the immortal byzantium itself. it is true that the pope excommunicated the venetians when they first turned the armies against zara, but what matter? they looted constantinople and brought back the four great gilded horses to st mark's--st mark's, which has been compared to a robbers' cave crowded with the booty of the levant, and which held the sacred body of the saint, stolen from alexandria by the venetians, nearly four centuries before, concealed in a tub of pickled pork, in order to elude the moslems. a venetian patriarch now said mass in st sophia. venice received the proud title of 'ruler of a half and a quarter of the roman empire,' ('quartæ partis et dimidiæ totius imperii romaniæ'--the words have a ring of trumpets), and the doge, buskined in scarlet like the ancient roman emperors, now ruled supreme over four seas--the adriatic, the aegean, the sea of marmora, and the black sea. venetian factories studded all the levantine coasts, in tripoli and tyre, salonica, adrianople, and constantinople, in trebizond on the black sea, even at caffa in the far crimea, whence ran the mysterious road into russia. crete and rhodes and cyprus were hers; her galleys swept the pirates from the seas and brooked no rivals; all trade with the east must pass through venice, and venice only. the other trading cities of italy struggled against her, and genoa came near to rivalling her, but in , and again in , she utterly defeated the genoese fleet. not for the city of 'sea without fish, mountains without woods, men without faith, and women without shame' was it to bit the horses on st mark's.[ ] in venice seemed supreme. byzantium was her washpot and over the levant she had cast her shoe. truly her chronicler might write of her: dalmatia, albania, rumania, greece, trebizond, syria, armenia, egypt, cyprus, candia, apulia, sicily, and other countries, kingdoms and islands were the fruitful gardens, the proud castles of our people, where they found again pleasure, profit, and security.... the venetians went about the sea, here and there and across the sea, and in all places wheresoever water runs, and bought merchandise and brought it to venice from every side. then there came to venice germans and bavarians, french and lombards, tuscans and hungarians, and every people that lives by merchandise and they took it to their countries. small wonder that (as a later traveller observed) the venetians were proud of their great rule, and when a son was born to a venetian were wont to say among themselves, 'a signor is born into the world.' is it not true to say that venice was the proudest city on earth, _la noble cite que l'en apele venise, qui est orendroit la plus bele dou siecle_?[ ] life was a fair and splendid thing for those merchant princes, who held the gorgeous east in fee in the year of grace . in that year traders in great stone counting-houses, lapped by the waters of the canals, were checking, book in hand, their sacks of cloves, mace and nutmegs, cinnamon and ginger from the indies, ebony chessmen from indo china, ambergris from madagascar, and musk from tibet. in that year the dealers in jewels were setting prices upon diamonds from golconda, rubies and lapis lazuli from badakhshan, and pearls from the fisheries of ceylon; and the silk merchants were stacking up bales of silk and muslin and brocade from bagdad and yezd and malabar and china. in that year young gallants on the rialto (scented gallants, but each, like shakespeare's antonio, with a ship venturing into port somewhere in the levant) rubbed elbows with men of all nations, heard travellers' tales of all lands, and at dawn slipped along the canals in gondolas (not black in those days, but painted and hung with silk), saluting the morning with songs; and the red-haired ladies of venice whom centuries later titian loved to paint, went trailing up and down the marble steps of their palaces, with all the brocades of persia on their backs and all the perfumes of arabia to sweeten their little hands. it was in that year, too, that one martino da canale, a clerk in the customs house, began to busy himself (like chaucer after him) less with his accounts than with writing in the delectable french language ('por ce que lengue franceise cort parmi le monde, et est la plus delitable a lire et a oir que nule autre') a chronicle of venice. it is of the water, watery, canale's chronicle, like ariel's dirge; he has indeed, 'that intenseness of feeling which seems to resolve itself into the elements which it contemplates.' here is nothing indeed, of 'the surge and thunder of the odyssey', but the lovely words sparkle like the sun on the waters of the mediterranean, and like a refrain, singing itself in and out of the narrative, the phrase recurs, 'li tens estoit clers et biaus ... et lors quant il furent en mer, li mariniers drecerent les voiles au vent, et lesserent core a ploine voiles les mes parmi la mer a la force dou vent';[ ] for so much of the history of venice was enacted upon deck. it is a passing proud chronicle, too, for canale was, and well he knew it, a citizen of no mean city. 'now would i,' he says, 'that every one and all know for ever the works of the venetians, who they were and whence they came and what they are, and how they made the noble city which is called venice, which is this day the fairest in the world. and i would that all those who are now living and those who are to come know how the noble city is builded and how all good things abound in her, and how the sire of the venetians, the noble doge, is powerful, and what nobility is found therein and the prowess of the venetian people, and how they are all perfect in the faith of jesu christ and obedient to holy church, and how they never disobey the commandment of holy church. within this noble venice there dares to dwell neither heretic, nor usurer, murderer, thief nor robber. and i will tell you the names of all the doges that have been in venice, one after the other, and what they did to the honour of holy church and of their noble city. and i will tell you the names of the noble captains whom the noble doges sent in their time to lay low their enemies, and concerning the victories that they won i will have you know, for it is fitting.... in the year of the incarnation of our lord jesu christ mcclxvii years, in the time of milord renier zeno, the high doge of venice, i laboured and strove until i found the ancient history of the venetians, whence they came first and how they builded the noble city called venice, which is today the fairest and the pleasantest in the world, full of beauty and of all good things. merchandise flows through this noble city even as water flows from the fountains, and the salt water runs through it and round it and in all places save in the houses and the streets; and when the citizens go abroad they can return to their houses by land or by water, as they will. from all parts there come merchandise and merchants, who buy merchandise as they will and take it back to their own countries. within this town is found food in great plenty, bread and wine, land fowl and river fowl, fresh meat and salt, and sea fish and river fish.... you may find within this fair town many men of gentle birth, both old men and young _damoisaus_ in plenty, and merchants with them, who buy and sell, and money changers and citizens of all crafts, and therewith mariners of all sorts, and ships to carry them to all lands and galleys to lay low their enemies. and in this fair town is also great plenty of ladies and damsels and maidens, very richly apparelled.'[ ] it happened that there was a new doge that year, our year , lorenzo tiepolo by name, and a great procession of the gilds took place before the palace on the piazza of st mark to welcome his accession. martino da canale was watching it and wrote it all down in his chronicle. first came the navy sailing past in the harbour, fifty galleys and other ships, with their crews cheering and shouting on deck. then came the gilds on foot: first the master smiths, with garlands on their heads and banners and trumpets; then the furriers apparelled in samite and scarlet silk, with mantles of ermine and vair; then the weavers richly bedight, and the ten master tailors in white with crimson stars. then the master clothworkers passed, carrying boughs of olive and wearing crowns of olive on their heads; then the fustian makers in furred robes of their own weaving, and the quilt makers with garlands of gilt beads and white cloaks sewn with fleurs-de-lis, marching two by two, with little children singing _chansonettes_ and _cobles_ before them. then came the makers of cloth of gold, all in cloth of gold, and their servants in cloth of gold or of purple, followed by the mercers in silk and the butchers in scarlet, the fish sellers robed and furred and garlanded, and the master barbers, having with them two riders attired as knights-errant, and four captive damsels, strangely garbed. then came the glass-workers in scarlet furred with vair, and gold-fringed hoods, and rich garlands of pearls, carrying flasks and goblets of the famous venetian glass before them, and the comb and lantern makers, with a lantern full of birds to let loose in the doge's presence, and the goldsmiths wearing wreaths and necklaces of gold and silver beads and sapphires, emeralds, diamonds, topazes, jacinths, amethysts, rubies, jasper, and carbuncles. master and servants alike were sumptuously clad, and almost all wore gold fringes on their hoods, and garlands of gilded beads. each craft was accompanied by its band of divers instruments, and bore with it silver cups and flagons of wine, and all marched in fair order, singing ballads and songs of greeting, and saluted the doge and dogaressa in turn, crying 'long live our lord, the noble doge lorenzo tiepolo!' gild after gild they marched in their splendour, lovely alike to ear and eye; and a week fled before the rejoicings were ended and all had passed in procession. canale surpasses himself here, for he loved state ceremonies; he gives a paragraph to the advance of each gild, its salutation and withdrawal, and the cumulative effect of all the paragraphs is enchanting, like a prose ballade, with a repeated refrain at the end of every verse.[ ] what, they lived once thus in venice, where the merchants were the kings, where st mark's is, where the doges used to wed the sea with rings? listening to the magnificent salutation of the doge by the priests of st mark's, 'criste, vince, criste regne, criste inpere. notre signor laurens teuples, des gracie, inclit dus de venise, dalmace atque groace, et dominator de la quarte partie et demi de tot l'enmire de romanie, sauvement, honor, vie, et victoire. saint marc, tu le aie,'[ ] who, hearing, could have doubted that venice, defier of rome and conqueror of constantinople, was the finest, richest, most beautiful, and most powerful city in the world? but was she? listen and judge. thousands of miles away from venice, across the lands and seas of asia, a little south of the yangtze river and close to the sea stood the city of kinsai or hangchow, the capital of the sung emperors, who ruled southern china, not yet (in ) conquered by the tartars.[ ] like venice, kinsai stood upon lagoons of water and was intersected by innumerable canals. it was a hundred miles in circuit, not counting the suburbs which stretched round it, and there was not a span of ground which was not well peopled. it had twelve great gates, and each of the twelve quarters which lay within the gates was greater than the whole of venice. its main street was two hundred feet wide, and ran from end to end of the city, broken every four miles by a great square, lined with houses, gardens, palaces, and the shops of the artisans, who were ruled by its twelve great craft gilds. parallel with the main street was the chief canal, beside which stood the stone warehouses of the merchants who traded with india. twelve thousand stone bridges spanned its waterways, and those over the principal canals were high enough to allow ships with their tapering masts to pass below, while the carts and horses passed overhead. in its market-places men chaffered for game and peaches, sea-fish, and wine made of rice and spices; and in the lower part of the surrounding houses were shops, where spices and drugs and silk, pearls and every sort of manufactured article were sold. up and down the streets of kinsai moved lords and merchants clad in silk, and the most beautiful ladies in the world swayed languidly past in embroidered litters, with jade pins in their black hair and jewelled earrings swinging against their smooth cheeks.[ ] on one side of this city lay a beautiful lake (famous in chinese history, and still one of the fairest prospects upon earth), studded with wooded islands, on which stood pavilions with charming names: 'lake prospect', 'bamboo chambers', 'the house of the eight genii', and 'pure delight'. here, like the venetians, the men of kinsai came for pleasure parties in barges, nobly hung and furnished, the cabins painted with flowers and mountain landscapes, and looking out they saw on one side the whole expanse of the city, its palaces, temples, convents, and gardens, and on the other the stretch of clear water, crowded with coloured pleasure boats, over which came echoing the high, clear voices and the tinkling instruments of the revellers. there is no space in which to tell of the king's palace, with its gardens and orchards, its painted pavilions, and the groves where the palace ladies coursed the game with dogs, and, tired of the pastime, flung off their robes and ran to the lake, where they disported themselves like a shoal of silver fishes. but a word must be said of the junks, which came sailing into the harbour four and twenty miles away, and up the river to the city; and of the great concourse of ships which came to zaiton (perhaps the modern amoy), the port of the province. here every year came a hundred times more pepper than came to the whole of christendom through the levantine ports. here from indo china and the indies came spices and aloes and sandalwood, nutmegs, spikenard and ebony, and riches beyond mention. big junks laded these things, together with musk from tibet, and bales of silk from all the cities of mansi[c], and sailed away in and out of the east india archipelago, with its spice-laden breezes billowing their sails, to ceylon. there merchants from malabar and the great trading cities of southern india took aboard their cargoes and sold them in turn to arab merchants, who in their turn sold them to the venetians in one or other of the levantine ports. europeans who saw zaiton and the other chinese seaports in after years were wont to say that no one, not even a venetian, could picture to himself the multitude of trading vessels which sailed upon those eastern seas and crowded into those chinese harbours. they said also with one accord that kinsai was without doubt the finest and richest and noblest city in the world. to the men of kinsai, venice would have been a little suburb and the levant a backyard. the whole of the east was their trading field, and their wealth and civilization were already old when venice was a handful of mud huts peopled by fishermen. [footnote c: mansi or manji was southern china and cathay was northern china, the boundary between them lying along the river hoang-ho on the east and the southern boundary of shensi on the west.] nor was kinsai alone and unmatched in all its wonder and beauty, for a three days' journey from it stood sugui, which today we call suchow, lying also on the great canal, with its circumference of twenty miles, its prodigious multitudes swarming the streets, its physicians, philosophers, and magicians; sugui, with the ginger which was so common that forty pounds of it might be bought for the price of a venetian silver groat, the silk which was manufactured in such vast quantities that all the citizens were dressed in it and still ships laden with it sailed away; sugui under whose jurisdiction were sixteen wealthy cities, where trade and the arts flourished. if you had not seen hangchow, you would have said that there was no city in the world, not venice nor constantinople nor another worthy to be named in the same breath with sugui. the chinese indeed, seeing the riches and beauty of these two cities, doubted whether even the pleasant courts of heaven could show their equal and proudly quoted the proverb: _shang yeu t'ien t'ang, hia yeu su hang_. (there's paradise above, 'tis true, but here below we've hang and su.)[ ] kinsai seems far enough away in all conscience from venice in the year , and venice was all unwitting of its existence, far beyond the sunrise. yet there was in the city of the lagoons that year, watching the same procession of the gilds which canale watched, a boy who was destined to link them for ever in the minds of men--a lean lad of fourteen, marco polo by name, who was always kicking his heels on the quay and bothering foreign sailors for tales of distant lands. he heard all they had to tell him very willingly, storing it up in that active brain of his, for his curiosity was insatiable; but always the tales that he heard most willingly were about the tartars. at this time the tartars were at the height of their power in the west and the east. tartars ruled at peking all over northern china, corea, mongolia, manchuria, and tibet, and took tribute from indo-china and java. tartars were spread over central asia, holding sway in turkestan and afghanistan. the golden horde ruled the caucasus, a large part of russia, and a piece of siberia. tartars held sway in persia, georgia, armenia, and a part of asia minor. when the great mangu khan died in , one empire lay spread across asia and europe, from the yellow river to the danube. there had been nothing like it in the world before, and there was nothing like it again, until the russian empire of modern times. by it was beginning to split up into the four kingdoms of china, central asia, russia, and persia, but still it was one people. now, the attitude of the west to the tartars at this time was very interesting. at first it feared them as a new scourge of god, like attila and his huns; they overran poland, ravaged hungary, and seemed about to break like a great flood upon the west, and overwhelm it utterly. then the tide rolled back. gradually the west lost its first stupefaction and terror and began to look hopefully towards the tartars as a possible ally against its age-old foe, the moslem. the christians of the west knew that the tartars had laid the moslem power low through the length and breadth of asia, and they knew too, that the tartars had no very sharply defined faith and were curious of all beliefs that came their way. gradually the west became convinced that the tartars might be converted to christianity, and fight side by side beneath the cross against the hated crescent. there grew up the strange legend of prester john, a christian priest-king, ruling somewhere in the heart of asia; and indeed little groups of nestorian christians did still survive in eastern asia at this time.[ ] embassies began to pass between tartar khans and western monarchs, and there began also a great series of missions of franciscan friars to tartary, men who were ethnologists and geographers at heart as well as missionaries, and have left us priceless accounts of the lands which they visited. in the year of grace , much was known about central asia, for in the pope had sent the italian friar john of plano carpini thither, and in another friar, william of rubruck, a french fleming, had been sent by the saintly louis, king of france. both got as far as karakorum, the tartar camp on the borders of northern china, though they did not enter china itself. they had brought back innumerable stories about the nomad conquerors, who carried their tents on carts, and drank fermented mares' milk, about the greatness of the khan and his welcome to the strangers from the west, and the interest with which he listened to their preaching.[ ] these tales were common property now, and marco polo must have listened to them. marco polo was always talking of the tartars, always asking about them. indeed, he had reason to be interested in them. this (as we have said) was the year of grace , and eight years before (some, indeed, say fifteen years) his father, nicolo polo, and his uncle maffeo had vanished into tartary. they were rich merchants, trading with their own ship to constantinople, and there they had decided to go on a commercial venture into the lands of the golden horde, which lay to the north of the black sea. so they had sailed over to the crimea, where they had a counting-house at soldaia, and taking with them a store of costly jewels, for they were jewel merchants, they had set off on horseback to visit the khan of the west tartars. so much the venetians knew, for word had come back from soldaia of their venture; but they had never returned. and so marco, kicking his heels upon the quay, caught sailor-men by the sleeve and asked them about those wild horsemen with their mares' milk and their magicians and their droves of cattle; and as he asked he wondered about his father and his uncle, and whether they were dead and lost for ever in the wilds of tartary. but even while he asked and wondered and kicked his heels on the quay, while the doge tiepolo was watching the procession of the gilds and the clerk canale was adding up customs dues or writing the ancient history of the venetians, at that very moment the two polos were slowly and wearily making their way across the heights of central asia with a caravan of mules and camels, drawing near to golden samarcand with its teeming bazaars, coming nearer and nearer to the west; and in the following year, , they reached acre, and took ship there for venice, and so at last came home. they had a strange story to tell, stranger and better than anything the lean, inquisitive boy had heard upon the quays. they had soon disposed of their jewels and they had spent a year at the camp of the khan of the golden horde of kipchak on the mighty river volga. then war broke out between that ruler and the khan who ruled the persian khanate, and it cut off their way back. but marco's curiosity was inherited; and no venetian was ever averse to seeing strange lands and seeking out new opportunities for trade; so the polos decided to go on and visit the khan of central asia or chagatai, and perhaps make their way back to constantinople by some unfrequented route. they struggled over plains peopled only by tent-dwelling tartars and their herds, until at last they reached the noble city of bokhara. they must have followed the line of the oxus river, and if we reverse the marvellous description which matthew arnold wrote of that river's course in _sohrab and rustum_, we shall have a picture of the polos' journey: but the majestic river floated on, out of the mist and hum of that low land, into the frosty starlight, and there moved, rejoicing, through the hush'd chorasmian waste under the solitary moon; he flow'd right for the polar star, past orgunjè, brimming and bright and large: then sands begin to hem his watery march, and dam his streams, and split his currents; that for many a league the shorn and parcell'd oxus strains along through beds of sand and matted rushy isles-- oxus, forgetting the bright speed he had in his high mountain cradle in pamere, a foil'd circuitous wanderer:--till at last the long'd-for dash of waves is heard, and wide his luminous home of waters opens, bright and tranquil, from whose floor the new-bathed stars emerge and shine upon the aral sea. for three years the polos remained at bokhara, until one day it happened that an embassy came to the city, on its way back from the khan in persia to the great khan kublai, who ruled in far-off china, and to whom all the tartar rulers owed allegiance. the chief ambassador was struck with the talents and charm of the brothers, who had now become proficient in the tartar language, and persuaded them to accompany him on his journey to the presence of the great khan, who had never yet set eyes on a man of the west, and would, he assured them, receive them honourably. they would not have been venetians had they refused such an opportunity, and, taking their venetian servants with them, they journeyed for a year with the tartar embassy across the heart of asia, and so reached the great kublai khan. many years later marco himself described their reception, as they had told it to him: being introduced to the presence of the grand khan kublai, the travellers were received by him with the condescension and affability that belonged to his character, and as they were the first latins who had made their appearance in that country, they were entertained with feasts and honoured with other marks of distinction. entering graciously into conversations with them, he made earnest inquiries on the subject of the western parts of the world, of the emperor of the romans, and of other christian kings and princes ... and above all he questioned them particularly respecting the pope, the affairs of the church, and the religious worship and doctrine of the christians. being well instructed and discreet men, they gave appropriate answers upon all these points, and as they were perfectly acquainted with the tartar language, they expressed themselves always in becoming terms; insomuch that the grand khan, holding them in high estimation, frequently commanded their attendance.[ ] [illustration: iii. part of a landscape by chao mÊng-fu] the great khan finally decided to send these two intelligent strangers back to their own land on a mission from himself to the pope, asking for a hundred men of learning to be sent to teach and preach to his tartars, and for some holy oil from the lamp which burned over christ's sepulchre in jerusalem. he provided them with a golden tablet of honour, which acted as a passport and secured that they should be entertained and their journey facilitated from city to city in all his dominions, and so they set forth once more upon their homeward journey, but they were delayed by the dangers and difficulties of travel, 'the extreme cold, the snow, the ice, and the flooding of the rivers', and it was three years before they at last reached acre in the april of , and finding that the pope had died the year before, and that no election had yet been made, so that they could not immediately accomplish their mission, they decided to visit their home again, and so went back to venice. there nicolo found that his wife, who had been with child at his departure, was dead, leaving behind her a son marco, our young haunter of quays. [illustration: iv. madame eglentyne at home] this was the marvellous tale which the same marco drank in from the lips of his new-found father and uncle. but more marvels were to come. for two years the venetians remained at home, awaiting the election of a pope in order to deliver the great khan's letters; but no election was made, and at last, fearing that kublai might suspect them of playing him false, they decided to return to the east, and this time they took with them marco, now a well-grown lad of sixteen or seventeen years with a bright eye that looked everywhere and took in everything, observant and sober beyond his age. but when they got as far as ayas on the gulf of scanderoon, news was brought them of the election of tebaldo di piacenza as pope gregory x, and as tebaldo had already interested himself in their mission, they returned with all speed to acre, and obtained from him letters to the khan (they had already visited jerusalem and provided themselves with some of the holy oil), and two dominican friars, 'men of letters and science as well as profound theologians,' though not the hundred men of learning for whom the khan had asked; and so they set out again from acre in november . the dominicans may have been profound theologians, but they were somewhat chicken-hearted adventurers, and when rumours reached them of wars in the district of armenia, through which they had to pass, they hastily handed over their letters to the venetians, put themselves under the protection of the knights templars, and scuttled back to the coast and safety as fast as they could go, leaving the polos, 'undismayed by perils and difficulties, to which they had long been inured,' to proceed alone. assuredly, st francis crows over st dominic somewhere in the courts of heaven; his friars never feared for their skins, as they travelled blithely into the heat of india and the cold of central asia; and it is easy to imagine the comments of fat william of rubruck upon the flight of the profound theologians. the account of this second journey of the polos may be read in the wonderful book which marco afterwards wrote to describe the wonders of the world. they went from lajazzo through turcomania, past mount ararat, where marco heard tell that noah's ark rested, and where he first heard also of the oil wells of baku and the great inland sea of caspian. past mosul and bagdad they went, through persia, where brocades are woven and merchants bring caravan after caravan of treasures, to hormuz, on the persian gulf, into which port put the ships from india, laden with spices, drugs, scented woods, and jewels, gold tissues and elephants' teeth. here they meant to take ship, but they desisted, perhaps because they feared to trust themselves to the flimsy nailless vessels in which the arabs braved the dangers of the indian ocean. so they turned north again and prepared to make the journey by land. they traversed the salt desert of kerman, through balk and khorassan to badakhshan, where there are horses bred from alexander the great's steed bucephalus, and ruby mines and lapis lazuli. it is a land of beautiful mountains and wide plains, of trout streams and good hunting, and here the brothers sojourned for nearly a year, for young marco had fallen ill in the hot plains: a breath of mountain air blows through the page in which he describes how amid the clean winds his health came back to him. when he was well, they went on again, and ascended the upper oxus to the highlands of pamir, 'the roof of the world' as it has been called in our own time, a land of icy cold, where marco saw and described the great horned sheep which hunters and naturalists still call after him the _ovis poli_,[ ] a land which no traveller (save benedict goës, about ) described again, until lieutenant john wood of the indian navy went there in . thence they descended upon kashgar, yarkand, and khotan, where jade is found, regions which no one visited again until . from khotan they pushed on to the vicinity of lake lob, never to be reached again until a russian explorer got there in . they halted there to load asses and camels with provisions, and then, with sinking hearts, they began the terrible thirty days' journey across the gobi desert. marco gives a vivid description of its terrors, voices which seem to call the traveller by name, the march of phantom cavalcades, which lures them off the road at night, spirits which fill the air with sounds of music, drums and gongs and the clash of arms--all those illusions which human beings have heard and seen and feared in every desert and in every age. what might this be? a thousand fantasies begin to throng into my memory, of calling shapes, and beckoning shadows dire, and airy tongues that syllable men's names on sands and shores and desert wildernesses. at last they arrived safely at tangut in the extreme north-west of china, and, skirting the frontier across the great steppes of mongolia, they were greeted by the khan's people, who had been sent forward to meet them at the distance of forty days' journey, and so at last they reached his presence in the may of , having journeyed for three years and a half. the great khan received the polos kindly, listened attentively to the account which they gave of their mission, commended them for their zeal and fidelity, and received the holy oil and the pope's gifts with reverence. he then observed the boy marco, now a 'young gallant' and personable enough, no doubt, and inquired who he was, and nicolo made answer, 'sire, this is your servant, and my son,' to which the khan replied, 'he is welcome, and much it pleases me,' and enrolled marco among his own attendants. it was the beginning of a long and close association, for kublai khan soon found that marco polo was both discreet and intelligent, and began to employ him on various missions. moreover, marco, for his part, found that the great khan was always desirous of learning the manners and customs of the many tribes over whom he ruled. kublai had to the full that noble curiosity which is the beginning of wisdom, and it irked him exceedingly that his envoys, good conscientious men, followed their noses upon his business, looking neither to right nor to left, and as like as not never even noticed that among the aboriginal hill tribes of the interior called miaotzu there prevailed the peculiar and entertaining custom of the _couvade_, wherein chinese go to bed and lie in, in their ladies' stead.[ ] 'the prince, in consequence,' says marco, 'held them for no better than fools and dolts and would say, "i had far liever hearken about the strange things and the manners of the different countries you have seen than merely be told of the business you went upon,"' very different was the habit of the venetian, who as a lad, had lent ear so readily to swarthy sailors on the rialto. he quickly picked up several of the languages current in the great khan's empire, and here is his account of his proceedings when on a mission to foreign parts: perceiving that the great khan took a pleasure in hearing accounts of whatever was new to him respecting the customs and manners of people, and the peculiar circumstances of distant countries, he endeavoured, wherever he went, to obtain correct information on these subjects and made notes of all he saw and heard, in order to gratify the curiosity of his master. in short, during seventeen years that he continued in his service, he rendered himself so useful, that he was employed on confidential missions to every part of the empire and its dependencies; and sometimes also he travelled on his own private account, but always with the consent and sanctioned by the authority of the grand khan. in such circumstances it was that marco polo had the opportunity of acquiring a knowledge, either by his own observation or by what he collected from others, of so many things until his time unknown, respecting the eastern parts of the world, and these he diligently and regularly committed to writing.... and by this means he obtained so much honour that he provoked the jealousy of other officers of the court.[ ] it is small wonder that when first the lad came back with his reports the great khan and his courtiers marvelled and exclaimed, 'if this young man live he will assuredly be a person of great worth and ability.' it was while on these various public missions that marco polo journeyed through the provinces of shansi, shensi, and szechuen, and skirted the edge of tibet to yunnan, and entered northern burma, lands unknown again to the west until after . for three years he was himself governor of the great city of yangchow, which had twenty-four towns under its jurisdiction, and was full of traders and makers of arms and military accoutrements.[ ] he visited karakorum in mongolia, the old tartar capital, and with his uncle maffeo spent three years in tangut. on another occasion he went on a mission to cochin china, and by sea to the southern states of india, and he has left a vivid picture of the great trading cities of malabar. he might indeed have pondered with ulysses, i am become a name for always roaming with a hungry heart, much have i seen and known, cities of men, and manners, climates, countries, governments, myself not least, but honoured of them all. he describes the great capital cambaluc (peking) in the north, and the beautiful kinsai (hangchow) in the south. he describes the khan's summer palace at shandu, with its woods and gardens, its marble palace, its bamboo pavilion swung like a tent from two hundred silken cords, its stud of white mares, and its wonder-working magicians. indeed his description of the summer palace is better known to englishmen than any other part of his work, for shandu is xanadu, which coleridge saw in a dream after he had been reading marco's book and wove into wonderful verse: in xanadu did kubla khan a stately pleasure dome decree, where alph the sacred river ran, past caverns measureless to man, down to a sunless sea. and there were gardens bright with sinuous rills where blossomed many an incense bearing tree, and here were forests, ancient as the hills enfolding sunny spots of greenery. nor is it only palaces which marco polo describes, for he tells of the great canal and inland river trade of china, the exports and imports at its harbours, the paper money, the system of posts and caravanserais, which linked it together. he gives an unsurpassed picture of that huge, rich, peaceful empire, full of wealth and commerce and learned men and beautiful things, and of its ruler kublai khan, one of the noblest monarchs who ever sat upon a throne, who, since 'china is a sea that salts all the rivers that flow into it,'[ ] was far more than a barbarous mongol khan, was in very truth a chinese emperor, whose house, called by the chinese the 'yuan dynasty', takes its place among the great dynasties of china. even more than marco polo tells us he must, indeed, have seen. the impersonality of the greater part of the book is its one blemish, for we would fain know more of how he lived in china. there is some evidence that he consorted with the mongol conquerors rather than with the chinese, and that chinese was not one of the languages which he learned. he makes no mention of several characteristic chinese customs, such as the compressed feet of the women, and fishing with cormorants (both of which are described by ordoric of pordenone after him); he travelled through the tea districts of fo-kien, but he never mentions tea-drinking, and he has no word to say even of the great wall.[ ] and how typical a european he is, in some ways, for all his keen interest in new and strange things. 'they are,' he says of the peaceful merchants and scholars of suchow, 'a pusillanimous race and solely occupied with their trade and manufactures. in these indeed they display considerable ability, and if they were as enterprising, manly, and warlike as they are ingenious, so prodigious is their number that they might not only subdue the whole of the province, but carry their rule further still.'[ ] nearly five hundred years later we find the same judgement expressed in different words: 'better fifty years of europe than a cycle of cathay.' the answer is a question: would you rather be the pusillanimous chinese, who painted the landscape roll of which a portion is reproduced opposite page , or the enterprising, manly, and warlike european of the same period, whose highest achievement in pictorial art is the picture of marco polo's embarkation, reproduced opposite page ? what is civilization and what progress? yet marco polo shows himself throughout his book far from unable to appreciate other standards than those of his own land and religion, for of sakya-muni buddha he says that, 'had he been a christian he would have been a great saint of our lord jesus christ,' and he could honour kublai as that great khan deserved. nevertheless, although marco polo shows less knowledge of the chinese than one might expect from the extraordinary detail and fidelity of his observation in other directions, he must have known many of these charming and cultivated people, at kinsai or cambaluc, or at the city which he governed. among others, he must have known the great artist who painted the roll mentioned above, chao mêng-fu, whom the chinese called '_sung ksüeh tao jen_' or the 'apostle of pine trees and snow'. he was a lineal descendant of the founder of the sung dynasty and a hereditary official. when that dynasty at last fell before the tartars, he and his friend ch'ien hsüan, 'the man of the jade pool and roaring torrent', retired into private life. but in chao mêng-fu was summoned to court by kublai khan, and, to the indignation of his friend, returned and became secretary in the board of war, occupying his time in this post (what must marco polo have thought of him!) in painting his marvellous pictures. he became a great favourite of the khan and was always about the court, and marco polo must have known him well and perhaps have watched him at work painting those matchless landscapes, and those pictures of horses and men for which he was famous. marco loved horses, as, indeed, he loved all kinds of sport (of which he had plenty, for the khan was a great hunter and hawker), and he has left a word picture of the white brood mares at shansi, which may be set beside chao mêng-fu's brush picture of the 'eight horses in the park of kublai khan'.[ ] he knew, too, perhaps chao mêng-fu's wife, the lady kuan, who painted most exquisitely the graceful bamboo and the peony, so loved by chinese artists, and of whom it is related that 'she would watch the moving shadows of the sprays thrown by the moon on the paper windows, and transfer the fugitive outlines to paper with a few strokes of her supple brush, so that every smallest scrap of her work was mounted in albums as models for others to copy'.[ ] chao mêng-fu and the lady kuan had a son, chao yung, who is of special interest to us, for he painted a picture of a tangut hunter, and marco polo has also given a description of the tartar horsemen and of the province of tangut, where he saw and described the musk deer and the yak. but we must return to the history of the polos in china. from time to time in marco's book we hear also of his father and uncle, travelling about the empire, growing rich by trade, and amassing a store of those jewels, in the value of which they were so skilled, even helping the khan to reduce a rebel town, by constructing siege engines for him on the european model, handy venetians that they were, who could lay their hands to anything.[ ] without doubt they were proud of their marco, who from an inquisitive lad had grown to so wise and observant a man, and had risen to so high a position. so for seventeen years the three polos abode in the khan's service in china. the long months slipped by; and at last they began to feel upon them a longing to see venice and the lagoons again, and to hear mass once more beneath the majestic roof of st mark's before they died. moreover, kublai khan was growing old himself, and the favour which he had always shown to them had excited some jealousy among his own people, and they feared what might happen when he died. but the old khan was adamant to all their prayers; wealth and honours were theirs for the asking, but he would not let them go. they might, indeed, have died in china, and we of the west might never have heard of marco polo or of kublai khan, but for a mere accident, a stroke of fate, which gave them their chance. in arghun, the khan of persia, lost by death his favourite wife bolgana, and, according to her dying wish, he sent ambassadors to the court of peking to ask for another bride from her own mongol tribe. their overland route home again was endangered by a war, and they therefore proposed to return by sea. just at that moment, marco polo happened to return from a voyage on which he had been sent, and spoke with such assurance of the ease with which it had been accomplished, that the three ambassadors conceived a strong desire to take with them all three of these ingenious venetians, who seemed to know so much about ships. thus it was that the great khan was prevailed upon, very reluctantly, to let them go. early in they set sail from the busy port of zaiton in fourteen big chinese junks (of which marco, writing of the shipping of the indian and china seas, has left an excellent description),[ ] with the three envoys, the princess, a beautiful girl of seventeen, 'moult bèle dame at avenant,' says marco, who had an eye for pretty ladies, and a large suite of attendants. one version of marco's book says that they took with them also the daughter of the king of mansi, one of those sung princesses who in happier days had wandered beside the lake in hangchow, and who had no doubt been brought up at cambaluc by the care of kublai khan's favourite queen, the lady jamui. the voyage was a long and difficult one; they suffered lengthy delays in sumatra, ceylon, and southern india, occupied by marco in studying the sea charts of the coast of india which the arab pilots showed him, and adding to his knowledge of these parts, which he had already visited. thus it was over two years before the junks reached persia, and two of the three envoys and a large number of their suite had died by the way. when at last they landed, it was found that arghun, the prospective bridegroom, had meanwhile died too, leaving his throne in the charge of a regent for his young son. but on the regent's advice a convenient solution of the difficulty was found by handing the princess over to this prince, and marco and his uncles duly conducted her to him in the province of timochain, where marco polo noticed that the women were 'in my opinion the most beautiful in the world', where stood the famed and solitary _arbor secco_, and where men still told tales of great alexander and darius. there they took leave of their princess, who had come on the long voyage to love them like fathers, so marco says, and wept sorely when they parted. it was while they were still in persia, where they stayed for nine months after handing over the princess, that the polos received news of the death of the great khan whom they had served so faithfully for so many years. he died at the ripe age of eighty, and with his death a shadow fell over central asia, darkening the shining yellow roofs of cambaluc, the barren plains of sericana, where chineses drive with sails and wind their cany waggons light, the minarets of persia, and the tents of wild kipchak tartars, galloping over the russian steppes. so wide had been the sway of kublai khan. a shadow fell also upon the heart of marco polo. it was as though a door had clanged to behind him, never to open again. 'in the course of their journey,' he says, 'our travellers received intelligence of the great khan having departed this life, which entirely put an end to all prospects of their revisiting those regions.' so he and his elders went on by way of tabriz, trebizond, and constantinople to venice, and sailed up to the city of the lagoons at long last at the end of . a strange fairy-tale legend has come down to us about the return of the polos. 'when they got thither,' says ramusio, who edited marco's book in the fifteenth century, 'the same fate befell them as befell ulysses, who when he returned after his twenty years' wanderings to his native ithaca was recognized by nobody.' when, clad in their uncouth tartar garb, the three polos knocked at the doors of the ca' polo, no one recognized them, and they had the greatest difficulty in persuading their relatives and fellow-venetians that they were indeed those polos who had been believed dead for so many years. the story goes that they satisfactorily established their identity by inviting all their kinsmen to a great banquet, for each course of which they put on a garment more magnificent than the last, and finally, bringing in their coarse tartar coats, they ripped open the seams and the lining thereof, 'upon which there poured forth a great quantity of precious stones, rubies, sapphires, carbuncles, diamonds, and emeralds, which had been sewn into each coat with great care, so that nobody could have suspected that anything was there.... the exhibition of such an extraordinary and infinite treasure of jewels and precious stones, which covered the table, once more filled all present with such astonishment that they were dumb and almost beside themselves with surprise: and they at once recognized these honoured and venerated gentlemen in the ca' polo, whom at first they had doubted and received them with the greatest honour and reverence.[ ] human nature has changed little since the thirteenth century. the precious stones are a legend, but no doubt the polos brought many with them, for they were jewel merchants by trade; they had had ample opportunities for business in china, and the great khan had loaded them with 'rubies and other handsome jewels of great value' to boot. jewels were the most convenient form in which they could have brought home their wealth. but the inquiring marco brought other things also to tickle the curiosity of the venetians, as he lets fall from time to time in his book. he brought, for example, specimens of the silky hair of the tangut yak, which his countrymen much admired, the dried head and feet of a musk deer, and the seeds of a dye plant (probably indigo) from sumatra, which he sowed in venice, but which never came up, because the climate was not sufficiently warm.[ ] he brought presents also for the doge; for an inventory made in of things found in the palace of marino faliero includes among others a ring given by kublai khan, a tartar collar, a three-bladed sword, an indian brocade, and a book 'written by the hand of the aforesaid marco,' called _de locis mirabilibus tartarorum_.[ ] the rest of marco polo's life is quickly told. the legend goes that all the youth of venice used to resort to the ca' polo in order to hear his stories, for not even among the foreign sailors on the quays, where once the boy marco had wandered and asked about the tartars, were stories the like of his to be heard. and because he was always talking of the greatness of kublai khan's dominions, the millions of revenue, the millions of junks, the millions of riders, the millions of towns and cities, they gave him a nickname and jestingly called him marco _milione_, or _il milione_, which is, being interpreted, 'million marco'; and the name even crept into the public documents of the republic, while the courtyard of his house became known as the _corte milione_. to return from legend to history, the ancient rivalry between venice and genoa had been growing during marco polo's absence, nor had venice always prevailed. often as her galleys sailed, dipping deep for famagusta and the hidden sun that rings black cyprus with a lake of fire, ... questing brown slaves or syrian oranges, the pirate genoese hell raked them till they rolled blood, water, fruit, and corpses up the hold. at last in , three years after marco's return, a genoese fleet under lamba doria sailed for the adriatic, to bate the pride of venice in her own sea. the venetians fitted out a great fleet to meet it, and marco polo, the handy man who knew so much about navigation, albeit more skilled with chinese junks than with western ships, went with it as gentleman commander of a galley. the result of the encounter was a shattering victory for the genoese off curzola. sixty-eight venetian galleys were burnt, and seven thousand prisoners were haled off to genoa, among them marco polo, who had now a taste of the results of that enterprise, manliness, and warfare, whose absence he so deprecated in the men of suchow. but soon there began to run through the streets and courtyards of genoa a rumour that in prison there lay a certain venetian captain, with tales so wonderful to beguile the passing hours that none could tire of hearing them; and anon the gallants and sages and the bold ladies of genoa were flocking, just as the men of the rialto had flocked before, to hear his stories of kublai khan. lord of the fruits of tartary her rivers silver-pale, lord of the hills of tartary, glen, thicket, wood, and dale, her flashing stars, her scented breeze, her trembling lakes, like foamless seas, her bird-delighting citron-trees in every purple vale. 'messer marco,' so runs ramusio's account of the tradition which lingered in venice in his day, 'finding himself in this position, and witnessing the general eagerness to hear all about cathay and the great khan, which indeed compelled him daily to repeat his story till he was weary, was advised to put the matter in writing, so he found means to get a letter written to his father in venice, in which he desired the latter to send those notes and memoranda which he had brought home with him.' it happened that in prison with marco polo there lay a certain pisan writer of romances, rusticiano by name,[ ] who had probably been taken prisoner before at the battle of melaria ( ), when so many pisan captives had been carried to genoa, that the saying arose 'he who would see pisa let him go to genoa.' rusticiano was skilled in the writing of french, the language _par excellence_ of romances, in which he had written versions of the round table tales, and in him marco polo found a ready scribe, who took down the stories as he told them, in the midst of the crowd of venetian prisoners and genoese gentlemen, raptly drinking in all the wonders of kublai khan. it was by a just instinct that, when all was written, rusticiano prefixed to the tale that same address to the lords and gentlemen of the world, bidding them to take heed and listen, which he had been wont to set at the beginning of his tales of tristan and lancelot and king arthur: 'ye lords, emperors and kings, dukes and marquises, counts, knights and burgesses and all ye men who desire to know the divers races of men and the diversities of the different regions of the world, take ye this book and cause it to be read, and here shall ye find the greatest marvels.' but he adds, 'marco polo, a wise and learned citizen of venice, states distinctly what things he saw and what things he heard from others, for this book will be a truthful one.' marco polo's truthful marvels were more wonderful even than the exploits of arthur's knights, and were possibly better suited to the respectable rusticiano's pen, for his only other claim to distinction in the eyes of posterity seems to be that in his abridgment of the romance of lancelot he entirely omits the episode (if episode it can be called) of the loves of lancelot and guinevere. 'alas,' remarks his french editor, 'that the copy of lancelot which fell into the hands of poor francesca of rimini was not one of those expurgated by rusticiano!' [ ] marco polo was released from prison (there must have been mourning in the palaces of genoa) and returned to venice at the end of a year. sometimes hereafter his name occurs in the records of venice, as he moves about on his lawful occasions.[ ] in we find 'nobilis marchus polo milioni' standing surety for a wine smuggler; in he is suing a dishonest agent who owes him money on the sale of musk (he, marco, had seen the musk deer in its lair); and in he is concerned in a dispute about a party wall. we know too, from his will, that he had a wife named donata, and three daughters, fantina, bellela, and moreta. had he loved before, under the alien skies where his youth was spent, some languid, exquisite lady of china, or hardy tartar maid? had he profited himself from the strange marriage customs of tibet, of which he remarks (with one of his very rare gleams of humour), 'en cele contree aurent bien aler les jeume de seize anz en vingt quatre'? had fantina, bellela, and moreta half-brothers, flying their gerfalcons at the quails by the shores of the 'white lake' where the khan hunted, and telling tales of the half legendary father, who sailed away for ever when they were boys in the days of kublai khan? these things we cannot know, nor can we ever guess whether he regretted that only daughters sprang from his loins in the city of the lagoons, and no venetian son to go venturing again to the far-distant country where assuredly he had left a good half of his heart. perhaps he talked of it sometimes to peter, his tartar servant, whom he freed at his death 'from all bondage as completely as i pray god to release mine own soul from all sin and guilt'. some have thought that he brought peter the tartar with him from the east, and the thought is a pleasant one; but it is more likely that he bought him in italy, for the venetians were inveterate slave-owners, and captive tartars were held of all the slaves the strongest and best. so his life passed; and in marco polo died, honoured much by his fellow-citizens, after making a will which is still preserved in the library of st mark's. a characteristic story of his death-bed is related by a dominican friar, one jacopo of acqui, who wrote some time later. 'what he told in the book,' says jacopo, 'was not as much as he had really seen, because of the tongues of detractors, who being ready to impose their own lies on others, are over hasty to set down as lies what they in their perversity disbelieve or do not understand. and because there are many great and strange things in that book, which are reckoned past all credence, he was asked by his friends on his death-bed to correct the book, by removing everything that went beyond the facts. to which his reply was that he had not told _one half_ of what he had really seen.'[ ] how well one can see that last indignant flash of the dying observer, who in the long years of his youth had taken notes of strange tribes and customs for the wise and gracious kublai khan, and whom little men now dared to doubt. indeed, modern discovery has entirely confirmed the exactitude of marco polo's observation. it is true that he sometimes repeated some very tall stories which had been told to him, of dog-faced men in the andaman islands and of the 'male and female islands' so beloved of medieval geographers. these were sailors' yarns, and where marco polo reports what he has seen with his own eyes, he reports with complete accuracy, nor does he ever pretend to have seen a place which he had not visited. the explorers of our own day, aurel stein, ellsworth huntington, and sven hedin, travelling in central asia, have triumphantly vindicated him. 'it is,' says an eminent french historian, 'as though the originals of very old photographs had been suddenly rediscovered: the old descriptions of things which were unchanged could be perfectly superimposed upon present reality,'[ ] and huntington and aurel stein took with them to the inaccessible districts of central asia as guide-books the book of the chinese pilgrim hiwen thsang (seventh century) and the book of marco polo, and over and over again found how accurate were their descriptions. it is indeed almost impossible to exaggerate the extent of marco polo's accomplishment. it is best estimated in the often-quoted words of sir henry yule, whose edition of his book is one of the great works of english scholarship: he was the first traveller to trace a route across the whole longitude of asia, naming and describing kingdom after kingdom, which he had seen with his own eyes, the desert of persia, the flowering plateaux and wild gorges of badakhshan, the jade-bearing rivers of khotan, the mongol steppes, cradle of the power that had so lately threatened to swallow up christendom, the new and brilliant court that had been established at cambaluc: the first travellers to reveal china in all its wealth and vastness, its mighty rivers, its huge cities, its rich manufactures, its swarming population, the inconceivably vast fleets that quickened its seas and inland waters; to tell us of the nations on its borders with all their eccentricities of manners and worship; of tibet with its sordid devotees; of burma with its golden pagodas and their tinkling crowns; of laos, of siam, of cochin china, of japan, the eastern thule, with its rosy pearls and golden-roofed palaces; the first to speak of that museum of beauty and wonder, still so imperfectly ransacked, the indian archipelago, source of those aromatics then so highly prized and whose origin was so dark; of java the pearl of islands; of sumatra with its many kings, its strange costly products, and its cannibal races; of the naked savages of nicobar and andaman; of ceylon, the isle of gems, with its sacred mountain and its tomb of adam; of india the great, not as a dreamland of alexandrian fables, but as a country seen and partially explored, with its virtuous brahmans, its obscene ascetics, its diamonds and the strange tales of their acquisition, its sea-beds of pearl and its powerful sun; the first in modern times to give any distinct account of the secluded christian empire of abyssinia, to speak, though indeed dimly, of zanzibar with its negroes and its ivory and of the vast and distant madagascar, bordering on the dark ocean of the south, with its ruc and other monstrosities; and in a remotely opposite region, of siberia and the arctic ocean, of dog-sledges, white bears and reindeer-riding tunguses.[ ] the knowledge which marco polo had thus brought to europe, the intercourse between east and west which his experience had shown to be so desirable, continued to grow after him. merchants and missionaries alike travelled by land or sea eastward to cathay.[ ] another of those indomitable franciscan friars, john of monte corvino, went out at the age of fifty and became archbishop of peking. churches and houses of friars were founded in some of the chinese cities. odoric of pordenone, another friar, and a very good observer too, set forth in and sailed round india and through the spice islands by the same sea route by which the polos had brought their tartar princess back to persia, and so reached canton, 'a city as big as three venices ... and all italy hath not the amount of craft that this one city hath.' he left a wonderful account of his travels in china, including descriptions of peking and hangchow, and ends his stories with the words, 'as for me, from day to day i prepare myself to return to those countries, in which i am content to die, if it pleaseth him from whom all good things do come'--no doubt where he had left his heart, but he died at udine in italy. later there went out another friar, john marignolli, who was papal legate to peking from to . nor was it only missionaries who went to cathay. odoric, speaking of the wonders of hangchow, refers for confirmation to venetian traders who have visited it: ''tis the greatest city in the whole world, so great indeed that i should scarcely venture to tell of it, but that i have met at venice people in plenty who have been there'; john of monte corvino was accompanied by master peter of lucolongo, 'a great merchant,' and john marignolli mentions a _fondaco_ for the use of christian merchants, which was attached to one of the franciscan convents at zaiton. above all, there is francis balducci pegolotti, that intrepid factor who served the great commercial house of the bardi of florence, and who wrote a priceless handbook for the use of merchants about . in this he gives detailed instructions for the guidance of a merchant, who wishes to proceed from tana on the black sea by the overland route across asia to cathay and back again with £ , worth of silk in his caravan, and remarks casually, in passing, 'the road you travel from tana to cathay is perfectly safe, whether by day or night, according to what merchants say who have used it'--'il chanmino dandare dana tana al ghattajo _è sichurissimo_![ ] think only of what it all means. marco polo travelling where no man set foot again till the twentieth century. the bells of the christian church ringing sweetly in the ears of the great khan in peking. the long road across central asia perfectly safe for merchants. the 'many persons at venice' who have walked in the streets of hangchow. this is in the late thirteenth and early fourteenth centuries, in the despised and hidebound middle ages. _È sichurissimo_! it takes some of the gilt off columbus and vasco da gama and the age (forsooth) of 'discovery'. but a change came over everything in the middle of the fourteenth century. darkness fell again and swallowed up peking and hangchow, the great ports, the crowding junks, the noble civilization. no longer was the great trade route _sichurissimo_, and no longer did christian friars chant their masses in zaiton. the tartar dynasty fell and the new rulers of china reverted to the old anti-foreign policy; moreover, islam spread its conquests all over central asia and lay like a rampart between the far east and west, a great wall of intolerance and hatred stronger by far than the great wall of stone which the chinese had once built to keep out the tartars. all marco polo's marvels became no more than a legend, a traveller's tale. but that great adventurer was not done for yet. nearly a century and a half after marco's death a genoese sea captain sat poring over one of the new printed books, which men were beginning to buy and to hand about among themselves. the book which he was reading was the latin version of marco polo's travels. he was reading it with intentness and indeed with passion. as he read he made notes in the margin; on over seventy pages he made his notes.[ ] from time to time he frowned and turned back and read again the tale of those great ports of cathay and the gold-roofed palaces of cipangu; and always he wondered how those lands might be reached, now that the wall of darkness covered central asia, and anarchy blocked the road to the persian gulf. one day (may we not see him?) he lifted his head and smote his hand upon the table. 'i will sail west', he said. 'maybe i shall find the lost island of antilha in the western ocean, but maybe on its far rim i shall indeed come to cipangu, for the world is round, and somewhere in those great seas beyond the coast of europe must lie marco polo's rich cathay. i will beseech the kings of england and of spain for a ship and a ship's company, and the silk and the spices and the wealth shall be theirs. i will sail west,' said the genoese sea captain, and he smote his thigh. 'i will sail west, west, west!' and this was the last of messer marco's marvels; he discovered china in the thirteenth century, when he was alive, and in the fifteenth, when he was dead, he discovered america! chapter iv _madame eglentyne_ chaucer's prioress in real life ther was also a nonne, a prioresse, that of her smyling was ful simple and coy; hir grettest ooth was ne but by sëynt loy; and she was cleped madame eglentyne. ful wel she song the service divyne, entuned in hir nose ful semely; and frensh she spak ful faire and fetisly, after the scole of stratford atte bowe, for frensh of paris was to hir unknowe. at mete wel y-taught was she with-alle; she leet no morsel from hir lippes falle, ne wette hir fingres in hir sauce depe. wel coude she carie a morsel and wel kepe, that no drope ne fille up-on hir brest. in curteisye was set ful muche hir lest. hir over lippe wyped she so clene, that in hir coppe was no ferthing sene of grece, whan she dronken haddie hir draughte ful semely after hir mete she raughte, and sikerly she was of greet disport, and ful plesaunt and amiable of port, and peyned hir to countrefete chere of court, and been estatlich of manere, and to be holden digne of reverence. but, for to speken of hir conscience, she was so charitable and so pitous, she wolde wepe, if that she sawe a mous caught in a trap, if it were deed or bledde. of smale houndes had she, that she fedde with rosted flesh, or milk and wastel-breed. but sore weep she if oon of hem were deed, or if men smoot it with a yerde smerte: and al was conscience and tendre herte ful semely hir wimpel pinched was: hir nose tretys; her eyen greye as glas; hir mouth ful smal, and ther-to softe and reed; but sikerly she hadde a fair foreheed; it was almost a spanne brood, i trowe; for, hardily, she was nat undergrowe. ful fetis was hir cloke, as i was war. of smal coral aboute hir arm she bar a peire of bedes, gauded al with grene; and ther-on heng a broche of gold ful shene, on which ther was first write a crowned a, and after, _amor vincit omnia!_ --geoffrey chaucer _prologue_ to the _canterbury tales_ every one knows chaucer's description of the prioress, madame eglentyne, who rode with that very motley and talkative company on the way to canterbury. there is no portrait in his gallery which has given rise to more diverse comment among critics. one interprets it as a cutting attack on the worldliness of the church; another thinks that chaucer meant to draw a charming and sympathetic picture of womanly gentleness; one says that it is a caricature, another an ideal; and an american professor even finds in it a psychological study of thwarted maternal instinct, apparently because madame eglentyne was fond of little dogs and told a story about a schoolboy. the mere historian may be excused from following these vagaries. to him chaucer's prioress, like chaucer's monk and chaucer's friar, will simply be one more instance of the almost photographic accuracy of the poet's observation. the rippling undercurrent of satire is always there; but it is chaucer's own peculiar satire--mellow, amused, uncondemning, the most subtle kind of satire, which does not depend upon exaggeration. the literary critic has only chaucer's words and his own heart, or sometimes (low be it spoken) his own desire to be original, by which to guide his judgement. but the historian knows; he has all sorts of historical sources in which to study nunneries, and there he meets chaucer's prioress at every turn. above all, he has the bishop's registers. for a long time historians foolishly imagined that kings and wars and parliaments and the jury system alone were history; they liked chronicles and acts of parliament, and it did not strike them to go and look in dusty episcopal archives for the big books in which medieval bishops entered up the letters which they wrote and all the complicated business of running their dioceses. but when historians did think of looking there, they found a mine of priceless information about almost every side of social and ecclesiastical life. they had to dig for it of course, for almost all that is worth knowing has to be mined like precious metals out of a rock; and for one nugget the miner often has to grub for days underground in a mass of dullness; and when he has got it he has to grub in his own heart, or else he will not understand it. the historians found fine gold in the bishops' registers, when once they persuaded themselves that it was not beneath their dignity to grub there. they found descriptions of vicarages, with all their furniture and gardens; they found marriage disputes; they found wills full of entertaining legacies to people dead hundreds of years ago; they found excommunications; they found indulgences to men for relieving the poor, repairing roads, and building bridges, long before there was any poor law, or any county council; they found trials for heresy and witchcraft; they found accounts of miracles worked at the tombs of saints and even of some quite unsaintly people, such as thomas of lancaster, and edward ii, and simon de montfort; they found lists of travelling expenses when the bishops rode round their dioceses; in one they even found a minute account of the personal appearance of queen philippa, then a little girl at her father's court at hainault, whom the bishop of exeter had been sent to inspect, in order to see if she were pretty and good enough to marry edward iii: she was nine years old, and the bishop said that her second teeth were whiter than her first teeth and that her nose was broad but not snub, which was reassuring for edward.[ ] last, but not least, the historians found a multitude of documents about monasteries, and among these documents they found visitation records, and among visitation records they found chaucer's prioress, smiling full simple and coy, fair forehead, well-pinched wimple, necklace, little dogs, and all, as though she had stepped into a stuffy register by mistake for the _canterbury tales_ and was longing to get out again. this was the reason that madame eglentyne got into the register. in the middle ages all the nunneries of england, and a great many of the monasteries, used to be visited at intervals by the bishop of their diocese--or by somebody sent by him--in order to see whether they were behaving properly. it was rather like the periodical visitation of a school by one of her majesty's inspectors, only what happened was very different. when her majesty's inspector comes he does not sit in state in the hall, and call all the inmates in front of him one after another, from the head mistress to the smallest child in the first form, and invite them to say in what way they think the school is not being properly run, and what complaints they have to make against their mistresses and which girl habitually breaks the rules--all breathed softly and privately into his ear, with no one to overhear them. but when the bishop came to visit a nunnery, that is precisely what happened. first of all, he sent a letter to say he was coming, and to bid the nuns prepare for him. then he came, with his clerks and a learned official or two, and was met solemnly by the prioress and all the nuns, and preached a sermon in their church, and was entertained, perhaps, to dinner. and then he prepared to examine them, and one by one they came before him, in order of rank, beginning with the prioress, and what they had to do was to tell tales about each other. he wanted to find out if the prioress were ruling well, and if the services were properly performed, and if the finances were in good order, and if discipline were maintained; and if any nun had a complaint, then was the time to make it. and the nuns were full of complaints. a modern schoolgirl would go pale with horror over their capacity for tale-bearing. if one nun had boxed her sister's ears, if another had cut church, if another were too much given to entertaining friends, if another went out without a licence, if another had run away with a wandering fluteplayer, the bishop was sure to hear about it; that is, unless the whole convent were in a disorderly state, and the nuns had made a compact to wink at each other's peccadilloes; and not to betray them to the bishop, which occasionally happened. and if the prioress were at all unpopular he was quite certain to hear all about her. 'she fares splendidly in her own room and never invites us,' says one nun; 'she has favourites,' says another, 'and when she makes corrections she passes lightly over those whom she likes, and speedily punishes those whom she dislikes'; 'she is a fearful scold,' says a third; 'she dresses more like a secular person than a nun, and wears rings and necklaces,' says a fourth; 'she goes out riding to see her friends far too often,' says a fifth; 'she-is-a-very-bad-business-woman-and-she-has-let-the-house-get-into- debt-and-the-church-is-falling about-our-ears-and-we-don't-get-enough- food-and-she-hasn't-given-us-any-clothes-for-two-years-and-she-has-sold- woods-and farms-without-your-licence-and-she-has-pawned-our-best-set-of spoons; and no wonder, when she never consults us in any business as she ought to do.' they go on like that for pages, and the bishop must often have wanted to put his fingers in his ears and shout to them to stop; especially as the prioress had probably spent half an hour, for her part, in telling him how disobedient and ill-tempered, and thoroughly badly behaved the nuns were. all these tales the bishop's clerk solemnly wrote down in a big book, and when the examination was over the bishop summoned all the nuns together again. and if they had answered 'all is well', as they sometimes did, or only mentioned trivial faults, he commended them and went his way; and if they had shown that things really were in a bad way, he investigated particular charges and scolded the culprits and ordered them to amend, and when he got back to his palace, or the manor where he was staying, he wrote out a set of injunctions, based on the complaints, and saying exactly how things were to be improved; and of these injunctions one copy was entered in his register and another was sent by hand to the nuns, who were supposed to read it aloud at intervals and to obey everything in it. we have in many bishops' registers these lists of injunctions, copied into them by the bishops' clerks, and in some, notably in a splendid fifteenth-century lincoln register, belonging to the good bishop alnwick, we have also the evidence of the nuns, just as it was taken down from their chattering mouths, and these are the most human and amusing of all medieval records. it is easy to see what important historical documents visitation reports are, especially in a diocese like lincoln, which possesses an almost unbroken series of registers, ranging over the three centuries before the dissolution, so that one can trace the whole history of some of the nunneries by the successive visitations. let us see what light the registers will throw upon madame eglentyne, before chaucer observed her mounting her horse outside the tabard inn. doubtless she first came to the nunnery when she was quite a little girl, because girls counted as grown up when they were fifteen in the middle ages; they could be married out of hand at twelve, and they could become nuns for ever at fourteen. probably eglentyne's father had three other daughters to marry, each with a dowry, and a gay young spark of a son, who spent a lot of money on fashionable suits. embroidered ... as it were a mede all ful of fresshe flowers white and rede. so he thought he had better settle the youngest at once; and he got together a dowry (it was rarely possible to get into a nunnery without one, though church law really forbade anything except voluntary offerings), and, taking eglentyne by the hand one summer day, he popped her into a nunnery a few miles off, which had been founded by his ancestors. we may even know what it cost him; it was rather a select, aristocratic house, and he had to pay an entrance fee of £ in modern money; and then he had to give eglentyne her new habit and a bed, and some other furniture; and he had to make a feast on the day she became a nun, and invite all the nuns and all his own friends; and he had to tip the friar, who preached the sermon; and, altogether, it was a great affair.[ ] but the feast would not come at once, because eglentyne would have to remain a novice for some years, until she was old enough to take the vows. so she would stay in the convent and be taught how to sing and to read, and to talk french of the school of stratford-atte-bowe with the other novices. perhaps she was the youngest, for girls often did not enter the convent until they were old enough to decide for themselves whether they wanted to be nuns; but there were certainly some other quite tiny novices learning their lessons; and occasionally there would be a little girl like the one whose sad fate is recorded in a dull law-book, shut up in a nunnery by a wicked stepfather who wanted her inheritance (a nun could not inherit land, because she was supposed to be dead to the world), and told by the nuns that the devil would fly away with her if she tried to set foot outside the door.[ ] however, eglentyne had a sunny disposition and liked life in the nunnery, and had a natural aptitude for the pretty table manners which she learnt there, as well as for talking french, and though she was not at all prim and liked the gay clothes and pet dogs which she used to see at home in her mother's bower, still she had no hesitation at all about taking the veil when she was fifteen, and indeed she rather liked the fuss that was made of her, and being called _madame_ or _dame_, which was the courtesy title always given to a nun. the years passed and eglentyne's life jogged along peacefully enough behind the convent walls. the great purpose for which the nunneries existed, and which most of them fulfilled not unworthily, was the praise of god. eglentyne spent a great deal of her time singing and praying in the convent church, and, as we know, ful wel she song the service divyne, entuned in hir nose ful semely. the nuns had seven monastic offices to say every day. about a.m. the night office was said; they all got out of bed when the bell rang, and went down in the cold and the dark to the church choir and said matins, followed immediately by lauds. then they went back to bed, just as the dawn was breaking in the sky, and slept again for three hours, and then got up for good at six o'clock and said prime. after that there followed tierce, sext, none, vespers, and compline, spread at intervals through the day. the last service, compline, was said at p.m. in winter, and at p.m. in summer, after which the nuns were supposed to go straight to bed in the dorter, in which connexion one nun's rule ordains that 'none shall push up against another wilfully, nor spit upon the stairs going up and down, but if they tread it out forthwith'![ ] they had in all about eight hours' sleep, broken in the middle by the night service. they had three meals, a light repast of bread and beer after prime in the morning, a solid dinner to the accompaniment of reading aloud in the middle of the day, and a short supper immediately after vespers at or p.m. from to p.m. in winter and from to p.m. in summer eglentyne and her sisters were supposed to devote themselves to manual or brain work, interspersed with a certain amount of sober and godly recreation. she would spin, or embroider vestments with the crowned monogram m of the blessed virgin in blue and gold thread, or make little silken purses for her friends and finely sewn bands for them to bind round their arms after a bleeding. she would read too, in her psalter or in such saints' lives as the convent possessed, written in french or english; for her latin was weak, though she could construe _amor vincit omnia_. perhaps her convent took in a few little schoolgirls to learn their letters and good manners with the nuns, and when she grew older she helped to teach them to read and sing; for though they were happy, they did not receive a very extensive education from the good sisters. in the summer eglentyne was sometimes allowed to work in the convent garden, or even to go out haymaking with the other nuns; and came back round-eyed to confide in her confessor that she had seen the cellaress returning therefrom seated behind the chaplain on his nag,[ ] and had thought what fun it must be to jog behind stout dan john. except for certain periods of relaxation strict silence was supposed to be observed in the convent for a large part of the day, and if eglentyne desired to communicate with her sisters, she was urged to do so by means of signs. the persons who drew up the lists of signs which were in use in medieval monastic houses, however, combined a preternatural ingenuity with an extremely exiguous sense of humour, and the sort of dumb pandemonium which went on at eglentyne's dinner table must often have been more mirth-provoking than speech. the sister who desired fish would 'wag her hands displayed sidelings in manner of a fish tail'; she who wanted milk would 'draw her left little finger in manner of milking'; for mustard one would 'hold her nose in the upper part of her right fist and rub it'; another for salt would 'fillip with her right thumb and forefinger over the left thumb'; another desirous of wine would 'move her forefinger up and down the end of her thumb afore her eye'; and the guilty sacristan, struck by the thought that she had not provided incense for the mass, would 'put her two fingers into her nostrils'. in one such table drawn up for nuns there are no less than signs, and on the whole it is not surprising that the rule of the same nuns enjoins that 'it is never lawful to use them without some reason and profitable need, for oft-times more hurt hath an evil word, and more offence it may be to god'.[ ] the nuns, of course, would not have been human if they had not sometimes grown a little weary of all these services and this silence; for the religious life was not, nor was it intended to be, an easy one. it was not a mere means of escape from work and responsibility. in the early golden age of monasticism only men and women with a vocation, that is to say a real genius for monastic life, entered convents. moreover, when there they worked very hard with hand and brain, as well as with soul, and so they got variety of occupation, which is as good as a holiday. the basis of wise st benedict's rule was a nicely adjusted combination of variety with regularity; for he knew human nature. thus monks and nuns did not find the services monotonous, and indeed regarded them as by far the best part of the day. but in the later middle ages, when chaucer lived, young people had begun to enter monastic houses rather as a profession than as a vocation. many truly spiritual men and women still took the vows, but with them came others who were little suited to monastic life, and who lowered its standard, because it was hard and uncongenial to them. eglentyne became a nun because her father did not want the trouble and expense of finding her a husband, and because being a nun was about the only career for a well-born lady who did not marry. moreover, by this time, monks and nuns had grown more lazy, and did little work with their hands and still less with their heads, particularly in nunneries, where the early tradition of learning had died out and where many nuns could hardly understand the latin in which their services were written. the result was that monastic life began to lose that essential variety which st benedict had designed for it, and as a result the regularity sometimes became irksome, and the series of services degenerated into a mere routine of peculiar monotony, which many of the singers could no longer keep alive with spiritual fervour. thus sometimes (it must not be imagined that this happened in all or even in the majority of houses) the services became empty forms, to be hurried through with scant devotion and occasionally with scandalous irreverence. it was the almost inevitable reaction from too much routine. carelessness in the performance of the monastic hours was an exceedingly common fault during the later middle ages, though the monks were always worse about it than the nuns. sometimes they 'cut' the services. sometimes they behaved with the utmost levity, as at exeter in , where the canons giggled and joked and quarrelled during the services and dropped hot candle wax from the upper stalls on to the shaven heads of the singers in the stalls below![ ] sometimes they came late to matins, in the small hours after midnight. this fault was common in nunneries, for the nuns always would insist on having private drinkings and gossipings in the evening after compline, instead of going straight to bed, as the rule demanded--a habit which did not conduce to wakefulness at a.m. consequently they were somewhat sleepy at matins and found an almost johnsonian difficulty in getting up early. wise st benedict foresaw the difficulty, when he wrote in his rule: 'when they rise for the divine office, let them gently encourage one another, because of the excuses made by those that are drowsy.'[ ] at the nunnery of stainfield in the bishop discovered that half an hour sometimes elapsed between the last stroke of the bell and the beginning of the service, and that some of the nuns did not sing, but dozed, partly because they had not enough candles, but chiefly because they went late to bed;[ ] and whoever is without sin among us, let him cast the first stone! there was a tendency also among both monks and nuns to slip out before the end of the service on any good or bad excuse: they had to see after the dinner or the guest-house, their gardens needed weeding, or they did not feel well. but the most common fault of all was to gabble through the services as quickly as they could in order to get them over. they left out the syllables at the beginning and end of words, they omitted the dipsalma or pause between two verses, so that one side of the choir was beginning the second half before the other side had finished the first; they skipped sentences, they mumbled and slurred what should have been 'entuned in their nose ful semely', and altogether they made a terrible mess of the stately plainsong. so prevalent was the fault of gabbling that the father of evil was obliged to charter a special devil called tittivillus, whose sole business it was to collect all these dropped syllables and carry them back to his master in a big bag. in one way or another, we have a good deal of information about him, for he was always letting himself be seen by holy men, who generally had a sharp eye for devils. one latin rhyme distinguishes carefully between the contents of his sack: 'these are they who wickedly corrupt the holy psalms: the dangler, the gasper, the leaper, the galloper, the dragger, the mumbler, the fore-skipper, the fore-runner and the over-leaper: tittivillus collecteth the fragments of these men's words.'[ ] indeed, a holy cistercian abbot once interviewed the poor little devil himself and heard about his alarming industry; this is the story as it is told in _the myroure of oure ladye_, written for the delectation of the nuns of syon in the fifteenth century: 'we read of a holy abbot of the order of citeaux that while he stood in the choir at matins he saw a fiend that had a long and great poke hanging about his neck and went about the choir from one to another and waited busily after all letters and syllables and words and failings that any made; and them he gathered diligently and put them in his poke. and when he came before the abbot, waiting if aught had escaped him that he might have gotten and put in his bag, the abbot was astonied and afeard of the foulness and misshape of him and said unto him: what art thou? and he answered and said, i am a poor devil and my name is tittivillus and i do mine office that is committed unto me. and what is thine office? said the abbot. he answered: i must each day, he said, bring my master a thousand pokes full of failings and of negligences and syllables and words, that are done in your order in reading and singing and else i must be sore beaten.'[ ] but there is no reason to suppose that he often got his beating, though one may be sure that madame eglentyne, busily chanting through her nose, never gave him the slightest help. in his spare moments, when he was not engaged in picking up those unconsidered trifles which the monks let fall from the psalms, tittivillus used to fill up odd corners of his sack with the idle talk of people who gossiped in church; and he also sat up aloft and collected all the high notes of vain tenors, who sang to their own glory, instead of to the glory of god, and pitched the chants three notes higher than the cracked voices of their elders could rise. but the monotony of convent life sometimes did more than make the nuns unconscious contributors to tittivillus's sack. it sometimes played havoc with their tempers. the nuns were not chosen for convent life because they were saints. they were no more immune from tantrums than was the wife of bath, who was out of all charity when other village wives went into church before her; and sometimes they got terribly on each others' nerves. readers of _piers plowman_ will remember that when the seven deadly sins come in, wrath tells how he was cook to the prioress of a convent and, says he, of wycked wordes i, wrath ... here wordes imade, til 'thow lixte' and 'thow lixte' ... lopen oute at ones, and eyther hitte other ... vnder the cheke; hadde thei had knyves, by cryst ... her eyther had killed other. to be sure, it is not often that we hear of anything so bad as that fifteenth-century prioress, who used to drag her nuns round the choir by their veils in the middle of the service, screaming 'liar!' and 'harlot!' at them;[ ] or that other sixteenth-century lady who used to kick them and hit them on the head with her fists and put them in the stocks.[ ] all prioresses were not 'ful plesaunt and amiable of port', or stately in their manner. the records of monastic visitations show that bad temper and petty bickering sometimes broke the peace of convent life. but we must be back at eglentyne. she went on living for ten or twelve years as a simple nun, and she sang the services very nicely and had a sweet temper and pretty manners and was very popular. moreover, she was of good birth; chaucer tells us a great deal about her beautiful behaviour at table and her courtesy, which shows that she was a lady born and bred; indeed, his description of this might have been taken straight out of one of the feudal books of deportment for girls; even her personal beauty--straight nose, grey eyes, and little red mouth--conforms to the courtly standard. the convents were apt to be rather snobbish; ladies and rich burgesses' daughters got into them, but poor and low-born girls never. so the nuns probably said to each other that what with her pretty ways and her good temper and her aristocratic connexions, wouldn't it be a good thing to choose her for prioress when the old prioress died? and so they did, and she had been a prioress for some years when chaucer met her. at first it was very exciting, and eglentyne liked being called 'mother' by nuns who were older than herself, and having a private room to sit in and all the visitors to entertain. but she soon found that it was not by any means all a bed of roses; for there was a great deal of business to be done by the head of a house--not only looking after the internal discipline of the convent, but also superintending money matters and giving orders to the bailiffs on her estates, and seeing that the farms were paying well, and the tithes coming in to the churches which belonged to the nunnery, and that the italian merchants who came to buy the wool off her sheeps' backs gave a good price for it. in all this business she was supposed to take the advice of the nuns, meeting in the chapter-house, where all business was transacted. i am afraid that sometimes eglentyne used to think that it was much better to do things by herself, and so she would seal documents with the convent seal without telling them. one should always distrust the head of an office or school or society who says, with a self-satisfied air, that it is much more satisfactory to do the thing herself than to depute it to the proper subordinates; it either means that she is an autocrat, or else that she cannot organize. madame eglentyne was rather an autocrat, in a good-natured sort of way, and besides she hated bother. so she did not always consult the nuns; and i fear too (after many researches into that past of hers which chaucer forgot to mention) that she often tried to evade rendering an account of income and expenditure to them every year, as she was supposed to do. the nuns, of course, objected to this; and the first time the bishop came on his rounds they complained about it to him. they said, too, that she was a bad business woman and got into debt; and that when she was short of money she used to sell woods belonging to the convent, and promise annual pensions to various people in return for lump sums down, and lease out farms for a long time at low rates, and do various other things by which the convent would lose in the long run. and besides, she had let the roof of the church get into such ill repair that rain came through the holes on to their heads when they were singing; and would my lord bishop please to look at the holes in their clothes and tell her to provide them with new ones? other wicked prioresses used sometimes even to pawn the plate and jewels of the convent, to get money for their own private purposes. but eglentyne was not at all wicked or dishonest, though she was a bad manager; the fact was that she had no head for figures. i am _sure_ that she had no head for figures; you have only got to read chaucer's description of her to know that she was not a mathematician. besides the nuns were exaggerating: their clothes were not in holes, only just a little threadbare. madame eglentyne was far too fastidious to allow ragged clothes about her; and as to the roof of the church, she had meant to save enough money to have some tiles put on to it, but it really _was_ very hard to make two ends meet in a medieval nunnery, especially if (as i repeat) you had no head for figures. probably the bishop saw how the land lay, so he ordered her never to do anything without consulting the convent, and he shut up the common seal in a box with three different sorts of locks, to which madame eglentyne and two of the senior nuns had the keys, so that she could not open it alone and so could not seal any business agreement without their consent. and he ordered her to keep accounts and present them every year (there are bundles of her accounts still preserved in the record office). finally he deputed a neighbouring rector to act as custodian of the business affairs of the house so that she should always have his help. things went better after that. eglentyne, it seems, was never really interested in business, and was quite pleased to have her time taken up with looking after internal affairs and entertaining visitors, with an occasional jaunt outside to see how the estates were getting on. and she began to find that she could lead a much freer and gayer life now that she was a prioress; for the prioress of a convent had rooms of her own, instead of sharing the common dormitory and refectory; sometimes she even had a sort of little house with a private kitchen. the abbess of one great nunnery at winchester in the sixteenth century had her own staff to look after her, a cook, and an under cook, and a housemaid and a gentlewoman to wait upon her, like any great lady in the world, and never dined with the nuns except on state occasions. but a superior generally had with her one nun to act as her companion and assist her in the choir and be a witness to her good behaviour; this nun was called her chaplain, and was supposed to be changed every year, to prevent favouritism. it will be remembered that when madame eglentyne went on her pilgrimage she took her nun chaplain with her, as well as three priests; that was because no nun was ever allowed to go out alone. one of madame eglentyne's duties as prioress was to entertain visitors with her celebrated cheer of court, and we may be sure that she had a great many. her sisters, who were now grand ladies with husbands and manors of their own, and her old father, and all the great people of the county came to congratulate her; and after that they used often to drop in for a dinner of chickens and wine and wastel bread if they passed the house on a journey, and sometimes they spent the night there. one or two ladies, whose husbands were away at the wars or on a pilgrimage to rome, even came as paying guests to the convent and lived there for a whole year, for nothing pleased the country gentlemen or wealthy burgesses better than to use nunneries as boarding-houses for their women-kind. all this was very disturbing to the peace and quiet of the nuns, and especially disturbing were the boarders, for they wore gay clothes, and had pet dogs and callers, and set a very frivolous example to the nuns. at one nunnery we find a bishop ordering: 'let felmersham's wife, with her whole household and other women, be utterly removed from your monastery within one year, seeing that they are a cause of disturbance to the nuns and an occasion to bad example, by reason of their attire and of those who come to visit them.'[ ] it can be easily imagined _why_ the bishops objected so much to the reception of these worldly married women as boarders. just substitute for 'felmersham's wife' 'the wife of bath' and all is explained. that lady was not a person whom a prioress would lightly refuse; the list of her pilgrimages alone would give her the _entrée_ into any nunnery. smiling her gap-toothed smile and riding easily upon her ambler, she would enter the gates, and what a month of excitement would pass before she rode away again. i am sure that it was she who taught madame eglentyne the most fashionable way to pinch a wimple; and she certainly introduced hats 'as broad as is a buckler or a targe' and scarlet stockings into some nunneries. the bishops disliked it all very much, but they never succeeded in turning the boarders out for all their efforts, because the nuns always needed the money which they paid for their board and lodging. it is easy to understand that this constant intercourse with worldly visitors would give rise to the spread of worldly habits in madame eglentyne's nunnery. nuns, after all, were but women, and they had the amiable vanities of their sex. but authority (with a large a) did not consider their vanities amiable at all. it was the view of authority that the devil had dispatched three lesser d's to be the damnation of nuns, and those three d's were dances, dresses, and dogs. medieval england was famous for dancing and mumming and minstrelsy; it was merry england because, however plague and pestilence and famine and the cruelties of man to man might darken life, still it loved these things. but there were no two views possible about what the church thought of dancing; it was accurately summed up by one moralist in the aphorism, 'the devil is the inventor and governor and disposer of dances and dancing.' yet when we look into those accounts which madame eglentyne rendered (or did not render) to her nuns at the end of every year, we shall find payments for wassail at new year and twelfth night, for may games, for bread and ale on bonfire nights, for harpers and players at christmas, for a present to the boy bishop on his rounds, and perhaps for an extra pittance when the youngest schoolgirl was allowed to dress up and act as abbess of the convent for the whole of innocents' day. and when we look in the bishops' registers we shall find madame eglentyne forbidden 'all manner of minstrelsy, interludes, dancing or revelling within your holy place'; and she would be fortunate indeed if her bishop would make exception for christmas, 'and other honest times of recreation among yourselves used in absence of seculars in all wise'. somehow one feels an insistent conviction that her cheer of court included dancing.[ ] then, again, there were the fashionable dresses which the visitors introduced into nunneries. it is quite certain that madame eglentyne was not unmoved by them; and it is a sad fact that she began to think the monastic habit very black and ugly, and the monastic life very strict; and to decide that if some little amenities were imported into it no one would be a penny the worse, and perhaps the bishop would not notice. that is why, when chaucer met her, ful fetis was hir cloke, as i was war, of smal coral aboute hir arm she bar a peire of bedes, gauded al with grene, and ther-on heng a broche of gold ful shene. unfortunately, however, the bishop did notice; the registers are indeed full of those clothes of madame eglentyne's, and of the even more frivolous ones which she wore in the privacy of the house. for more than six weary centuries the bishops waged a holy war against fashion in the cloister, and waged it in vain; for as long as nuns mingled freely with secular women, it was impossible to prevent them from adopting secular modes. occasionally a wretched bishop would find himself floundering unhandily, in masculine bewilderment, through something like a complete catalogue of contemporary fashions, in order to specify what the nuns were _not_ to wear. synods sat solemnly, bishops and archbishops shook their grey heads, over golden hairpins and silver belts, jewelled rings, laced shoes, slashed tunics, low necks and long trains, gay colours, costly cloth, and valuable furs. the nuns were supposed to wear their veils pinned tightly down to their eyebrows, so that their foreheads were completely hidden; but high foreheads happened to be fashionable among worldly ladies, who even shaved theirs to make them higher, and the result was that the nuns could not resist lifting up and spreading out their veils, for how otherwise did chaucer _know_ that madame eglentyne had such a fair forehead ('almost a spanne broad, i trowe')? if she had been wearing her veil properly, it would have been invisible, and the father of english poetry may be observed discreetly but plainly winking the other eye when he puts in that little touch; his contemporaries would see the point very quickly. and that brooch and that fetis cloak of hers.... here is what some tale-bearing nuns told the bishop of lincoln about their prioress, fifty years after chaucer wrote the _canterbury tales_. 'the prioress,' they said with their most sanctimonious air, wears golden rings exceeding costly, with divers precious stones and also girdles silvered and gilded over and silken veils and she carries her veil too high above her forehead, so that her forehead, being entirely uncovered, can be seen of all, and she wears furs of vair. also she wears shifts of cloth of rennes, which costs sixteen pence the ell. also she wears kirtles laced with silk and tiring pins of silver and silver gilt and has made all the nuns wear the like. also she wears above her veil a cap of estate, furred with budge. item, she has on her neck a long silken band, in english a lace, which hangs down below her breast and there on a golden ring with one diamond.[ ] is it not madame eglentyne to the life? nothing escaped our good dan chaucer's eye, for all that he rode always looking on the ground. moreover, it was not only in her dress that the prioress and her sister nuns aped the fashions of the world. great ladies of the day loved to amuse themselves with pet animals; and nuns were quick to follow their example. so, of smale houndes had she, that she fedde with rosted flesh, or milk and wastel-breed. but sore weep she if oon of hem were deed, or if men smoot it with a yerde smerte. the visitation reports are full of those little dogs and other animals; and how many readers of the prologue know that the smale houndes, like the fair forehead and the brooch of gold full sheen, were strictly against the rules? for the bishops regarded pets as bad for discipline, and century after century they tried to turn the animals out of the convents, without the slightest success. the nuns just waited till the bishop had gone and then whistled their dogs back again. dogs were easily the favourite pets, though monkeys, squirrels, rabbits, birds and (very rarely) cats were also kept. one archbishop had to forbid an abbess whom he visited to keep _monkeys and a number of dogs_ in her own chamber and charged her at the same time with stinting her nuns in food; one can guess what became of the roasted flesh or milk and wastel-breed! it was a common medieval practice to bring animals into church, where ladies often attended service with dog in lap and men with hawk on wrist; just as the highland farmer brings his collie with him today. this happened in the nunneries too. sometimes it was the lay-boarders in the convents who brought their pets with them; there is a pathetic complaint by the nuns of one house 'that lady audley, who boards there, has a great abundance of dogs, insomuch that whenever she comes to church there follow her twelve dogs, who make a great uproar in church, hindering the nuns in their psalmody and the nuns thereby are terrified!'[ ] but often enough the nuns themselves transgressed. injunctions against bringing pet dogs into choir occur in several visitation reports, the most amusing instance being contained in those sent to romsey abbey by william of wykeham in , just about the same year that chaucer was writing the _canterbury tales_: 'item,' runs the injunction, 'whereas we have convinced ourselves by clear proofs that some of the nuns of your house bring with them to church birds, rabbits, hounds and such like frivolous things, whereunto they give more heed than to the offices of the church, with frequent hindrance to their own psalmody and to that of their fellow nuns and to the grievous peril of their souls--therefore we strictly forbid you all and several, in virtue of the obedience due to us that ye presume henceforward to bring to church no birds, hounds, rabbits or other frivolous things that promote indiscipline.... item, whereas through hunting dogs and other hounds abiding within your monastic precincts, the alms that should be given to the poor are devoured and the church and cloister ... are foully defiled ... and whereas, through their inordinate noise divine service is frequently troubled--therefore we strictly command and enjoin you, lady abbess, that you remove the dogs altogether and that you suffer them never henceforth, nor any other such hounds, to abide within the precincts of your nunnery.'[ ] but it was useless for any bishop to order madame eglentyne to give up her dogs, she could not even be parted from them on a pilgrimage, though they must have been a great nuisance in the inns, especially as she was so fussy about their food. for chaucer's prioress, we must admit, was rather a worldly lady, though her pretty clothes and little dogs were harmless enough on modern standards and one's sympathies are all against the bishops. she probably became more worldly as time went on, because she had so many opportunities for social intercourse. not only had she to entertain visitors in the convent, but often the business of the house took her away upon journeys and these offered many opportunities for hobnobbing with her neighbours. sometimes she had to go to london to see after a law-suit and that was a great excursion with another nun, or perhaps two, and a priest and several yeomen to look after her. sometimes she had to go and see the bishop, to get permission to take in some little schoolgirls. sometimes she went to the funeral of a great man, whom her father knew and who left her twenty shillings and a silver cup in his will. sometimes she went to the wedding of one of her sisters, or to be godmother to their babies; though the bishops did not like these worldly ties, or the dances and merry-makings which accompanied weddings and christenings. indeed her nuns occasionally complained about her journeys and said that though she pretended it was all on the business of the house, they had their doubts; and would the bishop please just look into it. at one nunnery we find the nuns complaining that their house is £ in debt 'and this principally owing to the costly expenses of the prioress, because she frequently rides abroad and pretends that she does so on the common business of the house although it is not so, with a train of attendants much too large and tarries too long abroad and she feasts sumptuously, both when abroad and at home and she is very choice in her dress, so that the fur trimmings of her mantle are worth s'![ ] as a matter of fact there was nothing of which the church disapproved more than this habit, shared by monks and nuns, of wandering about outside their cloisters; moralists considered that intercourse with the world was at the root of all the evil which crept into the monastic system. the orthodox saying was that a monk out of his cloister was like a fish out of water; and it will be remembered that chaucer's monk thought the text not worth an oyster. indeed most of the monks managed to swim very well in the air, and the nuns too persisted in taking every sort of excuse for wandering in the world. right through the middle ages council after council, bishop after bishop, reformer after reformer, tried in vain to keep them shut up. the greatest attempt of all began in , when the pope published a bull ordering that nuns should never, save in very exceptional circumstances, leave their convents and that no secular person should be allowed to go in and visit them, without a special licence and a good reason. this will make the modern reader pity the poor nuns, but there is no need, for nobody ever succeeded in putting it into force for more than five minutes, though the bishops spent over two centuries in trying to do so and were still trying in vain when king henry viii dissolved the nunneries and turned all the nuns out into the world for ever, whether they liked it or not. at one nunnery in the lincoln diocese, when the bishop came and deposited a copy of the bull in the house and ordered the nuns to obey it, they ran after him to the gate when he was riding away and threw the bull at his head, screaming that they would never observe it.[ ] the more practical bishops indeed, soon stopped trying to enforce the bull as it stood and contented themselves with ordering that nuns were not to go out or pay visits too often, or without a companion, or without licence, or without a good reason. but even in this they were not very successful, because the nuns were most prolific in excellent reasons why they should go out. sometimes they said that their parents were ill; and then they would go away to smooth the pillow of the sick. sometimes they said that they had to go to market to buy herrings. sometimes they said that they had to go to confession at a monastery. sometimes it is really difficult to imagine _what_ they said. what are we to think, for instance, of that giddy nun 'who on monday night did pass the night with the austin friars at northampton and did dance and play the lute with them in the same place until midnight, and on the night following she passed the night with the friars' preachers at northampton, luting and dancing in like manner'?[ ] chaucer told us how the friar loved harping and how his eyes twinkled like stars in his head when he sang, but failed perhaps to observe that he had lured madame eglentyne into a dance. it is indeed difficult to see what 'legitimate' excuses the nuns can have made for all their wandering about in the streets and the fields and in and out of people's houses, and it is sorely to be feared that either they were too much of a handful for madame eglentyne, or else she winked at their doings. for somehow or other one suspects that she had no great opinion of bishops. after all chaucer would never have met her, if she had not managed to circumvent her own, since if there was one excuse for wandering of which the bishops thoroughly disapproved, it was precisely the excuse of pilgrimages. madame eglentyne was not quite as simple and coy as she looked. how many of the literary critics, who chuckle over her, know that she never ought to have got into the prologue at all? the church was quite clear in its mind that pilgrimages for nuns were to be discouraged. as early as a council had forbidden the practice and in another at york decreed, 'in order that the opportunity of wandering may be taken from nuns we forbid them to take the path of pilgrimage.' in an archbishop of york strictly forbade the nuns of one convent to leave their house 'by reason of any vow of pilgrimage which they might have taken. if any had taken such vows she was to say as many psalters as it would have taken days to perform the pilgrimage so rashly vowed.'[ ] one has a melancholy vision of poor madame eglentyne saying psalters interminably through her tretys nose, instead of jogging along so gaily with her motley companions and telling so prettily her tale of little st hugh. such prohibitions might be multiplied from medieval records; and indeed it is unnecessary to go further than chaucer to understand why it was that bishops offered such strenuous opposition to pilgrimages for nuns; one has only to remember some of the folk, in whose company the prioress travelled and some of the tales they told. if one could only be certain, for instance, that she rode all the time with her nun and her priests, or at least between the knight and the poor parson of a town! but there were also the miller and the summoner and (worst of all) that cheerful and engaging sinner, the wife of bath. it is really quite disturbing to think what additional details the wife of bath may have given the prioress about her five husbands. this then was chaucer's prioress in real life, for the poet who drew her was one of the most wonderful observers in the whole of english literature. we may wade through hundreds of visitation reports and injunctions and everywhere the grey eyes of his prioress will twinkle at us out of their pages, and in the end we must always go to chaucer for her picture, to sum up everything that historical records have taught us. as the bishop found her, so he saw her, aristocratic, tender-hearted, worldly, taking pains to 'countrefete there of court'; liking pretty clothes and little dogs; a lady of importance, attended by a nun and three priests; spoken to with respect by the none too mealy-mouthed host--no 'by corpus dominus' or 'cokkes bones' or 'tel on a devel wey' for her, but 'cometh neer, my lady prioress,' and my lady prioresse, by your leve if that i wiste i sholde yow nat greve, i wolde demen that ye tellen sholde a tale next, if so were that ye wolde. now wol ye vouche-sauf, my lady dere? he talks to no one else like that, save perhaps to the knight. was she religious? perhaps; but save for her singing the divine service and for her lovely address to the virgin, at the beginning of her tale, chaucer can find but little to say on the point; but for speken of hir conscience (he says) she was so charitable and so pitous, and then, as we are waiting to hear of her almsgiving to the poor--that she would weep over a mouse in a trap, or a beaten puppy, says chaucer. a good ruler of her house? again, doubtless. but when chaucer met her the house was ruling itself somewhere at the 'shire's ende'. the world was full of fish out of water in the fourteenth century, and, by sëynt loy, said madame eglentyne, swearing her greatest oath, like chaucer's monk, she held that famous text not worth an oyster. so we take our leave of her, characteristically on the road to canterbury. chapter v _the ménagier's wife_ a paris housewife in the fourteenth century the sphere of woman is the home. --_homo sapiens_ the men of the middle, as indeed of all ages, including our own, were very fond of writing books of deportment telling women how they ought to behave in all the circumstances of their existence, but more particularly in their relations with their husbands. many of these books have survived, and among them one which is of particular interest, because of the robust good sense of its writer and the intimate and lively picture which it gives of a bourgeois home. most books of deportment were written, so to speak, in the air, for women in general, but this was written by a particular husband for a particular wife, and thus is drawn from life and full of detail, showing throughout an individuality which its compeers too often lack. if a parallel be sought to it, it is perhaps to be found not in any other medieval treatise but in those passages of xenophon's _economist_, in which isomachus describes to socrates the training of a perfect greek wife. the ménagier de paris (the householder or goodman of paris, as we might say) wrote this book for the instruction of his young wife between and . he was a wealthy man, not without learning and of great experience in affairs, obviously a member of that solid and enlightened _haute bourgeoisie_, upon which the french monarchy was coming to lean with ever-increasing confidence. when he wrote he must have been approaching old age, and he was certainly over sixty, but he had recently married a young wife of higher birth than himself, an orphan from a different province. he speaks several times of her 'very great youth', and kept a sort of duenna-housekeeper with her to help and direct her in the management of his house; and indeed, like the wife of isomachus, she was only fifteen years old when he married her. modern opinion is shocked by a discrepancy in age between husband and wife, with which the middle ages, a time of _ménages de convenance_, was more familiar. 'seldom,' the ménagier says, 'will you see ever so old a man who will not marry a young woman.' yet his attitude towards his young wife shows us that there may have been compensations, even in a marriage between may and january. time after time in his book there sounds the note of a tenderness which is paternal rather than marital, a sympathetic understanding of the feelings of a wedded child, which a younger man might not have compassed. over all the matter-of-fact counsels there seems to hang something of the mellow sadness of an autumn evening, when beauty and death go ever hand in hand. it was his wife's function to make comfortable his declining years; but it was his to make the task easy for her. he constantly repeats the assurance that he does not ask of her an overweening respect, or a service too humble or too hard, for such is not due to him; he desires only such care as his neighbours and kinswomen take of their husbands, 'for to me belongeth none save the common service, or less'. in his prologue, addressed to her, he gives a charming picture of the scene which led him to write his book: 'you, being of the age of fifteen years and in the week that you and i were wed, did pray me that i would please to be indulgent to your youth and to your small and ignorant service mewards, until that you should have seen and learned more, to the hastening whereof you did promise me to set all care and diligence, ... praying me humbly, in our bed as i remember, that for the love of god i would not correct you harshly before strangers nor before our own folk, 'but that i would correct you each night or from day to day in our chamber and show you the unseemly or foolish things done in the day or days past, and chastise you, if it pleased me, and then you would not fail to amend yourself according to my teaching and correction, and would do all in your power according to my will, as you said. and i thought well of, and praise and thank you for, what you said to me and i have often remembered it since. and know, dear sister[d], that all that i know you have done since we were wed up to this day, and all that you shall do hereafter with good intent has been and is good and well hath pleased, pleases and shall please me. for your youth excuses you from being very wise, and will still excuse you in everything that you do with good intent to please me. and know that it doth not displease, but rather pleases me that you should have roses to grow and violets to care for and that you should make chaplets and dance and sing, and i would well that you should so continue among our friends and those of our estate, and it is but right and seemly thus to pass the time of your feminine youth, provided that you desire and offer not to go to the feasts and dances of too great lords, for that is not seemly for you, nor suitable to your estate nor mine[ ].' [footnote d: he addresses her throughout as 'sister', a term of affectionate respect.] meanwhile he has not forgotten her request that he would teach and correct her in private, and so he writes a little book (but it was a big book before he had finished) to show her how to comport herself; for he is sorry for this child, who has for long had neither father nor mother, and who is far from kinswomen who might counsel her, having 'me only' he says, 'for whom you have been taken from your kinsfolk and from the land of your birth.' he has often deliberated the matter and now here is 'an easy general introduction' to the whole art of being a wife, a housewife, and a perfect lady. one characteristic reason, apart from his desire to help her and to be comfortable himself (for he was set in his ways), he gives for his trouble and recurs to from time to time, surely the strangest ever given by a husband for instructing his wife. he is old, he says, and must die before her, and it is positively essential that she should do him credit with her second husband. what a reflection upon him if she accompanied his successor to mass with the collar of her _cotte_ crumpled, or if she knew not how to keep fleas from the blankets, or how to order a supper for twelve in lent! it is characteristic of the ménagier's reasonableness and solid sense that he regards his young wife's second marriage with equanimity. one of his sections is headed, 'that you should be loving to your husband (whether myself or another), by the example of sarah, rebecca, rachel.' how different from those husbands (dog-in-the-manger, or anxious for the future of their children under a possibly harsh stepfather) whose wills so often reveal them trying to bind their wives to perpetual celibacy after their deaths, such husbands as william, earl of pembroke, who died in , admonishing his lady: 'and wyfe, ye remember your promise to me to take the ordere of wydowhood, as ye may be the better mastre of your owne to performe my wylle.' the plan of the book 'in three sections, containing nineteen principal articles', is most exhaustive. the first section deals with religious and moral duties. in the words of the ménagier, 'the first section is necessary to gain for you the love of god and the salvation of your soul, and also to win for you the love of your husband and to give you in this world that peace which ought to be had in marriage. and because these two things, to wit the salvation of your soul and the comfort of your husband, are the two things most chiefly necessary, therefore are they here placed first.' then follows a series of articles telling the lady how to say her morning prayer when she rises, how to bear herself at mass, and in what form to make her confession to the priest, together with a long and somewhat alarming discursus upon the seven deadly sins, which it assuredly never entered into her sleek little head to commit, and another, on the corresponding virtues.[ ] but the greater part of the section deals with the all-important subject of the wife's duty to her husband. she is to be loving, humble, obedient, careful and thoughtful for his person, silent regarding his secrets, and patient if he be foolish and allow his heart to stray towards other women. the whole section is illustrated by a series of stories (known as _exempla_ in the middle ages), culled from the bible, from the common stock of anecdotes possessed by jongleur and preacher alike, and (most interesting of all) from the ménagier's own experience. among the ménagier's longer illustrations is the favourite but intolerably dull moral tale of melibeu and prudence, by albertano of brescia, translated into french by renault de louens, whose version the ménagier copied, and adapted by jean de meung in the _roman de la rose_, from which in turn chaucer took it to tell to the canterbury pilgrims. here also are to be found petrarch's famous tale of patient griselda, which chaucer also took and gave a wider fame, and a long poem written in by jean bruyant, a notary of the châtelet at paris, and called 'the way of poverty and wealth', inculcating diligence and prudence.[ ] the second section of the book deals with household management and is far the most interesting. the range of the ménagier's knowledge leaves the reader gasping. the man is a perfect mrs beeton! the section comprises a detailed treatise on gardening and another on the principles which should govern the engagement of servants and the method by which they should be managed when hired; the modern problem of servants who leave does not seem to have presented itself to him. there are instructions how to mend, air, and clean dresses and furs, get out grease spots, catch fleas and keep flies out of the bedroom, look after wine, and superintend the management of a farm. at one point he breaks off, addressing his wife thus: 'here will i leave you to rest or to play and will speak no more to you; and while you disport yourself elsewhere i will speak to master john, the steward, who looks after our possessions, so that if there is anything wrong with any of our horses, whether for the plough or for riding, or if it is necessary to buy or exchange a horse, he may know a little of that it behoves him to know in this matter.' there follow several pages of wise advice as to the good points of horses, how to examine them and to find their ages and defects under the eye of the horse dealer, the practical 'tips' of a man who evidently knew and loved his horses, together with advice upon the treatment of their various diseases. among the various recipes which the ménagier gives to this intent are two charms; for instance, 'when a horse has glanders, you must say to him these three words, with three paternosters: _abgla_, _abgly_, _alphard_, _asy_, _pater noster_, etc.'[ ] last, but not least, there is a magnificent cookery book, arranged in the form sacred to cookery books from that day to this, beginning with a list of specimen menus for dinners and suppers, hot or cold, fast or feast, summer or winter, giving hints on the choice of meat, poultry, and spices, and ending with a long series of recipes for all manner of soups, stews, sauces, and other viands, with an excursus on invalid's cookery! the third section of the book was intended by the ménagier to contain three parts: first of all, a number of parlour games for indoor amusement; secondly, a treatise on hawking, the favourite outdoor amusement of ladies; and thirdly, a list of amusing riddles and games of an arithmetical kind ('concerning counting and numbering, subtle to find out or guess'), presumably of the nature of our old friend, 'if a herring and a half cost three ha'pence.' unfortunately, the ménagier seems never to have finished the book, and of this section only the treatise on hawking has survived. it is a great pity, for we have several such treatises, and how interesting an account of indoor games and riddles might have been we may guess from a passage in the ménagier's version of the story of lucrece, when he describes the roman ladies 'some gossiping, others playing at _bric_, others at _qui féry_, others at _pince merille_, others at cards or other games of pleasure with their neighbours; others, who had supped together, were singing songs and telling fables and stories and wagers; others were in the street with their neighbours, playing at blind man's buff or at _bric_ and at several other games of the kind.'[ ] in those days, before the invention of printing had made books plentiful, medieval ladies were largely dependent for amusement upon telling and listening to stories, asking riddles, and playing games, which we have long ago banished to the nursery; and a plentiful repertoire of such amusements was very desirable in a hostess. the ménagier was clearly anxious that his wife should shine in the amenities as well as in the duties of social life. such was the monumental work which the ménagier de paris was able to present to his awed but admiring wife; and though it has been sadly neglected by historians it deserves to be well known, for it gives us a picture of a medieval housewife which it would be hard indeed to surpass. there is hardly a side of her daily life upon which it does not touch, and we may now with advantage look more closely upon her, and see in turn the perfect lady, whose deportment and manners do credit to her breeding; the perfect wife, whose submission to her husband is only equalled by her skill in ministering to his ease; the perfect mistress, whose servants love her and run her house like clockwork; and the perfect housewife, the mrs beeton of the fifteenth century. the ménagier's views on deportment are incongruously sandwiched into his section on spiritual duties, under the general headings of getting up in the morning and going to church. his ideas on the subject of clothes are very clearly defined: a sweet disorder in the dress was in no way to his taste: know, dear sister, that if you wish to follow my advice you will have great care and regard for what you and i can afford to do, according to our estate. have a care that you be honestly clad, without new devices and without too much or too little frippery. and before you leave your chamber and house, take care first that the collar of your shift, and of your _blanchet, cotte_ and _surcotte_, do not hang out one over the other, as happens with certain drunken, foolish or witless women, who have no care for their honour, nor for the honesty of their estate or of their husbands, and who walk with roving eyes and head horribly reared up like a lion (_la teste espoventablement levée comme un lyon!_), their hair straggling out of their wimples, and the collars of their shifts and _cottes_ crumpled the one upon the other, and who walk mannishly and bear themselves uncouthly before folk without shame. and if one speaks to them about it, they excuse themselves on the ground of their industry and humility, saying that they are so diligent, hardworking, and humble that they care not for themselves. but they lie; they care so much for themselves that if they were in an honourable company, never would they be willing that men should wait less upon them than upon the wiser ladies of like lineage with themselves, nor that they should have fewer salutations, bows, reverences and speech than the rest, but rather they desire more. and they are unworthy of it, for they know not how to maintain their own honourable fame, nay, nor the fame of their husbands and of their lineage, which they bring to shame. therefore, fair sister, have a care that your hair, wimple, kerchief and hood and all the rest of your attire be well arranged and decently ordered, that none who see you can laugh or mock at you, but that all the others may find in you an example of fair and simple and decent array.... when you go to town or to church go suitably accompanied by honourable women according to your estate, and flee suspicious company, never allowing any ill famed woman to be seen in your presence. and as you go bear your head upright and your eyelids low and without fluttering, and look straight in front of you about four rods ahead, without looking round at any man or woman to the right or to the left, nor looking up, nor glancing from place to place, nor stopping to speak to anyone on the road.[ ] such was the model of female deportment in the middle ages. let us pass from the lady to the wife. on the attitude of wife to husband the ménagier's ideas are much the same as those of the rest of his age. they may be summed up as submission, obedience, and constant attention. she must be buxom at bed and at board, even in circumstances when buxomness hides a heavy heart. the good sense of the burgess does not prevent him from likening the wife's love for her husband to the fidelity of domestic animals towards their masters: 'of the domestic animals you see how a greyhound, or a mastiff, or a little dog, whether on the road, or at table, or in bed, always keeps near to the person from whom he takes his food, and leaves and is shy and fierce with all others; and if the dog is afar off, he always has his heart and his eye upon his master; even if his master whip him and throw stones at him, the dog follows, wagging his tail and lying down before his master, seeks to mollify him, and through rivers, through woods, through thieves and through battles follows him.... wherefore for a better and stronger reason women, to whom god has given natural sense and who are reasonable, ought to have a perfect and solemn love for their husbands; and so i pray you to be very loving and privy with your husband who shall be.'[ ] patience is an essential quality in wives, and, however sorely tried they must never complain. the ménagier tells three stories to illustrate how a wife should bear herself in order to win back the love of an unfaithful husband. one of these is the famous tale of griselda, but the two others are drawn (so he says) from his own experience. in the first of these he tells of the wife of a famous _avocat_ in the _parlement_ of paris, who saw to the nurture and marriage of her husband's illegitimate daughter; 'nor did he ever perceive it by one reproach, or one angry or ugly word.' the second is the charmingly told story of how john quentin's wife won back her husband's heart from the poor spinner of wool to whom it had strayed.[ ] all seem to show that the ménagier's simile of the little dog was selected with care, for the medieval wife, like the dog, was expected to lick the hand that smote her. nevertheless, while subscribing to all the usual standards of his age, the ménagier's robust sense, his hold upon the realities of life, kept him from pushing them too far. the comment of another realist, chaucer, on the tale of patient griselda will be remembered. grisilde is deed and eek hire pacience, and bothe at ones buryed in ytaille; for which i crie in open audience, no wedded man so hardy be t'assaille his wyves pacience in hope to fynde grisildes, for in certein he shal faille! o noble wyves, ful of heigh prudence, lat noon humylitee youre tonge naill, ne lat no clerk have cause or diligence to write of yow a stone of swich mervaille as of grisildis pacient and kynde, lest chichivache[e] yow swelwe in hire entraille!... [footnote e: chichevache, the lean cow who fed on patient wives, while her mate bicorne grew fat on humble husbands (a.w. pollard).] his creation of the wife of bath was an even more pointed commentary. here is what the ménagier has to say to his young wife on the same subject: and i, who have put [the tale of griselda] here only to teach you, have not put it here to apply it to you, for i am not worthy thereof, and i am not a marquis and i have not taken you as a beggar, nor am i so foolish, so conceited or so lacking in sense that i know not that 'tis not for me to assault nor to assay you thus, nor in like manner. god keep me from trying you thus under colour of false simulations.... and forgive me that the story speaks (in my opinion) of too great cruelty and beyond reason. and know that it never befel so, but thus the tale runs and i may nor correct nor alter it, for a wiser than i hath made it. and it is my desire that since others have read it you also may know and be able to talk about everything even as other folk do.[ ] moreover, in spite of the ideal of submission which he sets before his wife, the ménagier has some charming words to say about love--with a sigh, perhaps, for his own advanced though not crabbed age, and a glance at that younger husband of the future who shall one day enjoy his little bride. in god's name (he says) i believe that when two good and honourable people are wed, all other loves are put far off, destroyed and forgotten, save only the love of each for the other. and meseems that when they are in each other's presence, they look upon each other more than upon the others, they clasp and hold each other and they do not willingly speak or make sign save to each other. and when they are separated, they think of each other and say in their hearts, 'when i see him i shall do thus and thus to him, or say this to him, i shall beseech him concerning this or that.' and all their special pleasure, their chief desire and their perfect joy is to do pleasure and obedience one to the other, if they love one another.[ ] the greater part of the ménagier's book is concerned, however, not with the theoretical niceties of wifely submission, but with his creature comforts. his instructions as to how to make a husband comfortable positively palpitate with life; and at the same time there is something indescribably homely and touching about them; they tell more about the real life of a burgess's wife than a hundred tales of patient griselda or of jehanne la quentine. consider this picture (how typical a product of the masculine imagination!) of the stout bread-winner, buffeted about in all weathers and amid all discomforts, nobly pursuing the task of earning his living, and fortified by the recollection of a domesticated little wife, darning his stockings at home by the fire, and prepared to lavish her attentions on the weary hero in the evening. the passage is an excellent example of the ménagier's vivid and simple style, and of the use of incidents drawn from everyday life to illustrate his thesis, which is one of the chief charms of the book. fair sister, if you have another husband after me, know that you should think much of his comfort, for after a woman has lost her first husband she commonly finds it difficult to find another according to her estate, and she remains lonely and disconsolate for a long time[f]; and more so still, if she lose the second. wherefore cherish the person of your husband carefully, and, i pray you, keep him in clean linen, for 'tis your business. and because the care of outside affairs lieth with men, so must a husband take heed, and go and come and journey hither and thither, in rain and wind, in snow and hail, now drenched, now dry, now sweating, now shivering, ill-fed, ill-lodged, ill-warmed and ill-bedded; and nothing harms him, because he is upheld by the hope that he has of his wife's care of him on his return, and of the ease, the joys and the pleasures which she will do to him, or cause to be done to him in her presence; to have his shoes removed before a good fire, his feet washed and to have fresh shoes and stockings, to be given good food and drink, to be well served and well looked after, well bedded in white sheets and night-caps, well covered with good furs, and assuaged with other joys and amusements, privities, loves, and secrets, concerning which i am silent; and on the next day fresh shirts and garments. certes, fair sister, such service maketh a man love and desire to return to his home and to see his goodwife and to be distant with other women. [footnote f: this seems to be contrary to experience.] and therefore i counsel you to make such cheer to your husband at all his comings and goings and to persevere therein; and also to be peaceable with him and remember the rustic proverb, which saith that there be three things which drive the goodman from home, to wit, a dripping roof, a smoking chimney and a scolding woman.[ ] wherefore, fair sister, i pray you that in order to keep yourself in love and good favour with your husband you be unto him gentle, amiable and debonair. do unto him what the good simple women of our country say has been done unto their sons, when the lads have set their love elsewhere and their mothers cannot wean them from it. it is certain that when fathers and mothers be dead, and stepfathers and stepmothers argue with their stepsons, and scold them and repulse them, and take not thought for their sleeping, nor for their food and drink, their hose and their shirts and all their other needs and affairs, and the same children find elsewhere a good home and good counsel from some other woman, who receives them and takes thought to warm them with some poor gruel with her and to give them a bed and keep them tidy, mending their hosen, breeches, shirts, and other garments, then those lads cleave to her and desire to be with her, and to sleep warm between her breasts, and are altogether estranged from their mothers and fathers, who before took no heed of them, and now want to get them back and have them again. but it may not be, for these children hold more dear the company of strangers, who think and care for them, than that of their kinsfolk, who have no care of them. then the parents lament and weep and say that these same women have bewitched their children and that they are spellbound and cannot leave, but are never easy save when they are with their enchantresses. but whatever may be said of it, it is no witchcraft, but it by reason of the love, the care, the intimacies, joys and pleasures, which these women do in all ways unto the lads, and on my soul there is no other enchantment.... wherefore, dear sister, i pray you thus to bewitch and bewitch again your husband, and beware of dripping roof and smoking fire, and scold him not, but be unto him gentle and amiable and peaceable. be careful that in winter he has good fire without smoke, and let him rest well and be well covered between your breasts and thus bewitch him.... and thus you shall preserve and guard him from all discomforts and give him all the ease that you can, and serve him and cause him to be well served in your house; and you shall look to him for outside things, for if he be a good man he will take even more care and trouble over them than you wish, and by doing as i have said, you will make him always miss you and have his heart with you and with your loving service, and he will shun all other houses, all other women, all other services and households; all will be naught to him save you alone, if you think of him as aforesaid.... and so on the road, husbands will think of their wives, and no trouble will be a burden to them for the hope and love they will have of their wives, whom they will long to see, even as poor hermits, penitents and fasting monks long to see the face of christ jesus; and husbands served thus will never desire to abide elsewhere or in other company but will withhold, withdraw and abstain themselves there-from; all the rest will seem to them but a bed of stones compared with their home.[ ] enough has perhaps been quoted to show the ménagier's idea of a perfect wife; his idea of the perfect housewife is contained in a mass of instructions which make excellently entertaining reading. so modern in tone is his section on the management of servants, both in his account of their ways and in his advice upon dealing with them, that one often rubs one's eyes to be sure that what one is reading is really a book written over five centuries ago by an old burgess of paris. the ménagier evidently had a fairly large household, and he probably owned a country as well as a town house, for he speaks several times of overseeing the farm-hands 'when you are in the village'. to assist his wife in superintending this large staff he has a _maître d'hôtel_, called master john the steward (_le despensier_) and a duenna, half housekeeper and half chaperon, for her young mistress, called dame agnes _la béguine_[g] and a bailiff or foreman to look after the farm. the ménagier divides his servants and workmen into three classes--first, those engaged by the day or by the season for special work, such as porters and carriers, reapers, winnowers, coopers, and so on; secondly, those engaged on piecework, such as tailors, furriers, bakers, and shoemakers, hired by medieval households of some wealth to make what was needed from raw material purchased at fairs or in the shops of the city; and thirdly, the ordinary domestic servants, who were hired by the year and lived in their master's house; 'and of all these,' he says, 'there is none who does not gladly seek work and a master'. [footnote g: the béguines were a sort of religious order, or, more correctly, a lay sisterhood, standing half-way between the lay and the monastic life, and somewhat analogous to the franciscan tertiaries, or third order.] he gives an amusing account, evidently based upon bitter experience, of the wiles of the hired workman. he says that they are commonly lazy, rough, quick at 'answering back', arrogant (except on payday) and ready to break into insults if unsatisfied with their pay. he warns his wife to bid master john always to take the peaceable ones and always to bargain with them beforehand as to the pay for which they will do the work. for know that most often they do not want to bargain, but they want to get to work without any bargain having been made and they say gently, 'milord, it is nothing--there is no need--you will pay me well and i shall be content with what you think fit.' and if master john take them thus, when the work is finished they will say, 'sir, there was more to do than i thought, there was this and that to do, and here and there,' and they will not take what is given them and will break out into shouting and angry words ... and will spread abroad evil report concerning you, which is worst of all.[ ] we know from the various ordinances fixing wages from the time of the black death onwards, that labour troubles were acute in france as well as in england at the end of the fourteenth century; and the ménagier's advice throws an interesting sidelight on the situation. it is, however, in his observations upon the engagement and management of maidservants that the wisdom of the serpent is most apparent. incidentally he gives an account of how servants were hired in fourteenth-century paris, which shows that the registry office and the character are by no means modern phenomena. there were _recommanderesses_--women holding what we should call registry offices--in paris at this time, and an ordinance of (fixing wages after the black death) allows them to take _ s. d_. for placing a chambermaid and _ s_. for a nurse. a servant maid's wage at this time was s. a year and her shoes. the ménagier counsels his wife thus on the delicate subject of interviewing and engaging her domestic chambermaids and serving men: know, dear sister (he says), that in order that they may obey you better and fear the more to anger you, i leave you the rule and authority to have them chosen by dame agnes the béguine, or by whichever other of your women you please, to receive them into our service, to hire them at your pleasure, to pay and keep them in our service as you please, and to dismiss them when you will. nathless you should privily speak to me about it and act according to my advice, because you are too young and might be deceived by your own people. and know that of those chambermaids who are out of a place, many there be who offer themselves and clamour and seek urgently for masters and mistresses; and of these take none until you first know where their last place was, and send some of your people to get their character, to wit whether they talked or drank too much, how long they were in the place, what work they have been accustomed to doing and can do, whether they have homes or friends in the town, from what sort of people and what part of the country they come, how long they were there and why they left; and by their work in the past you shall find out what hope or expectation you may have of their work in the future. and know that oft-times such women from distant parts of the country have been blamed for some fault in their own part of the world and that is what brings them into service at a distance.... and if you find from the report of her master and mistress, neighbours and others that a girl is what you need, find out from her, and cause master john to register in his account book, the day on which you engage her, her name and those of her father, mother and any of her kinsfolk, the place where they live and her birthplace and her references. for servants will be more afraid to do wrong if they know that you are recording all these things and that if they leave you without permission, or are guilty of any offence, you will write and complain to the justice of their country or to their friends. and not withstanding bear in mind the saying of the philosopher called bertrand the old, who says that if you engage a maid or man of high and proud answers, you shall know that when she leaves she will miscall you if she can; and if, on the contrary, she be flattering and ¸full of blandishments, trust her not, for she is in league with someone else to trick you; but if she blushes and is silent and shamefast when you correct her, love her as your daughter.[ ] the ménagier's instructions as to how to look after servants when they have been engaged are equally practical. good order is to be maintained, quarrels and bad language[ ] prevented, and morals guarded. each is to have his or her work assigned and to do it promptly. 'if you order them to do something now and these your servants answer "there is plenty of time, it shall be done," or "it shall be done tomorrow," hold it as forgotten, it must all be begun again, it is as nought. and also when you give a general order to every one, each will wait for the other to do it, and it is the same.' not only is the work of the servants to be carefully superintended by the mistress and by dame agnes, 'who is with you', the ménagier tells his wife, 'in order to teach you wise and ripe behaviour and to serve and instruct you and to whom in particular i give the charge of this matter', but she is to show herself careful and benevolent in looking after their health and happiness. at the proper hour she is to cause them to sit down before a hearty meal of one sort of meat, avoiding rich viands, and one kind of drink, which must be nourishing but not intoxicating--'the cup that cheers but not inebriates'; probably in this case the light ale which was the habitual drink of the middle ages. she is to admonish them to eat and drink their fill, but as soon as they begin to tell stories, or to argue, or to lean on their elbows, order the béguine to make them rise and take away their table, for the common folk have a saying 'when a varlet holds forth at table and a horse grazes in the ditch, it is time to take them away, for they have had their fill.' in the evening, after their afternoon's work, they are to have another hearty meal, and then in winter time they may warm themselves at the fire and take their ease. then she is to lock up the house and pack them all off to bed. and arrange first that each have beside his bed a candlestick in which to put his candle, and have them wisely taught to extinguish it with the mouth or hand before getting into bed and by no means with their shirts. and also have them admonished and taught each and all, that they must begin again the next day and that they must rise in the morning and each set to upon his own work. the ménagier further advises his wife that chambermaids of fifteen to twenty years of age are foolish girls who do not know the world, and that she should always cause them to sleep near her in an antechamber, or a room without a skylight or a low window looking on to the street, and should make them get up and go to bed at the same time as herself. 'and you yourself,' he adds, 'who, if god please, will be wise by this time, must keep them near to you.' moreover, if any of her servants fall ill, 'do you yourself, laying aside all other cares, very lovingly and charitably care for him or her, and visit him and study diligently how to bring about his cure'.[ ] but it is perhaps in his capacity as mrs beeton that the ménagier is most amusing. his infinite variety of household knowledge is shown in the incidental recipes which he gives when he is describing the measures which a wife must take for her lord's comfort, and the work of the servants. there are elaborate instructions concerning the costly medieval garments, worn year after year for a lifetime and often bequeathed in their owner's will, instructions for cleaning dresses and furs and for preserving them from moths, and instructions for removing stains and grease spots. the ménagier gives seven recipes for taking out grease spots, but he is rather sceptical about one or two of them, which he has evidently copied from a book without trying them for himself. 'to get rid of stains on a dress of silk, satin, camlet, damask cloth or another,' runs one of these, 'dip and wash the stain in verjuice and the stain will go; even if the dress be faded, it will regain its colour. _this i do not believe'_. the chief impression left, however, is that the medieval housewife was engaged in a constant warfare against fleas. one of the ménagier's infallible rules for keeping a husband happy at home is to give him a good fire in the winter and keep his bed free from fleas in the summer. he gives six recipes for getting rid of such small livestock, which must indeed have been a very common trial to our forefathers: in summer take heed that there be no fleas in your chamber nor in your bed, which you may do in six ways, as i have heard tell. for i have heard from several persons that if the room be scattered with alder leaves the fleas will get caught therein. item, i have heard tell that if you have at night one or two trenchers of bread covered with birdlime or turpentine and put about the room with a lighted candle set in the midst of each trencher, they will come and get stuck thereto. another way which i have found and which is true: take a rough cloth and spread it about your room and over your bed and all the fleas who may hop on to it will be caught, so that you can carry them out with the cloth wheresoever you will. item, sheepskins. item, i have seen blankets placed on the straw and on the bed and when the black fleas jumped upon them they were the sooner found and killed upon the white. but the best way is to guard oneself against those which are within the coverlets and furs and the stuff of the dresses wherewith one is covered. for know that i have tried this, and when the coverlets, furs or dresses in which there be fleas are folded and shut tightly up, in a chest straitly bound with straps or in a bag well tied up and pressed, or otherwise compressed so that the said fleas are without light and air and kept imprisoned, then they will perish and die at once.[ ] a similar war had also to be waged against flies and mosquitoes, which rendered summer miserable. "i have sometimes," says the ménagier, "seen in several chambers that when one has gone to bed in them, they were full of mosquitoes, which at the smoke of the breath came to sit on the faces of those who slept and sting them so that they were fain to get up and light a fire of hay to smoke them off." against such pests he has also six infallible recipes--to wit, a mosquito net over the bed; sprigs of fern hung up for the flies to settle on; a bowl filled with a mixture of milk and hare's gall, or with the juice of raw onions, which will kill them; a bottle containing a rag dipped in honey, or else a string dipped in honey to hang up; fly whisks to drive them away; and closing up windows with oiled cloth or parchment.[ ] the section on cookery, which contains the ménagier's injunctions for "feeding the brute", is the longest in the book, and gives an extraordinarily interesting picture of the domestic economy of our ancestors.[ ] the ménagier must have been brother to chaucer's franklin, 'epicurus owene sone': an housholdere, and that a greet, was he: seint julian he was in his contree; his breed, his ale, was alwey after oon; a bettre envyned man was nowher noon. withoute bake mete was never his hous, of fissh and flessh, and that so plenteuous it snewed in his hous of mete and drynke. of alle deyntees that men koude thynke. after the sondry sesons of the yeer, so chaunged he his mete and his soper. ful many a fat partrich had he in muwe and many a breem and many a luce in stuwe. wo was his cook but if his sauce were poynaunt and sharpe and redy al his geere. his table dormant in his hal alway stood redy covered al the longe day. in this, as in all other medieval cookery books, what strikes the modern reader is the length and elaboration of the huge feasts, with their many courses and dishes, and the richness of the highly spiced viands. there are black puddings and sausages, venison and beef, eels and herrings, fresh water fish, round sea fish and flat sea fish, common pottages unspiced, spiced pottages, meat pottages and meatless pottages, roasts and pastries and entremets, divers sauces boiled and unboiled, pottages and 'slops' for invalids. some of them sound delicious, others would be ruin to our degenerate digestions today. pungent sauces of vinegar, verjuice, and wine were very much favoured, and cloves, cinnamon, galingale, pepper, and ginger appear unexpectedly in meat dishes. almonds were a favourite ingredient in all sorts of dishes, as they still are in china and other parts of the east, and they might well be used more lavishly than they are in modern european cookery. true to his race, the ménagier includes recipes for cooking frogs and snails.[ ] to the modern cook some of his directions may appear somewhat vague, as when he bids his cook to boil something for as long as it takes to say a paternoster or a _miserere_; yet for clockless kitchens in a pious age what clearer indication could a man give? and, after all, it is no worse than 'cook in a hot oven', which still finds a place in many modern cookery books which should know better. other instructions are detailed enough. in one valuable passage he gives a list of all the meat markets of paris, together with the number of butchers to be found in each and the number of sheep, oxen, pigs, and calves sold there every week, adding also for interest the amount of meat and poultry consumed weekly in the households of the king, the queen and the royal children, the dukes of orleans, berry, burgundy, and bourbon. elsewhere also he speaks of other markets--the pierre-au-lait, or milk market; the place de grève, where they sell coal and firewood; and the porte-de-paris which is not only a meat market, but the best place in which to buy fish and salt and green herbs and branches to adorn your rooms. for his wife's further guidance the ménagier sets out a careful specification of the catering arrangements for several great feasts--to wit, a dinner given by the abbot of lagny to the bishop of paris and the members of the king's council, the feast, comprising dinner and supper, which one master elias (evidently a grave and reverend _maître d'hôtel,_ like master john _le despensier_ himself) made for the wedding of jean du chesne, upon a tuesday in may, and the arrangements for another wedding, "les nopces hautecourt", in the month of september, as to which the ménagier observes "that because they were widower and widow they were wed very early, in their black robes and then put on others"; he was anxious that his widow should do the correct thing at that second wedding of hers. the description of the wedding feast arranged by master elias is particularly detailed and valuable.[ ] the careful ménagier, perhaps because he foresaw some big entertainment which he must give to the burgesses and gentlemen of paris, perhaps because of his delightful interest in all the details of material life, has set down at length not only the menu of the dinner and supper, but a long account of the ingredients needed, their quantities and prices, and the shops or markets where they must be bought, so that the reader can see with his eyes the _maître d'hôtel_ and the cooks going round from stall to stall, visiting butcher and baker, poulterer, saucemaker, vintner, wafer maker, who sold the wafers and pastries dear to medieval ladies, and spicer whose shop was heavy with the scents of the east. the ménagier sets down also all the esquires and varlets and waiters who will be needed to serve such a feast as this. there was the master cook, comfortably stout and walking 'high and disposedly', as queen elizabeth danced, brain pan stuffed full of delectable recipes, hand of ravishing lightness with pastries, eye and nose skilled to say when a capon was done to a turn, warranted without a rival to boille the chiknes with the marybones, and poudre-marchant tart and galyngale ... he koude rooste and seethe and boille and frye, maken martreux and wel bake a pye ... for blankmanger, that made he with the beste. he brought his varlets with him, and in paris he took two francs for his hire 'and perquisites' (a pregnant addition). then there were ushers, 'stout and strong', to keep the doors, and a clerk to add up the account; bread-cutters and water-carriers, two squires to serve at the dresser in the kitchen where the plates and dishes were handed out, two others at the hall dresser to give out spoons and drinking cups and pour wine for the guests, and two others in the pantry to give out the wine which their varlet kept drawing for them. there were the two _maîtres d'hôtel_ to set out the silver salt-cellars for the high table, the four great gilded goblets, the four dozen hanaps, the four dozen silver spoons, the ewers and alms mugs and sweetmeat dishes, and to usher the guests to their places; a head waiter and two servitors for each table, a flower girl to make chaplets of flowers for the guests, women to see to the linen and deck the bridal bed,[ ] and a washerwoman. the floors were strewn with violets and green herbs and the rooms decked with branches of may (all bought in the market in early morning), and there was a good stock of torches and candles, small candles to stand on the supper tables, and great torches to be set in sconces on the walls, or to be carried in procession by the guests, for the supper ended with 'dancing, singing, wine and spices and lighted torches'. on this occasion eight francs were given to the minstrels, over and above the spoons and other presents made to them during the meal, and there were also acrobats and mimes to amuse the guests. if they had to prepare a great feast master john and his little mistress could not go far wrong after this, or fail to please the genial epicure who set it down for them. the ménagier copied many of his recipes from other cookery books, but he must have got the details of this entertainment from master elias himself, and one can see their grey heads wagging with enjoyment, as one talked and the other wrote. the cookery book ends with a section containing recipes for making what the ménagier calls 'small things which are not necessities'. there are various sorts of jams, mostly made with honey; in the middle ages vegetables were evidently much prepared in this way, for the ménagier speaks of turnip, carrot, and pumpkin jam. there is a delicious syrup of mixed spices (at least the palate of faith must believe it to have been delicious) and a powder of ginger, cinnamon, cloves, cardamom, and sugar, to be sifted over food, as sugar is sifted today; there is a recipe for hippocras, and for 'gauffres' or wafers, and for candied oranges. there are various sage pieces of advice as to the seasons for certain foods and the best ways of cooking and serving them. most amusing of all these are a number of recipes not of a culinary nature--to wit, for making glue and marking ink, for bringing up small birds in aviaries and cages, preparing sand for hour-glasses, making rose-water, drying roses to lay among dresses (as we lay lavender today), for curing tooth-ache, and for curing the bite of a mad dog. the latter is a charm, of the same type as the ménagier's horse charms: 'take a crust of bread and write what follows: _bestera bestie nay brigonay dictera sagragan es domina siat siat siat_.' let us remember, however, that the nation which produced it, some four centuries later, produced pasteur. [illustration: v. the mÉnagier's wife has a garden party] enough has been said about this entrancing book to show how vividly it brings not only the ménagier, but the ménagier's young wife before our eyes after these many years. in the morning she rises, much earlier than ladies rise nowadays, though not so early as nuns, who must say matins, for that, her husband tells her, is not a fitting hour for married women to leave their beds. then she washes, much less than ladies nowadays, hands and face only perchance, and says her orisons, and dresses very neatly, for she knows whose eye is upon her, and so goes with dame agnes the béguine to mass, with eyes on the ground and hands folded over her painted primer. after mass, and perhaps confession, back again to see if the servants are doing their work, and have swept and dusted the hall and the rooms, beaten the cushions and coverlets on the forms and tidied everything, and afterwards to interview master john the steward and order dinner and supper. then she sends dame agnes to see to the pet dogs and birds, "for they cannot speak and so you must speak and think for them if you have any". then, if she be in her country house, she must take thought for the farm animals and dame agnes must superintend those who have charge of them, robin the shepherd, josson the oxherd, arnoul the cowherd, jehanneton the milkmaid, and eudeline the farmer's wife who looks after the poultry yard. if she be in her town house she and her maids take out her dresses and furs from their great chests and spread them in the sun in the garden or courtyard to air, beating them with little rods, shaking them in the breeze, taking out spots and stains with one or other of the master's tried recipes, pouncing with lynx eyes upon the moth or sprightly flea. [illustration: vi. the mÉnagier's wife cooks his supper, with the aid of his book] after this comes dinner, the serious meal of the day, eaten by our ancestors about a.m. what the ménagier's wife gives to her lord and master will depend upon the time of year and upon whether it be a meat or a fast day; but we know that she has no lack of menus from which to choose. after dinner she sees that the servants are set to dine, and then the busy housewife may become the lady of leisure and amuse herself. if in the country she may ride out hawking with a gay party of neighbours; if in town, on a winter's day, she may romp and play with other married ladies of her tender years, exchange riddles or tell stories round the fire. but what she most loves is to wander in her garden, weaving herself garlands of flowers, violets, gilly flowers, roses, thyme, or rosemary, gathering fruit in season (she likes raspberries and cherries), and passing on to the gardeners weighty advice about the planting of pumpkins ("in april water them courteously and transplant them"), to which the gardeners give as much attention as gardeners always have given, give still, and ever shall give, world without end, to the wishes of their employers. when she tires of this, the busy one gathers together dame agnes and her maids, and they sit under the carved beams of the hall mending his mastership's doublet, embroidering a vestment for the priest at his family chantry, or a tapestry hanging for the bedchamber. or perhaps they simply spin (since, in the words of the wife of bath, god has given women three talents--deceit, weeping, and spinning!); and all the while she awes them with that tale of griselda, her voice rising and falling to the steady hum of the wheels. at last it is evening, and back comes the lord and master. what a bustle and a pother this home-coming meant we know well, since we know what he expected. such a running and fetching of bowls of warm water to wash his feet, and comfortable shoes to ease him; such a hanging on his words and admiring of his labours. then comes supper, with a bevy of guests, or themselves all alone in the westering sunlight, while he smacks connoisseur's lips over the roast crane and the blankmanger, and she nibbles her sweet wafers. afterwards an hour of twilight, when she tells him how she has passed the day, and asks him what she shall do with the silly young housemaid, whom she caught talking to the tailor's 'prentice through that low window which looks upon the road. there is warm affection in the look she turns up to him, her round little face puckered with anxiety over the housemaid, dimpling into a smile when he commends her; and there is warm affection and pride too in the look the old man turns down upon her. so the night falls, and they go round the house together, locking all the doors and seeing that the servants are safe abed, for our ancestors were more sparing of candlelight than we. and so to bed. we may take our leave of the couple here. the ménagier's wife evidently had a full life. some respit to husbands the weather may send, but huswiues affaires haue neuer an end. there was no room in it for the idleness of those lovely ladies, with their long fingers, whom langland admonished to sew for the poor. moreover, exaggerated as some of her husband's ideas upon wifely submission appear today, the book leaves a strong impression of good sense and of respect as well as love for her. the ménagier does not want his wife to be on a pedestal, like the troubadour's lady, nor licking his shoes like griselda; he wants a helpmeet, for, as chaucer said, 'if that wommen were nat goode and hir conseils goode and profitable, oure lord god of hevene wolde never han wroght hem, ne called hem "help" of man, but rather confusioun of man.'[ ] ecclesiastical jeremiahs were often wont to use the characteristically medieval argument that if god had meant woman for a position of superiority he would have taken her from adam's head rather than his side; but the ménagier would have agreed with the more logical peter lombard, who observed that she was not taken from adam's head, because she was not intended to be his ruler, nor from his feet either, because she was not intended to be his slave, but from his side, precisely, because she was intended to be his companion. there is something of this spirit in the ménagier's attitude towards his little wife, and it is this which makes his book so charming and causes it to stand head and shoulders above most other medieval books of behaviour for women. but, above all, its social and historical value lies in the fact that it gives us, in hues undimmed by time, a full length portrait of a medieval housewife, who has her place (and it is a large one) in history, but concerning whom historians have almost invariably been silent. chapter vi _thomas betson_ a merchant of the staple in the fifteenth century some men of noble stock were made, some glory in the murder blade: some praise a science or an art, but i like honourable trade! --james elroy flecker _the golden journey to samarcand_ the visitor to the house of lords, looking respectfully upon that august assembly, cannot fail to be struck by a stout and ungainly object facing the throne--an ungainly object upon which in full session of parliament, he will observe seated the lord chancellor of england. the object is a woolsack, and it is stuffed as full of pure history as the office of lord chancellor itself. for it reminds a cotton-spinning, iron-working generation that the greatness of england was built up, not upon the flimsy plant which comes to her to be manufactured from the far east and west of the world, nor upon the harsh metal delved from her bowels, but upon the wool which generation after generation has grown on the backs of her black-faced sheep. first in the form of a raw material sought after eagerly by all the cloth-makers of europe, then in the form of a manufacture carried on in her own towns and villages, and sent out far and wide in ships, wool was the foundation of england's greatness right up to the time of the industrial revolution, when cotton and iron took its place. so if you look at old pictures of the house of lords, in henry viii's reign, or in elizabeth's, you will see the woolsack before the throne,[ ] as you will see it if you visit the house today. the lord chancellor of england is seated upon a woolsack because it was upon a woolsack that this fair land rose to prosperity. the most remarkable body of traders in england during the middle ages were the merchants of the staple, who traded in wool. the wool trade had for long been the largest and most lucrative body of trade in the country, and it was one in which the kings of england were particularly interested, for their customs revenue was drawn largely from wool and wool fells; and, moreover, when they desired to borrow money in anticipation of revenue it was to the wool merchants that they turned, because the wool merchants were the wealthiest traders in the country. for these and other reasons the government adopted the custom of fixing staple towns, which acted as centres of distribution through which the export trade was forced to go. the location of the staple was altered from time to time; sometimes it was at bruges, sometimes at antwerp, sometimes in england; but usually it was at calais, where it was first fixed in and finally established in . through the staple all wool and wool fells, hides, leather, and tin had to pass, and the organization of the system was complete when the body of wool merchants, in whose hands lay the bulk of the staple trade, were finally incorporated in , under the governance of a mayor. the system was a convenient one for crown and merchants alike. the crown could concentrate its customs officers in one place and collect its customs the more easily, particularly as a method was gradually developed by which the custom and subsidy on wool was paid to the royal officials by the fellowship of the staple, who then collected it from the individual members. the merchants, on the other hand, benefited by the concentration in trade: they were able to travel in groups and to organize convoys to protect the wool fleets from pirates who swarmed in the narrow seas between england and france; as members of a powerful corporation they could secure both privileges and protection in flanders. moreover, the wool buyers also benefited by the arrangement, which rendered possible a careful surveillance by the crown and the company of the staple of the quality of the wool offered for sale, and a series of regulations against fraud. it must be remembered that in days when trade stood in need of a protection which the government was not yet able to give it, there was nothing unpopular in the idea of giving the monopoly of the staple trade to the members of a single company. 'trade in companies is natural to englishmen,' wrote bacon; and for four centuries it was the great trading companies which nurtured english trade and made this country the commercial leader of the world. the wool trade throve in england until the close of the middle ages, but throughout the fifteenth century the staplers were beginning to feel the competition of another company--that of the famous merchant adventurers, who, taking advantage of the growth in the native cloth manufacture during the previous century, had begun to do a great trade in the export of cloth. this was obnoxious to the staplers, who desired the continuance of the old system, by which they exported english wool to the continent, where at ypres and ghent, bruges and mechlin, and the other famous cloth-working cities of the netherlands, it was woven into fine cloth. this cloth manufacture gave to the netherlands a sort of industrial pre-eminence in europe throughout the middle ages, and it was dependent entirely upon a good supply of english wool, for the next best wool in europe--that of spain--was not satisfactory unless mixed with wool of english growth. hence the close political tie between england and flanders, the one needing a customer, the other an essential raw material; for, as a fifteenth century poet said, the lytelle londe of flaundres is but a staple to other londes, iwys, and alle that groweth in flaundres, greyn and sede, may not a moneth fynde hem mete and brede. what hath thenne flaundres, be flemmyngis leffe or lothe but a lytelle madere and flemmyshe cloothe? by drapynge of our wolle in substaunce lyvene here comons, this is here governaunce; wythought whyche they may not leve at ease, thus moste hem sterve, or wyth us most have peasse.[ ] in those days the coat on the englishman's back was made out of english wool, indeed, but it had been manufactured in flanders, and the staplers saw no reason why it should ever be otherwise. as to the flemings, the political alliances which commercial necessities constantly entailed between the two countries gave rise among them to a proverb that they bought the fox-skin from the english for a groat and sold them back the tail for a guelder;[ ] but it was the sheepskin which they bought, and they were not destined to go on buying it for ever. the great cloth-making cities of the netherlands were finally ruined by the growth of the english cloth manufacture, which absorbed the english wool. however, in spite of the growing prosperity of this trade, which had by the beginning of the sixteenth century ousted that of wool as the chief english export trade, the company of the merchants of the staple was still great and famous throughout the fifteenth century. many were the wealthy and respected staplers who were in those days to be found directing the destinies of english towns, mayors of london and provincial ports, contractors and moneylenders to an impecunious king, so rich and so powerful that they became a constitutional menace, almost, it has been said, a fourth estate of the realm, with which his majesty was wont to treat for grants apart from parliament. many are the staplers' wills preserved in registries up and down england and bearing witness to their prosperity and public spirit. many are the magnificent brasses which preserve their memory in the parish churches of the cotswolds and other wool-growing districts of england. at chipping campden lies william grevel with his wife, 'late citizen of london and flower of the wool merchants of all england', who died in , and his beautiful house still stands in the village street. at northleach lies john fortey, who rebuilt the nave before he died in ; his brass shows him with one foot on a sheep and the other on a woolpack, and the brasses of thomas fortey, 'woolman', and of another unknown merchant, with a woolpack, lie near by. at linwood, at cirencester, at chipping norton, at lechlade, and at all hallows, barking, you may see others of the great fraternity.[ ] they rest in peace now, but when they lived they were the shrewdest traders of their day. of wool, cries the poet gower, o leine, dame de noblesce tu est des marchantz la duesse, pour toy servir tout sont enclin-- 'o wool, noble dame, thou art the goddess of merchants, to serve thee they are all ready; by thy good fortune and thy wealth thou makest some mount high, and others thou bringest to ruin. the staple where thou dwellest is never free of fraud and trickery, wherewith man wounds his conscience. o wool, christians no less than pagans and saracens seek to have thee and confess thee. o wool, we should not be silent about thy doings in strange lands; for the merchants of all countries, in time of peace, in time of war, come to seek thee by reason of their great love, for whoever else hath enemies thou art never without good friends, who have given themselves to thy profitable service. thou art cherished throughout the world, and the land where thou art born may do great things by reason of thee. thou art carried throughout the world by land and sea, but thou goest to the wealthiest men; in england art thou born, but it is said that thou art but ill governed, for trick, who hath much money, is made regent of thy staple; at his will he taketh it to foreign lands, where he purchaseth his own gain to our harm. o fair, o white, o delightful one, the love of thee stings and binds, so that the hearts of those who make merchandise of thee cannot escape. so they compass much trickery and many schemes how they may gather thee, and then they make thee pass the sea, queen and lady of their navy, and in order to have thee envy and covetousness hie them to bargain for thee.'[ ] the daily life of a merchant of the staple is not a difficult one to reconstruct, partly because the golden fleece has left so many marks upon our national life, partly because the statute book is full of regulations concerning the wool trade, but chiefly because there have come down to us many private letters from persons engaged in shipping wool from england to calais. of all the different sorts of raw material out of which the history of ordinary people in the middle ages has to be made, their letters are perhaps the most enthralling, because in their letters people live and explain themselves in all their individuality. in the fifteenth century most men and women of the upper and middle classes could read and write, although their spelling was sometimes marvellous to behold, and st olave's church is apt to become 'sent tolowys scryssche' beneath their painfully labouring goose quills, and punctuation is almost entirely to seek. but what matter? their meaning is clear enough. good fortune has preserved in various english archives several great collections of family letters written in the fifteenth century. finest of all are the famous paston letters, written by and to a family of norfolk gentlefolk, and crammed with information about high politics and daily life.[ ] less interesting, but valuable all the same, are the letters of the plumptons, who were lords in yorkshire.[ ] but for our purposes the most interesting are two other collections, to wit, the correspondence of the stonors, whose estates lay chiefly in oxfordshire and the neighbouring counties; and the cely papers, kept by a family of merchants of the staple. these two collections give us a vivid picture of wool staplers in their public and private lives. the cely papers cover the years to , and it so happens that during that period william stonor (he became sir william in ) also became interested in the wool trade, for in he married elizabeth riche, the daughter and widow of wealthy city merchants. the stonors had great sheep runs on their estates in the chilterns and cotswolds, and william readily perceived the advantage of his alliance with elizabeth's family, who were interested in the wool trade. consequently he entered into a partnership with a friend of his wife's, a merchant of the staple in calais, named thomas betson, who is the subject of this study, and until elizabeth's death in , he took an active part in the export trade. thomas betson died in , and was thus an exact contemporary of those other merchants of the staple, george and richard cely, whom he must have known; indeed, william cely, their cousin and agent, writes from london to george in calais in , advising him that he has dispatched fells to him in the _thomas_ of newhithe, 'and the sayd felles lyeth nexte be afte the maste lowest under the felles of thomas bettson'.[ ] by the aid of the 'stonor letters and papers', which contain many letters from and concerning him during the years of his partnership with sir william, and of the 'cely papers', which are full of information about the life of a merchant of the staple at calais, thomas betson may be summoned before us by a kindly magic until he almost lives again. so he deserves to do, for he is one of the most delightful people revealed to us in any of the fifteenth-century letters; for honest charm he has no rival save the attractive margery brews, who married john paston the younger, and shows up so pleasantly beside the hard paston women. perhaps the reason why our hearts warm immediately towards thomas betson is that our first meeting with him plunges us immediately into a love affair. his first letter to william stonor is dated april , , and informs william that their wool has come in to calais. 'right worshipfful syr,' it begins, 'i recomaund me unto your good maystershipe, and to my right worshipffulle maystresse your wiffe, and yf it plese your maystershipe, to my maystresse kateryn.'[ ] ten days later he writes again from london, on the eve of sailing for calais, thanking stonor for his 'gentle cheer and faithful love, the which alway ye bear and owe unto me, and of my behalf nothing deserved[h],' announcing that he has sent a present of powdered[i] lampreys from himself and a pipe of red wine from his brother, and adding this postscript: 'sir, i beseech your mastership that this poor writing may have me lowly recommended to my right worshipful mistress, your wife, and in like wise to my gentle cousin and kind mistress katherine riche, to whom i beseech your mastership ever to be favourable and loving.'[ ] who was this katherine riche to whom he so carefully commends himself? katherine riche was william stonor's stepdaughter, one of his wife's children by her first husband; she was thomas betson's affianced bride, and at this time she was about thirteen years old. [footnote h: henceforth i shall modernize spelling, for the reader's convenience.] [footnote i: i.e. pickled.] modern opinion, which is happily in favour of falling in love, and of adult marriages, is often shocked by the air of business which pervades matchmaking in the days of chivalry, and by the many cases of grown men married to little girls not yet out of their teens. in those days it was held that a boy came of age at fourteen and a girl at twelve (a discrepancy which the great canon lawyer, lyndwood, the son of a stapler,[ ] attributed to the fact that ill weeds grow apace!). for reasons of property, or to settle family feuds, or simply to assure their own future, babies in cradles were sometimes betrothed and even married; all that the church required was that children should be free when they came of age (at the ages of fourteen and twelve!) to repudiate the contract if they so desired. nothing seems to separate modern england from the good old days so plainly as the case of little grace de saleby, aged four, who for the sake of her broad acres was married to a great noble, and on his death two years later to another, and yet again, when she was eleven, to a third, who paid three hundred marks down for her.[ ] there is an odd mixture of humour and pathos in the story of some of these marriages. john rigmarden, aged three, was carried to church in the arms of a priest, who coaxed him to repeat the words of matrimony, but half-way through the service the child declared that he would learn no more that day, and the priest answered, 'you must speak a little more, and then go play you.' james ballard, aged ten, was married to jane his wife 'at x of the clocke in the night without the consent of any of his frendes, bie one sir roger blakey, then curate of colne, and the morowe after, the same james declarid vnto his vnckle that the said jane [beyinge a bigge damsell and mariageable at the same tyme] had intised him with two apples, to go with her to colne and to marry her.' elizabeth bridge _née_ ramsbotham, says that after her marriage to john bridge, when he was eleven and she thirteen, he never used her 'lovinglie, insomoche that the first night they were maried, the said john wold eate no meate at supper, and whan hit was bed tyme, the said john did wepe to go home with his father, he beynge at that tyme at her brother's house.'[ ] sometimes, however, medieval records throw a pleasanter light on these child marriages. such was the light thrown by the ménagier de paris's book for his young wife, so kindly, so affectionate, so full of indulgence for her youth; and such also is the light thrown by the charming letter which thomas betson wrote to little katherine riche on the first day of june in . it is a veritable gem, and it is strange that it has not attracted more notice, for certainly no anthology of english letters should be without it. i set it down here at length, for it brings to warm life again both thomas betson and katherine riche: mine own heartily beloved cousin katherine, i recommend me unto you with all the inwardness of my heart. and now lately ye shall understand that i received a token from you, the which was and is to me right heartily welcome, and with glad will i received it; and over that i had a letter from holake, your gentle squire, by the which i understand right well that ye be in good health of body, and merry at heart. and i pray god heartily in his pleasure to continue the same: for it is to me very great comfort that he so be, so help me jesu. and if ye would be a good eater of your meat alway, that ye might wax and grow fast to be a woman ye should make me the gladdest man of the world, by my troth; for when i remember your favour and your sad loving dealing to me wards, for sooth ye make me even very glad and joyous in my heart; and on the tother side again, when i remember your young youth, and see well that ye be none eater of your meat, the which should help you greatly in waxing, for sooth then ye make me very heavy again. and therefore i pray you, mine own sweet cousin, even as you love me, to be merry and eat your meat like a woman. and if ye will so do for my love, look what ye will desire of me, whatsoever it be, and by my troth, i promise you by the help of our lord to perform it to my power. i can no more say now, but on my coming home i will tell you much more between you and me and god before. and whereas ye, full womanly and like a lover, remember me with manifold recommendation in divers manners, remitting the same to my discretion to depart them there as i love best, for sooth, mine own sweet cousin, ye shall understand that with good heart and good will i receive and take to myself the one half of them and them will i keep by me; and the tother half with hearty love and favour i send them to you, mine own sweet cousin, again, for to keep by you; and over that i send you the blessing that our lady gave her dear son, and ever well to fare. i pray you greet well my horse and pray him to give you four of his years to help you withal; and i will at my coming home give him four of my years and four horse loaves till amends. tell him that i prayed him so. and cousin katherine, i thank you for him, and my wife shall thank you for him hereafter; for ye do great cost upon him, as is told me. mine own sweet cousin, it was told me but late that ye were at calais[j] to seek me, but could not see me nor find me; forsooth ye might have comen to my counter, and there ye should both find me and see me, and not have faulted of me; but ye sought me in a wrong calais, and that ye should well know if ye were here and saw this calais, as would god ye were and some of them with you that were with you at your gentle calais. i pray you, gentle cousin, commend me to the clock, and pray him to amend his unthrifty manners; for he strikes ever in undue time, and he will be ever afore, and that is a shrewd condition. tell him without he amend his condition that he will cause strangers to avoid and come no more there. i trust to you that he shall amend against mine coming, the which shall be shortly, with all hands and all feet, with god's grace. my very faithful cousin, i trust to you that though all i have not remembered my right worshipful mistress your mother afore in this letter, that ye will of your gentleness recommend me to her mistresship as many times as it shall please you: and ye may say, if it please you, that in whitsun week next i intend to the mart ward. and i trust you will pray for me; for i shall pray for you and, so it may be, none so well. and almighty jesu make you a good woman and send you many good years and long to live in health and virtue to his pleasure. at great calais, on this side on the sea, the first day of june, when every man was gone to his dinner, and the clock smote nine, and all your household cried after me and bade me 'come down, come down to dinner at once!'--and what answer i gave them, ye know it of old. [footnote j: possibly an inn with that name (?).] by your faithful cousin and lover thomas betson. i send you this ring for a token. so ending, thomas betson smiled, dropped a kiss on the seal and inscribed his letter, 'to my faithful and heartily beloved cousin katherine riche at stonor, this letter be delivered in haste.'[ ] henceforth there begins a charming triangular correspondence between betson and stonor and dame elizabeth stonor, in which family news and business negotiations are pleasantly mingled. dame elizabeth and betson were on the best of terms, for they had been old friends before her second marriage. a special chamber was kept for him at stonor, and by an affectionate anticipation she often refers to him as 'my son stonor'. almost all her letters to her husband contain news of him--how he took his barge at a.m. in the morning and god speed him, how no writing has come from him these eight days, how he has now written about the price to be paid for forty sacks of cotswold wool, how he recommends him to sir william and came home last monday. sometimes he is entrusted with the delicate business of interviewing dame elizabeth's mother, a difficult old lady with a tongue; 'god send her,' says thomas, mopping his brow, after one of these interviews, 'once a merry countenance or shortly to the minories[k]!' after another he writes to dame elizabeth: 'sith i came home to london i met with my lady your mother and god wot she made me right sullen cheer with her countenance whiles i was with her; methought it long till i was departed. she break out to me of her old "ffernyeres" and specially she brake to me of the tale i told her between the vicar that was and her; she said the vicar never fared well sith, he took it so much to heart. i told her a light answer again and so i departed from her. i had no joy to tarry with her. she is a fine merry woman, but ye shall not know it nor yet find it, nor none of yours by that i see in her[ ].' it was the faithful betson, too, who was chosen to look after his katherine's little sister anne when she was ill in london, and he writes home asking for her clothes--'she hath need unto them and that knoweth our lord'--and complaining of the old grandmother's behaviour: 'if my lady your mother meet my cousin anne she will say no more but "god's blessing have ye and mine', and so go her way forth, as though she had no joy of her[ ]." it was betson, too, who escorted dame elizabeth, when need was, from windsor to london and wrote to her husband: 'by the way we were right merry, thanked be god, and so with his mercy we mean here to be merry for the season that my lady is here, and when your mastership is ready to come hitherwards, we here shall so welcome you that the season of your abiding shall not be noisome, with god's grace[ ].' whereupon sir william sends a present of capons by the carrier to assist the merriment, and betson reports, 'sir, i took two capons, but they were not the best, as ye counselled me by your letter to take, and indeed to say the truth i could not be suffered. my lady your wife is reasonably strong waxed, the lord be thanked, and she took her will in that matter like as she doth in all other.'[ ] [footnote k: the convent of minoresses, or franciscan nuns, outside aldgate.] there are, indeed, a hundred evidences of the warmth of betson's affection for the stonors and of the simple piety of his character. sometimes he ventures to give them good advice. dame elizabeth was somewhat uplifted by her elevation from the ranks of the mercantile bourgeoisie to a place among the country gentry, and was apt to be extravagant, nor was her husband entirely guiltless of running up bills. we hear of the ale brewer and the bread baker calling daily upon his agent for money, and on one occasion the stonors owed over £ to betson's own brother, a vintner, for various pipes of red and white wine and a butt of rumney[l][ ]. so thomas writes to dame elizabeth, on his way to the mart: 'our blessed lord jesus christ preserve you both in honour and worship virtuously to continue in god's pleasure and also to send you good and profitable counsel and grace to do hereafter. this is and shall be my prayer forsooth every day; your honour and worship of countenance hereafter sticketh as nigh mine heart as doth any friend, man or other about you, by my troth, our blessed lord so help me. i will avise you, madame, to remember large expenses and beware of them, and in likewise my master your husband; it is well done ye remember him of them, for divers considerations, as ye know both right well. and our blessed lord be your comforter and help in all your good work. amen.'[ ] a month later he hears that william stonor has been ill and writes to sympathize with dame elizabeth: 'and if i could do anything here that might be to his pleasure and yours, i would i knew it and it should be done withouten fail. truly your discomfort is not my comfort, god knoweth it. nevertheless your ladyship must cause him to be merry and of glad cheer, and to put away all fantasies and unthrifty thoughts, that comes no good of, but only hurtful. a man may hurt himself by riotous means; it is good to beware.'[ ] [footnote l: greek wine.] meanwhile what of little katherine riche? she recurs over and over in thomas betson's letters. occasionally she is in disgrace, for she was not handy with her pen. 'i am wroth with katherine,' writes he to her mother, 'because she sendeth me no writing. i have to her divers times and for lack of answer i wax weary; she might get a secretary if she would and if she will not, it shall put me to less labour to answer her letters again.'[ ] but the important thing is that she grows steadily older, though not quickly enough to please our lover. on trinity sunday in he writes to dame elizabeth: 'i remember her full oft, god know[eth] it. i dreamed once she was thirty winters of age and when i woke i wished she had been but twenty and so by likelihood i am sooner like to have my wish than my dream, the which i beseech almighty jesu heartily when it shall please him'[ ]; and to the lady's stepfather he writes a month later: 'i beseech you to remember my cousin katherine. i would she did well, god knoweth it, and ye deme, as i trow, if i had found her at home here my comfort should have been the more; but i thank god of all. my pain is the more; i must needs suffer as i have done in times past, and so will i do for god's sake and hers.'[ ] however, katherine was now fifteen years of age and was sufficiently grown up to wed, and the next letter, written a week later to dame elizabeth, shows us thomas betson beginning to set his house in order and getting exceedingly bothered about laying in her trousseau, a business with which dame elizabeth had, it seems, entrusted the future bridegroom. madam, and it like you, i understand by your writing that it will be the latter end of august or your ladyship can come here to london; and if it should be so i would be sorry, for i have much to do and i can little skill to do anything that longeth to the matter ye wot of [evidently the preparations for katherine] ... i must beseech your ladyship to send me [your advice] how i shall be demeaned in such things as shall belong unto my cousin katherine, and how i shall provide for them. she must have girdles, three at the least, and how they shall be made i know not, and many other things she must have, ye know well what they be, in faith i know not; by my troth, i would it were done, liever than more than it shall cost.... and as for the sending hither of my cousin katherine, your ladyship may do therein as it shall please you. i would she knew as much as you know, forsooth, and then she should do some good and help me in many things when she come.... also, madam, as ye write me the courteous dealing of my master with my cousin katherine, etc., truly i am very glad thereof and i pray god heartily thank him therefore, for he hath ever been lovingly disposed [unto] her, and so i beseech god ever continue him and also my cousin katherine to deserve it unto him by her goodly demeanour and womanly disposition, as she can do right well if her list, and so saith every body that praiseth her.[ ] the note of pride in the last words is as engaging as the impatience of the harassed male faced with the choosing of girdles. even more charming is the letter which he wrote the same day to sir william stonor. he is a little incoherent with joy and gratitude, full of regrets that business keeps him from stonor and good wishes for the health of the family. 'i fare like a sorry piper,' he says. 'when i begin i cannot leave, but yet once again our blessed lord be your speed and your help,' of katherine he writes thus: i understand by the worshipful report of your mastership the [be]haviours of my cousin katherine unto you, to my lady your wife and to all other, etc.; and truly it is to me right joyful and comfortable gladness to hear of her and i beseech our blessed lord ever to preserve her in all virtue and good living to his pleasure, and to reward your mastership with heaven at your ending, for your good disposition to herwards in good exhortations giving. and that i wot well of old, or else truly she could not be of that disposition, virtuous and goodly, her youth remembered and excused.... sir, remember your mastership well what ye have written of my cousin katherine; truly i shall when i speak with her, tell her every word, and if i find the contrary. our vicar here, so god help me, shall cry out upon her[m] within this ten weeks and less, and by that time i shall be ready in every point, by god's grace, and so i would she were, forsooth ye may believe me of it.[ ] [footnote m: i.e. call the banns.] this letter was written on june , , and thomas probably married his little katherine in august or september, for when dame elizabeth writes to her husband on october , she says, 'my son betson and his wife recommend them to you'[ ] the poor child was to learn soon enough some of the sorrows of a wife, for a year later thomas betson fell dangerously ill, and she was nursing him and looking after his business for all the world as though she were a grave matron and not a bride of sixteen. moreover, she must already have been expecting the birth of her eldest son. william stonor's attitude towards his partner's illness is not without humour. he was torn between anxiety for the life of a friend and an even greater anxiety that betson should not die without setting straight the business obligations between them. we hear of the illness and of katherine's labours in a letter from one of stonor's agents to his master: sir, according to the commandment of your mastership, we were at stepney by nine of the clock; at such time as we came thither we saw the gentleman forthwith, and in good faith he made us good cheer as a sick man might by countenance notwithstanding, for in good faith we saw by his demeanour that he might not prosper in this world, for mistress bevice and other gentlewomen and his uncle were of the same opinion. and we desired and prayed him to be of good comfort and so comforted him as heartily as we could in your name and in my lady's, and so we departed from the chamber down into the hall, and he fell into a great slumbering and was busily moved in his spirits. and at eleven of the clock i called his uncle out of his bed into the gentleman's chamber, and i asked his advice and my mistress his wife, of the stock and of the demeanour thereof for the year and the half that is last past. and touching the stock he confessed that it was £ , , wherein at the sight of your acquittance in discharging of him and all his doers that shall be behind him, the said stock shall be ready. and as for the occupation of it, as he will answer between god and devil, the book that he bought it by ye shall be privy thereto; and the book that he sold by ye shall be also privy to, which two books shall be his judges, which remain in the keeping of my mistress his wife's hands under lock and key and other bills and obligations according, concerning the surety for divers payments to be made to divers merchants, as the said lord saith.... and as for the plate my mistress jane [probably jane riche, the younger sister of katherine] and i have caused it to be taken up and set in surety, save that that must needs by occupied. he sends to sir william for information about two sums of £ each owed by betson to his master and mistress, and adds: i trust to jesu he shall endure till the messenger come again; longer the physicians have not determined. the executors be three persons, my mistress his wife, humphrey starkey, recorder of london, robert tate, merchant of calais; notwithstanding i moved him, between him and me and mistress jane, that he should break this testament and make my mistress his wife sole executrix. what will be done therein as yet i cannot speak, but i shall do as i can, with god's grace.[ ] there is something unexpected and a little vulture-like about this gathering of creditors and seizing of plate about the death-bed of a man who had always, after all, shown himself exceedingly affectionate towards the stonors and devoted to their interests, and who was now my lady's son-in-law. the attempt to make the young wife of sixteen sole executrix, so that she might be completely in her family's hands and without the counsel of two experienced and disinterested merchants, has a somewhat sinister air. the intrigues went on, and three days later the agent writes again. it is pleasant to observe that bad-tempered old mistress croke, dame elizabeth's mother, was not unmindful of betson's forbearance during those visits when she had railed upon him with her sharp tongue: as for the tidings that is here, i trust to god it shall be very good. on thursday my lady croke came to stepney and brought with her master brinkley to see betson, and in faith he was a very sick man; and ere he departed he gave him plasters to his head, to his stomach and to his belly, [so] that he all that night was in a quiet rest. and he came to him again on friday ... and he was well amended and so said all the people that were about him. notwithstanding he will not determine him whether he shall live or die as yet, but he may keep him alive till tuesday noon, he will undertake him. the cause that i write to you now rather was because i had no certainty. sir, there hath been many special labours and secret i-made, sithen mistress jane and i were come, to the contrary disposition that we come for. i cannot write the plain[nes]s of them as yet, for my mistress betson attendeth, all things and counsels laid apart, to abide and trust in your good fatherhood and in my lady, and furthermore if he depart the world, ye shall hear tidings of her in as goodly haste as we may purvey for her. and whether he die or live, it is necessary and behoveful that mistress jane depart not from her into [i.e. until] such time as the certainty be knowen, for in truth divers folks, which ye shall know hereafter and my lady, both thus hath and would exhort her to a contrarier disposition, had not we been here by time. and mistress jane is worthy of much thank.[ ] however, all the schemings were premature, for betson happily recovered. on october the 'prentice' henham writes: 'my master betson is right well amended, blessed be jesus, and he is past all doubts of sickness and he takes the sustenance right well, and as for physicians, there come none unto him, for he hath no need of them.'[ ] but another death was at hand to break the close association between thomas betson and the stonors, for at the end of the year the kind, extravagant, affectionate dame elizabeth died. it is a surprising fact that her death seems to have brought to a close the business partnership between her husband and her son-in-law. henceforth the only references to thomas betson in the stonor papers are occasional notes of his debts to stonor: doubtless he had bought sir william's share in their joint business. on march , , he acknowledged obligations of £ , s. d. to stonor, and in he still owed £ , .[ ] it is impossible to guess why the relationship, which was an affectionate personal friendship as well as a business tie, should have come to such a sudden end. as the editor of the _stonor letters_ remarks, 'the sincerity and honesty of betson's character as revealed in his letters, forbids one to suppose that he was to blame.' such was the more private and domestic side of thomas betson's life; but it tells us little (save in occasional references to the fellowship of the staple or the price of cotswold wool) about that great company with which this chapter began; and since he stands here as a type as well as an individual, we must needs turn now to his public and business life, and try to find out from more indirect evidence how a merchant of the staple went about his business. the stapler, who would make a good livelihood, must do two things, and give his best attention to both of them: first, he must buy his wool from the english grower, then he must sell it to the foreign buyer. some of the best wool in england came from the cotswolds, and when you are a merchant of the staple you enjoy bargaining for it, whether you want the proceeds of the great summer clip or of the fells after the autumn sheep-killing. so thomas betson rides off to gloucestershire in the soft spring weather, his good sorrel between his knees, and the scent of the hawthorn blowing round him as he goes. other wool merchants ride farther afield--into the long dales of yorkshire to bargain with cistercian abbots for the wool from their huge flocks, but he and the celys swear by cotswold fells (he shipped , of them to london one july 'in the names of sir william stonor knight and thomas betson, in the _jesu_ of london, john lolyngton master under god'). may is the great month for purchases, and northleach the great meeting-place of staplers and wool dealers. it is no wonder that northleach church is so full of woolmen's brasses, for often they knelt there, and often the village hummed with the buyers and sellers, exchanging orders and examining samples. the celys bought chiefly from two northleach wool dealers, william midwinter and john busshe. the relations between dealers and sellers were often enough close and pleasant: midwinter even occasionally tried to provide a customer with a bride as well as with a cargo, and marriageable young ladies were not unwilling to be examined over a gallon of wine and much good cheer at the inn.[ ] it is true that midwinter was apt to be restive when his bills remained for too long unpaid, but he may be forgiven for that. thomas betson favoured the wool fells of robert turbot of lamberton,[ ] and dealt also with one john tate, with whyte of broadway (another famous wool village),[ ] and with john elmes, a henley merchant well known to the stonors. midwinter, busshe, and elmes were all wool dealers, or 'broggers'--middlemen, that is to say, between the farmers who grew and the staplers who bought wool, but often the staplers dealt directly with individual farmers, buying the small man's clip as well as the great man's, and warm friendships sprang from the annual visits, looked forward to in yorkshire dale and cotswold valley. it strikes a pleasant note when richard russell, citizen and merchant of york, leaves in his will, 'for distribution among the farmers of yorkes walde, from whom i bought wool l., and in the same way among the farmers of lyndeshay l.' ( ).[ ] the 'cely letters' give a mass of information about the wool buying at northleach. in the may of the same year in which betson's partnership with stonor would seem to have ended, old richard cely was up there doing business and reporting it to his son, 'jorge cely at caleys'. i greet you well and i have received a letter from you writ at calais the th day of may ( ), the which letter i have well understood of your being at the marts and of the sale of my middle wool, desired by john destermer and john underbay. wherefore by the grace of god i am abusied for to ship this foresaid sarplers, the which i bought of william midwinter of northleach, sarplers, the which is fair wool, as the wool packer will breten saith to me, and also the sarplers of the rector's is fair wool, much finer wool nor was the year before, the which i shipped afore easter last past. the shipping is begun at london, but i have none shipped as yet, but i will after these holy days, for the which i will ye order for the freight and other costs. this same day your brother richard cely is rid to northleach for to see and cast a sort of fell for me and another sort of fell for you.[ ] on another occasion he writes: 'by your letter you avise me for to buy wool in cotswold, for which i shall have of john cely his gathering sack, and of will midwinter of northleach sack. and i am avised to buy no more; wool in cotswold is at great price, s. d. a tod, and great riding for wool in cotswold as was any year this seven year.'[ ] what a picture it calls up of merchants trotting along the roads and looking as chaucer often saw them look: a marchant was ther with a forked berd, in motteleye and hye on horse he sat, upon his heed a flaundryssh bever hat, his boots clasped faire and fetisly; his resons he spak ful solempnely, sounynge alway thencrees of his wynnyng. often at northleach betson must have encountered his brethren of the staple, the staid old merchant richard cely among the rest, and son george who rides with 'meg', his hawk, on his wrist, and has a horse called 'bayard' and another called 'py'; and perhaps also john barton of holme beside newark, the proud stapler who set as a 'posy' in the stained glass windows of his house this motto: i thank god and ever shall it is the sheepe hath payed for all;[ ] though indeed it is unlikely that he came as far south as the cotswolds for his wool. sometimes also betson meets upon the road his rivals, stout, self-possessed flemings and thin sleek lombards with black eyes and gesticulating hands, who have no business in the cotswolds at all, but ought to be buying wool in the mart at calais. but they come, and all good englishmen are angry at their tricks and angrier still perhaps at their successful trade. 'i have not as yet packed my wool in london,' writes old richard cely on october , ; 'nor have i not bought this year a lock of wool, for the wool of cotswold is bought by lombards, wherefore i have the less haste for to pack my wool at london';[ ] and his son writes to him on november from calais: 'there is but little cotswold wool at calais and i understand lombards has bought it up in england.'[ ] it is true that the celys, other english merchants too, are not unwilling to conclude private bargains from time to time with foreign buyers in england. two years later their agent, william cely, writes to advise them that two flemish merchants are now trying to buy in england contrary to the ordinance, and that those in authority at calais have got wind of it, and therefore his masters must take care and make wyllykyn and peter bale pay at calais, 'but as for your dealings knoweth no man, without they search peter bale's books.'[ ] the upright betson no doubt eschewed such tricks and resented particularly the clever usurious lombards, so full of financial dodges to trick the english merchant, for did they not buy the wool in england on credit, riding about as they list in the cotswolds? in cotteswolde also they ryde aboute and al englonde, and bien wythouten doute, what them liste, wythe fredome and fraunchise more then we englisshe may getyn in any wyse. and then did they not carry the wool to flanders and sell it for ready money at a loss of five per cent, thereafter lending out this money at heavy usury, mostly to the english merchants themselves, so that by the time pay day came in england, they had realized a heavy profit? and thus they wold, if we will beleve wypen our nose with our owne sleve, thow this proverbe be homly and undew, yet be liklynesse it is forsoth fulle trew.[ ] the next serious piece of business thomas betson must take in hand is the packing and shipping of his wool to calais. here he found himself enmeshed in the regulations of the company and the crown, ever on the look-out for fraud in the packing or description of the staple product. the wool had to be packed in the county from which it came, and there were strict regulations against mixing hair and earth or rubbish with it. the collectors appointed by the company for the different wool-growing districts, and sworn in before the exchequer, rode round and sealed each package, so that it could not be opened without breaking the seal. then the great bales were carried on the backs of pack-horses 'by the ancient trackways over the wiltshire and hampshire downs, which had been used before the roman conquest, and thence through surrey and kent to the medway ports by the pilgrims' way.' at the different ports the collectors of customs were ready to enter on their rolls the names of the merchants shipping wool, together with the quantity and description of wool shipped by each.[ ] some of the wool came to london itself, where many of the staplers had offices in mark lane (which is a corruption of mart lane) and was weighed for the assessment of the customs and subsidy at the leadenhall.[ ] in this business thomas betson was helped by stonor's three assistants or 'prentices', as they call themselves, thomas henham, goddard oxbridge, and thomas howlake, for the last of whom he had a warm corner in his heart, because the young man was gentle to little katherine riche. these men were sometimes at the stonors' london warehouse and sometimes at their house in calais, and they saved betson a good deal of trouble, being experienced enough to oversee both the packing of wool in london and its sale in calais. to calais the wool thus packed, and weighed and marked and assessed by the customs officer, was carried in the ships of calais itself, or of the little ports on the east or south-eastern coast of england, many of which are mere villages today. for ships put out not only from hull and colchester, but from brightlingsea, rotherhithe, walberswick in suffolk, rainham in essex, bradwell, maidstone, milton, newhithe, and milhall. in august , the celys were paying the masters of twenty-one different ships for the freight of their sarplers of wool after the summer clip.[ ] all through the summer the shipping went on, and right up to christmas; but during the winter months the merchants were mostly sending over fells or sheepskins, after the great slaughter of sheep and cattle which took place at martinmas, when housewives salted down their meat for the winter and farmers made delivery of the fells and hides, for which the staplers had long ago bargained. very often merchants' letters and customs accounts give us the names of these doughty little ships and their cargoes. in the october of , for instance, the celys were shipping a consignment of fells: right worshipful sir, after due recommendation i lowly recommend unto you, letting you understand that my master hath shipped his fells at the port of london now at this shipping in october ..., which fells ye must receive and pay the freight first by the grace of god, in the 'mary' of london, william sordyvale master, packs, sum , lying be aft the mast, one pack lieth up rest and some of that pack is summer fells marked with an o, and then lieth packs fells of william daltons and under them lieth the other packs of my masters. item in the 'christopher' of rainham, harry wylkyns master, packs and a half cots[wold] fell, sum pelt, lying be aft the mast, and under them lieth a fells of welther fyldes, william lyndys man of northampton, and the partition is made with small cords. item, in the 'thomas' of maidstone, harry lawson master, pokes, sum pelt, whereof lieth packs next before the mast under hatches, no man above them, and one pack lieth in the stern sheet; of the six packs fells be some summer fells marked with an o likewise. item, in the 'mary grace' of london, john lokyngton master packs, sum pelt, lying be aft under the fells of thomas graunger, the partition between them is made with red; sum of the fells my master hath shipped at this time packs and a half whereof be winter fells of the country fells and they be marked with an c, and of summer fells there should be and more, but part of them be left behind, for we have two packs we could have no appointment for them, and all the summer fells be marked with an o. item, sir, ye shall receive of the 'mary' of rainham, john danyell master, your _male_ [trunk] with your gear and a essex cheese marked with my master's mark. and so on, with details of the number of fells shipped in like manner by the _michael_ of hull and the _thomas_ of newhithe, where they lay 'next the mast aftward under the fells of thomas betson's', over , fells in all.[ ] how invigorating is such a list of ships. cargoes are the most romantic of topics, whether they be apes and ivory and peacocks, or 'cheap tin trays'; and since the day that jason sailed to colchis fleeces have ever been among the most romantic of cargoes. how they smack of the salt too, those old master mariners, henry wilkins, master of the _christopher_ of rainham, john lollington, master of the _jesu_ of london, robert ewen, master of the _thomas_ of newhithe, and all the rest of them, waving their hands to their wives and sweethearts as they sail out of the sparkling little bays, with the good woolsacks abaft or under hatches--shipmen, all of them, after chaucer's heart: but of his craft, to rekene wel his tydes his stremes and his daungers hym besides, his herberwe and his moone, his lodemenage, ther was noon swich from hulle to cartage. hardy he was, and wys to undertake: with many a tempest hadde his berd been shake; he knew wel alle the havenes, as they were, from gootland to the cape of fynystere, and every cryke in britaigne and in spayne. his barge y-cleped was the maudelayne. their ships were doubtless like the _margaret cely_, which the two cely brothers bought and called after their mother, for the not excessive sum of £ , exclusive of rigging and fittings. she carried a master, boatswain, cook, and sixteen jolly sailor-men, and she kept a good look out for pirates and was armed with cannon and bows, bills, five dozen darts, and twelve pounds of gunpowder! she was victualled with salt fish, bread, wheat and beer, and she plied with the celys' trade to zealand, flanders, and bordeaux.[ ] she must have been about two hundred tons, but some of the other little ships were much smaller, for, as the learned editor of the _cely papers_ tells us, 'the ships of the little medway ports could scarcely have been of thirty tons to navigate the river safely; the "thomas" of maidstone can have been only a barge, if she had to pass aylesford bridge.'[ ] but they navigated the channel and dodged the pirates blithely enough, though often thomas betson at calais was nervous about the safe arrival of the wool fleet. like chaucer's merchant, he wolde the see were kept for any thing betwixe middelburgh and orewelle. side by side with george or richard cely he must often have strained his eyes from the quay, with the salt wind blowing out the feather in his cap, and breathed a thanksgiving to god when the ships hove in sight. 'and, sir,' he writes once to stonor from london, 'thanked be the good lord, i understand for certain that our wool shipped be comen in ... to calais. i would have kept the tidings till i had comen myself, because it is good, but i durst not be so bold, for your mastership now against this good time may be glad and joyful of these tidings, for in truth i am glad and heartily thank god of it.'[ ] the 'prentice' thomas henham writes likewise three weeks later: 'i departed from sandwich the th day of april and so came unto calais upon sher thursday[n] last with the wool ships, and so blessed be jesu i have received your wools in safety. furthermore, sir, if it please your mastership for to understand this, i have received your wools as fair and as whole as any man's in the fleet. moreover, sir, if it please your mastership for to understand how your wool was housed ever deal by easter even. furthermore, sir, if it please your mastership for to understand that the shipman be content and paid of their freight.'[ ] the celys write in the same strain too: 'this day the th of august the wool fleet came to calais both of london and ipswich in safety, thanked be god, and this same day was part landed and it riseth fair yet, thanked be god.'[ ] their letters tell us too what danger it was that they feared. 'i pray jesu send you safe hither and soon,' writes richard to his 'right well beloved brother george', on june , . 'robert eryke was chased with scots between calais and dover. they scaped narrow.'[ ] there are many such chases recorded, and we hear too of wool burnt under hatches or cast overboard in a storm.[ ] [footnote n: i.e. shrove thursday.] thomas betson and the celys travelled very often across the channel in these ships, which carried passengers and letters, and they were almost as much at home in calais as in london. when in calais english merchants were not allowed to live anywhere they liked, all over the town. the company of the staple had a list of regular licensed 'hosts', in whose houses they might stay. usually a number of merchants lived with each host, the most potent, grave, and reverend seniors dining at a high table, and smaller fry at side tables in the hall. sometimes they quarrelled over terms, as when william cely writes home one day to richard and george in london: item. sir, please it you to understand that here is a variance betwixt our host thomas graunger and the fellowship, of our lodging, for thomas graunger promised us at his coming in to our lodging that we should pay no more for our board but s. d. a week at the high table, and s. d. at the side table, and now he saith he will have no less than s. a week at the high table and d. at the side table, wherefore the fellowship here will depart into other lodgings, some to one place and some to another, william dalton will be at robert torneys and ralph temyngton and master brown's man of stamford shall be at thomas clarke's and so all the fellowship departs save i, wherefore i let your masterships have knowledge, that ye may do as it shall like you best.[ ] but thomas betson never fell out with his hosts, whose only complaint of him must have been that he sat long over his love letters and came down late to dinner. there was business enough for him to do at calais. first of all, when the wool was landed, it had to be inspected by the royal officers, to see that it had been properly labelled, and their skilled packers examined, repacked, and resealed the bales. this was an anxious moment for merchants who were conscious of inferior wool among their bulging sarplers. the honest betson, we may be certain, never cheated, but the celys knew more than a little about the tricks of the trade, and one year, when the lieutenant of calais took out sarpler no. , which their agent, william cely, knew to be poor wool, in order to make a test, he privily substitutes no. , which was 'fair wool' and changed the labels, so that he was soon able to write home, 'your wool is awarded by the sarpler that i cast out last.'[ ] no wonder gower said that trick was regent of the staple, siq'en le laines maintenir je voi plusours descontenir du loyalté la viele usance.[ ] then there was the custom and subsidy to be paid to the mayor and fellowship of the staple, who collected it for the king. and then came the main business of every merchant, the selling of the wool. thomas betson preferred, of course, to sell it as quickly as possible, as the ships came in, but sometimes the market was slow and wool remained for some months on his hands. such wool from the summer sheep shearing, shipped in or before the month of february following, and remaining unsold by april th, was classed as old wool, and the fellowship of the staple ordained that foreign buyers must take one sarpler of old wool with every three of new; and although the flemings grumbled and wanted to take one of old to five of new, they had to put up with the regulation.[ ] a great deal of betson's business would be done at the mart of calais itself, where he met with the dignified flemish merchants, scions of old families with estates of their own, and the more plebeian merchants of delft and leyden, and the wool dealers from sunny florence and genoa and venice. among the best customers both of the stonors and the celys (for they are mentioned in the letters of both) were peter and daniel van de rade of bruges. thomas howlake on one occasion reports a sale of four sarplers of fine cotswold wool to them at marks the sack, with a rebate of - / cloves on the sack of , and adds: 'sir, an it please you, as for the foresaid merchants that have bought your wool, [they] be as good as any that came out of flanders and for that i have showed them the more favour and given them the more respite of that.'[ ] the staplers, however, did not do business at calais alone, but rode also to the great fairs at antwerp, bruges, and the country round. 'thomas betson,' writes henham to his master, 'came unto calais the last day of april and so he departed in good health unto bruges mart the first day of may.'[ ] but so bifel this marchant on a day shoop hym to make redy his array toward the toun of brugges for to fare, to byen there a porcioun of ware--[ ] only it was to 'sellen' a portion that betson went. he himself writes sir william: 'liketh it you to wit that on trinity even i came to calais and, thanked be the good lord, i had a full fair passage, and, sir, with god's might i intend on friday next to depart to the mart-wards. i beseech the good lord be my speed and help me in all my works. and, sir, i trust to god's mercy, if the world be merry here, to do somewhat that shall be both to your profit and mine. as yet there cometh but few merchants here; hereafter with god's grace there will come more. i shall lose no time when the season shall come, i promise you.... and, sir, when i come from the mart i shall send you word of all matters by the mercy of our lord.'[ ] at the fairs betson would meet with a great crowd of merchants from all over europe, though often enough political disturbances made the roads dangerous and merchants ran some risk of being robbed. the english traders were commonly reputed to be the best sellers and customers at the fairs of flanders and brabant, though the flemings sometimes complained of them, and said that the staplers made regulations forbidding their merchants to buy except on the last day, when the flemish sellers, anxious to pack and be off, let their goods go at insufficient prices.[ ] the author of the _libelle of englyshe polycye_ boasts proudly of the custom brought by the english to these marts: but they of holonde at calyse byene oure felles, and oure wolles, that englyshe men hem selles... and wee to martis of braban charged bene wyth englysshe clothe, fulle gode and feyre to seyne, wee bene ageyne charged wyth mercerye haburdasshere ware and wyth grocerye, to whyche martis, that englisshe men call feyres iche nacion ofte makethe here repayeres, englysshe and frensh, lumbards, januayes [genoese], cathalones, theder take here wayes, scottes, spaynardes, iresshmen there abydes, wythe grete plente bringing of salt hydes, and i here saye that we in braban lye, flaunders and seland, we bye more marchaundy in common use, then done all other nacions; this have i herde of marchaundes relacions, and yff the englysshe be not in the martis, they bene febelle and as nought bene here partes; for they bye more and fro purse put owte more marchaundy than alle other rowte.[ ] fairs were held at different times in different places, but there were during the year four great fair seasons corresponding to the four seasons in the year.[ ] there was the cold mart in the winter, to which thomas betson rode muffled in fur, with his horse's hoofs ringing on the frosty roads; there was the pask (_pasques,_ easter) mart in the spring, when he whistled blithely and stuck a violet in his cap; there was the synxon (st john) mart in the summer, round about st john the baptist's day, when he was hot and mopped his brow, and bought a roll of tawny satin or lucca silk for katherine from a genoese in a booth at antwerp; and there was the balms, or bammys mart in the autumn, round about the day of st rémy, whom the flemings call st bamis (october ), when he would buy her a fur of budge or mink, or a mantle of fine black shanks from the hansards at their mart in bruges. it was at these marts that the merchants of the staple, jaunting about from place to place to meet buyers for their wool, did a hundred little commissions for their friends; for folk at home were apt to think that staplers existed to do their errands for them abroad and to send them presents. one wanted a pair of louvain gloves, the other a sugar loaf, the other a pipe of gascon wine ('you can get it cheaper over there, my dear'), the other a yard or two of holland cloth; while ginger and saffron were always welcome, and could be bought from the venetians, whom the celys spell 'whenysyans'. then, of course, there were purchases to be made in the way of business, such as calais packthread and canvas from arras or brittany or normandy to pack the bales of wool.[ ] as to the celys, thomas betson was wont to say that their talk was of nothing but sport and buying hawks, save on one gloomy occasion, when george cely rode for ten miles in silence and then confided to him that over in england his grey bitch had whelped and had fourteen pups, and then died and the pups with her.[ ] between the counting-house in calais and the fairs and marts of the country thomas betson would dispose of his wool and fells. but his labour did not end here, for he would now have to embark upon the complicated business of collecting money from his customers, the flemish merchants, and with it paying his creditors in england, the cotswold wool dealers. it was customary for the staplers to pay for their wool by bills due, as a rule, at six months, and thomas betson would be hard put to meet them if the foreign buyers delayed to pay him. moreover, his difficulties were inconceivably complicated by the exchanges. we think we know something about the difficulty of divers and fluctuating exchanges today, but we can hardly imagine the elaborate calculations and the constant disputes which racked the brain of a merchant of the staple in the fifteenth century. not only did the rates between england and the continent constantly vary, but, as the editor of the _cely papers_ points out, 'the number of potentates of all kinds who claimed the privilege of issuing their own coinage and the frequently suspicious character of what they uttered as gold and silver, made the matter of adjustment of values difficult for the celys, who were evidently obliged to take what they could get.'[ ] only imagine the difficulties of poor thomas betson, when into his counting-house there wandered in turn the andrew guilder of scotland, the arnoldus gulden of gueldres (very much debased), the carolus groat of charles of burgundy, new crowns and old crowns of france, the david and the falewe of the bishopric of utrecht, the hettinus groat of the counts of westphalia, the lewe or french louis d'or, the limburg groat, the milan groat, the nimueguen groat, the phelippus or philippe d'or of brabant, the plaques of utrecht, the postlates of various bishops, the english ryall (worth ten shillings), the scots rider or the rider of burgundy (so called because they bore the figure of a man on horseback), the florin rhenau of the bishopric of cologne and the setillers.[ ] he had to know the value in english money of them all, as it was fixed for the time being by the fellowship, and most of them were debased past all reason. indeed, english money enjoyed an enviable good fame in this respect until henry viii began debasing the coinage for his own nefarious ends. the letters of the celys are full of worried references to the exchange, and much we should pity thomas betson. but doubtless he was like chaucer's bearded merchant: 'wel koude he in exchaunge sheeldes [french crowns] selle.' [illustration: vii. calais about the time of thomas betson] to effect their payments between england and the netherlands the staplers used to make use of the excellent banking facilities and instruments of credit (bills of exchange and so forth), which were placed at their disposal by italian and spanish merchants and by the english mercers, all of whom combined trading with financial operations. thus we find william cely writing to his masters: [illustration: viii. thomas paycocke's house at coggeshall] please your masterships to understand that i have received of john delowppys upon payment of the bill, the which is sent me by adlington but £ fleming, whereof i have paid to gynott strabant £ _ s. d_. fleming. item, i have made you over by exchange with benynge decasonn, lombard, nobles sterling, payable at usance. i delivered it at _ s. - / d_. fleming the noble, it amounteth £ _ s. d_. fleming. item, i have made you over by exchange in like wise with jacob van de base nobles and _ s_. sterling, payable at london at usuance in like wise; i delivered it at _ s. d_. fleming for every noble sterling; it amounteth fl.--£ fleming and the rest of your £ remains still by me, for i can make you over no more at this season, for here is no more that will take any money as yet. and money goeth now upon the bourse at _ s. - / d_. the noble and none other money but nimueguen groats, crowns, andrew guilders and rhenish guilders, and the exchange goeth ever the longer worse and worse. item, sir, i send you enclosed in this said letter, the two first letters of the payment of the exchange above written. benynge decasonn's letter is directed to gabriel defuye and peter sanly, genoese, and jacob van de base's is directed to anthony carsy and marcy strossy, spaniards; in lombard street ye shall hear of them.[ ] a week later he writes: i understand your masterships hath taken up by exchange of john raynold, mercer, £ sterling, payable the th day of the month and of deago decastron [diego da castro, a spaniard] other £ sterling, payable the th day of the same month, the which shall be both content at the day; and as for master lewis more, lombard, [he] is paid and i have the bill; his attorney is a wrangling fellow--he would none other money but nimueguen groats.[ ] many a letter such as this must thomas betson have written at his lodgings, sitting so late over his work that he must needs write to his friends when he ought to be sleeping and date his letters: 'at london, on our lady day in the night, when i deem ye were in your bed, for mine eyne smarted, so god help me.'[ ] and when he came to make up his annual accounts he had the hardest work of all to do. here is a portrait of him at his labours: the thridde day this marchant up ariseth, and on his nedes sadly hym avyseth, and up into his countour-hous gooth he, to rekene with hymself, as wel may be, of thilke yeer, how that it with hymn stood, and how that he despended hadde his good, and if that he encressed were or noon. his bookes and his bagges, many oon, he leith biform hymn on his countyng-bord. ful riche was his tresor and his hord, for which ful faste his countour dore he shette; and eek he nolde that no man sholde hymn lette of his accountes, for the meene tyme; and thus he sit til it was passed pry me.[ ] thus was passed the life of a merchant of the staple: in riding to the cotswold farms for wool; in business at the counting-houses in marks lane; in sailing from london to calais and from calais to london again; in dealing with merchant strangers at the mart in calais, or riding to the marts of flanders in fair time. the great company sheltered him, arranged his lodging, kept a sharp eye on the quality of his wool, made rules for his buying and selling, and saw that he had justice in its court. it was in this setting of hard and withal of interesting work that thomas betson's love story flowered into a happy marriage. he was not destined to live long after his recovery from the serious illness of ; perhaps it left him permanently delicate, for he died some six years later, in . during her seven years of married life (beginning, be it remembered, at the age of fifteen), the diligent katherine had borne him five children, two sons, thomas and john, and three daughters, elizabeth, agnes, and alice. fortunately thomas died very comfortably off, as his will (still preserved in somerset house) informs us. he had become a member of the fishmongers' company as well as a merchant of the staple, for by his time the great city companies were no longer confined to persons actually engaged in the trade which each represented. in his will[ ] thomas betson leaves money for the repair of the roof loft in his parish church of all hallows, barking, where he was buried, and 'thirty pounds to the garnishing of the staple chapel in our lady church at calais, to buy some jewel', and twenty pounds to the 'stockfishmongers' to buy plate. he makes the latter company the guardian of his children, leaves his house to his wife, and a legacy of _s_. to thomas henham, his colleague in stonor's service, and characteristically gives directions 'for the costs of my burying to be done not outrageously, but soberly and discreetly and in a mean [moderate, medium] manner, that it may be unto the worship and laud of almighty god.' katherine, a widow with five children at the age of twenty-two, married as her second husband william welbech, haberdasher (the haberdashers were a wealthy company), by whom she had another son. but her heart stayed with the husband who wrote her her first playful love-letter when she was a child, and on her death in she directed that she should be laid by the side of thomas betson at all hallows, barking, where three staplers still lie beneath their brasses, although no trace of him remains.[ ] there let them lie, long forgotten, and yet worthier of memory than many of the armoured knights who sleep under carved sepulchres in our beautiful medieval churches. the garlands wither on your brow; then boast no more your mighty deeds! upon death's purple altar now see where the victor-victim bleeds. your heads must come to the cold tomb: only the actions of the just smell sweet and blossom in their dust. chapter vii _thomas paycocke of coggeshall_ an essex clothier in the days of henry vii this was a gallant cloathier sure whose fame for ever shall endure. --thomas deloney the great and noble trade of cloth-making has left many traces upon the life of england, architectural, literary, and social. it has filled our countryside with magnificent perpendicular churches and gracious oak-beamed houses. it has filled our popular literature with old wives' tales of the worthies of england, in which the clothiers thomas of reading and jack of newbury rub elbows with friar bacon and robin hood. it has filled our shires with gentlemen; for, as defoe observed, in the early eighteenth century 'many of the great families who now pass for gentry in the western counties have been originally raised from and built up by this truly noble manufacture'. it has filled our census lists with surnames--weaver, webber, webb, sherman, fuller, walker, dyer--and given to every unmarried woman the designation of a spinster. and from the time when the cloth trade ousted that of wool as the chief export trade of england down to the time when it was in its turn ousted by iron and cotton, it was the foundation of england's commercial greatness. 'among all crafts,' says old deloney, 'this was the only chief, for that it was the greatest merchandize, by the which our country became famous thorowout all nations.'[ ] already by the end of the fourteenth century the english clothiers were beginning to rival those of the netherlands in the making of fine cloth, as witness chaucer's wife of bath: of clooth-making she hadde swiche an haunt she passed hem of ypres and of gaunt, and by the end of the sixteenth century all real rivalry was at an end, for the english manufacture was so clearly victorious. with the development of the manufacture a change too took place in its organization. it had never been an easy industry to organize on a gild basis, because the making of a piece of cloth entailed so many distinct processes. the preliminary processes of spinning and carding were always by-industries, performed by women and children in their cottages; but the weavers, who bought the spun yarn, had their gild; and so had the fullers, who fulled it; and the shearmen, who finished it; and the dyers who dyed it. all could not sell the finished piece of cloth, and in the group of inter-dependent crafts, each with its gild, we sometimes find the weavers employing the fullers and sometimes the fullers the weavers. moreover, since weaving is a much quicker process than spinning, the weaver often wasted much time and found it hard to collect enough yarn to keep his loom busy; and, as the market for cloth grew wider and was no longer confined to the town of the weaver, the need was felt for some middleman to specialize in the selling of the finished cloth. so by degrees there grew up a class of men who bought wool in large quantities and sold it to the weavers, and then by a natural transition began, not to sell the wool outright, but to deliver it to the weavers to weave, to the fullers to full, and to the shearmen to finish at a wage, receiving it back again when the work was done. these men grew rich; they amassed capital; they could set many folk at work. soon they began to set to work all the different workers who combined to make a piece of cloth; their servants carried wool to the cottages for the women to card and spin; carried the spun yarn in turn to dyers, weavers, fullers, shearers; and carried the finished piece of cloth back to the industrial middleman--the clothier, as he was called--who in his turn disposed of it to the mercantile middleman, who was called a draper. the clothiers grew rapidly in wealth and importance, and in certain parts of the country became the backbone of the middle class. they pursued their activities in country villages, rather than in the old corporate towns, for they wished to avoid the restrictions of the gilds, and gradually the cloth industry migrated almost entirely to the country. in the west of england and in east anglia (though not in yorkshire) it was carried out by clothiers on this 'putting out' system, right up to the moment when the industrial revolution swept it out of the cottages into the factories and out of the south into the north. then the thriving villages emptied themselves, so that today we must needs re-create again from scattered traces and old buildings, and still older names, the once familiar figures of the east anglian clothier and his swarm of busy workmen. such a familiar figure was once old thomas paycocke, clothier, of coggeshall in essex, who died full of years and honour in . his family originally came from clare, in suffolk, but about the middle of the fifteenth century a branch settled at coggeshall, a village not far distant. his grandfather and father would seem to have been grazing butchers, but he and his brother and their descendants after them followed 'the truly noble manufacture' of cloth-making, and set an indelible mark upon the village where they dwelt. coggeshall lies in the great cloth-making district of essex, of which fuller wrote: 'this county is charactered like bethsheba, "she layeth her hand to the spindle and her hands hold the distaffe."... it will not be amiss to pray that the plough may go along and the wheel around, that so (being fed by the one and clothed by the other) there may be, by god's blessing, no danger of starving in our nation[ ] all over essex there lay villages famous for cloth-making, coggeshall and braintree, bocking and halstead, shalford and dedham, and above all colchester, the great centre and mart of the trade. the villages throve on the industry and there was hardly a cottage which did not hum with the spinning wheel, and hardly a street where you might not have counted weavers' workshops, kitchens where the rough loom stood by the wall to occupy the goodman's working hours. hardly a week but the clatter of the pack-horse would be heard in the straggling streets, bringing in new stores of wool to be worked and taking away the pieces of cloth to the clothiers of colchester and the surrounding villages. throughout the fifteenth century coggeshall was an important centre, second only to the great towns of norwich, colchester, and sudbury, and to this day its two inns are called the 'woolpack' and the 'fleece.' we must, as i said, build up the portrait of thomas paycocke and his compeers from scattered traces; but happily such traces are common enough in many and many an english village, and in coggeshall itself they lie ready to our hand. out of three things he can be brought to life again--to wit, his house in the village street, his family brasses in the aisle of the village church, and his will, which is preserved at somerset house. a house, a brass, a will--they seem little enough, but they hold all his history. it is the greatest error to suppose that history must needs be something written down; for it may just as well be something built up, and churches, houses, bridges, or amphitheatres can tell their story as plainly as print for those who have eyes to read. the roman villa, excavated after lying lost for centuries beneath the heel of the unwitting ploughboy--that villa with its spacious ground-plan, its floors rich with mosaic patterns, its elaborate heating apparatus, and its shattered vases--brings home more clearly than any textbook the real meaning of the roman empire, whose citizens lived like this in a foggy island at the uttermost edge of its world. the norman castle, with moat and drawbridge, gatehouse and bailey and keep, arrow slits instead of windows, is more eloquent than a hundred chronicles of the perils of life in the twelfth century; not thus dwelt the private gentleman in the days of rome. the country manor-house of the fourteenth century, with courtyard and chapel and hall and dovecote, speaks of an age of peace once more, when life on a thousand little manors revolved round the lord, and the great mass of englishmen went unscathed by the hundred years' war which seamed the fair face of france. then begin the merchants' elaborate perpendicular houses in the towns and villages of the fifteenth century, standing on the road, with gardens behind them, and carved beams, great fire-places, and a general air of comfort; they mark the advent of a new class in english history--the middle class, thrust between lord and peasant and coming to its own. how the spacious days of great elizabeth are mirrored in the beautiful elizabethan houses, with their wide wings and large rooms, their chimneys, their glass windows, looking outwards on to open parks and spreading trees, instead of inwards on to the closed courtyard. or go into a house built or redecorated in the eighteenth century, where you will see chippendale chairs and lacquer tables and chinese wall-papers covered with pagodas and mandarins; and surely there will come to your mind the age of the nabobs, the age which john company had familiarized with the products of the far east, the age in which tea ousted coffee as the drink for a gentleman of fashion, in which horace walpole collected porcelain, oliver goldsmith idealized china in 'the citizen of the world', and dr johnson was called the great cham of literature. look here upon this picture and on this: look at that row of jerry-built houses, a hundred in a row and all exactly alike, of that new-art villa, all roof and hardly any window, with false bottle glass in its panes; here is the twentieth century for you. indeed all the social and very much of the political history of england may be reconstructed from her architecture alone; and so i make no apology for calling thomas paycocke's house first-rate historical evidence. of much the same type, though less interesting, is the evidence of monumental brasses, which are to be found in most parts of england and which abound in east anglia, the home counties, and the thames valley.[ ] their variety is magnificent; brasses of ecclesiastics in vestments, of doctors of law and divinity and masters of arts in academic dress and of a few abbots and abbesses; brasses of knights in armour; brasses of ladies, with their little dogs at their feet and dresses which show the changes in fashion from century to century and make clear all the mysteries of kirtles and cotte-hardies, wimples and partlets and farthingales and the head-dresses appropriate to each successive mode. the brasses also, like the houses, bear witness to the prosperity of the middle class, for in the fourteenth century when merchants began to build themselves fine houses they began also to bury themselves under splendid brasses. finest of all, perhaps, are the brasses of the wool staplers, with feet resting on woolpack or sheep; but there are many other merchants too. mayors and aldermen abound; they set their merchants' marks upon their tombs as proudly as gentlemen set their coats of arms, and indeed they had as great cause for pride. you may see them at their proudest in the famous brass at lynn, where robert braunch lies between his two wives, and at his feet is incised a scene representing the feast at which he entertained edward iii royally and feasted him on peacocks. there is a tailor with his shears, as glorious as the crusader's sword, at northleach, and a wine merchant with his feet upon a wine cask at cirencester. there are smaller folk, too, less dowered with wealth but proud enough of the implements of their craft; two or three public notaries with penhorn and pencase complete, a huntsman with his horn, and in newland church one of the free miners of the forest of dean, cap and leather breeches tied below the knee, wooden mine-hod over shoulder, a small mattock in his right hand, and a candlestick between his teeth. this kind of historical evidence will help us with thomas paycocke. his family brasses were set in the north aisle of the parish church of st peter ad vincula. several of them have disappeared in the course of the last century and a half, and unluckily no brass of thomas himself survives; but in the aisle there still lie two--the brass of his brother john, who died in , and john's wife, and that of his nephew, another thomas, who died in ; the merchant's mark may still be seen thereon. lastly, there is the evidence of the paycocke wills, of which three are preserved at somerset house--the will of john paycocke _(d._ ), thomas's father and the builder of the house; the will of thomas paycocke himself _(d._ ); and the will of his nephew thomas, the same whose brass lies in the aisle and who left a long and splendidly detailed testament, full of information upon local history and the organization of the cloth industry. for social historians have as yet hardly, perhaps, made as much use as they might of the evidence of wills. the enormous amount of miscellaneous information to be derived therefrom about the life of our forefathers can hardly be believed, save by those who have turned the pages of such a collection as the great _testamenta eboracensia_.[ ] in wills you may see how many daughters a man could dower and how many he put into a nunnery, and what education he provided for his sons. you may note which were the most popular religious houses, and which men had books and what the books were, how much of their money they thought fit to leave for charitable purposes, and what they thought of the business capacity of their wives. you may read long and dazzling lists of family plate, all the favourite cups and dishes having pet names of their own, and of rings and brooches and belts and rosaries. there are detailed descriptions of dresses and furs, sometimes splendid, sometimes ordinary, for people handed on their rich clothes as carefully as their jewels. there are even more wonderful descriptions of beds, with all their bedclothes and hangings, for a bed was a very valuable article of furniture and must often, judging from the wills, have been a brilliant and beautiful object indeed; shakespeare has earned a great deal of unmerited obloquy for leaving ann hathaway his second-best bed, though it is not to be denied that he might have left her his first-best. even more beautiful than dressings and bed or chamber hangings are the brocaded and embroidered vestments mentioned in wills, and the elaborate arrangements for funeral ceremonies are extremely interesting. the wills are of all kinds; there are even villeins' wills, though in theory the villein's possessions were his lord's, and there are wills of kings and queens, lords and ladies, bishops and parsons and lawyers and shopkeepers. here also is more evidence for the social prosperity of the middle class, details of their trade, the contents of their shops, the inventories of their houses, their estates (sometimes) in the country, their house rents (almost always) in the town, their dressers garnished with plate and their wives' ornaments, their apprentices and their gilds, their philanthropy, their intermarriage with the gentry, their religious opinions. such a living picture do men's wills give us of their daily lives. these, then, are the three sources from which the life and times of thomas paycocke may be drawn. all three--houses, brasses, and wills--contain much evidence for the increasingly rapid growth during the last two centuries of the middle ages of a large and prosperous middle class, whose wealth was based not upon landed property but upon industry and trade. it is a class of whom we have already met typical examples in thomas betson and the anonymous ménagier de paris, and we must now see what his house, his will, and his family brasses tell us about the clothier thomas paycocke. first and foremost, they tell us a great deal about the noble industry which supported him. paycocke's house is full of relics of the cloth industry. the merchant mark of the paycockes, an ermine tail, looking like a two-stemmed clover leaf, is to be found on the carved beams of the chimney, on the breastsummers of the fire-places, and set in the midst of the strip of carving along the front of the house. thomas marked his bales of cloth thus, and what other armorial bearings did he need? the whole house is essentially middle class-the house of a man who was _nouveau riche_ in an age when to be _nouveau riche_ was not yet to be vulgar. his prosperity has blossomed out into exquisitely ornate decoration. a band of carving runs along the front of the house, and from the curved stem of it branch out a hundred charming devices--leaves, tendrils, strange flowers, human heads, tudor roses, a crowned king and queen lying hand in hand, a baby diving with a kick of fat legs into the bowl of an arum lily, and in the midst the merchant's mark upon a shield and the initials of the master of the house. in the hall is a beautiful ceiling of carved oakwork, exceedingly elaborate and bearing at intervals the merchant's mark again. upstairs in the big bedchamber is a ceiling of beams worked in bold roll mouldings; and there is an exquisite little parlour, lined with linen fold panels, with a breastsummer carved with strange animals. this elaboration is characteristic. it is all of a piece with coggeshall church, and with all those other spacious east anglian churches, lavenham, long melford, thaxted, saffron walden, lynn, snettisham, lofty and spacious, which the clothiers built out of their newly won wealth. the very architecture is characteristic, _nouveau riche_ again, like those who paid for it, the elaborate ornament and sumptuous detail of the perpendicular taking the place of the simple majesty of the early english style. it is just the sort of architecture that a merchant with a fortune would pay for. the middle class liked some show for its money; but again it was the ostentation without the vulgarity of wealth. looking upon his beautiful house, or worshipping beside his family tombs, with the merchant's mark on the brasses, in st katherine's aisle, thomas paycocke must often have blessed the noble industry which supported him. the wills of the paycockes tell the same story. to whom beside his family does thomas leave legacies but the good folk of the neighbourhood, who worked for him. there is the goodday family of cheerful name, two of whom were shearmen, or cloth finishers, and had substantial gifts. 'i bequeth to thomas goodday sherman xx s. and ych of his childryn iij s. iiij d. apece. item, i bequeth to edward goodday sherman xvj s. viij d., and to his child iij s. iiij d. he also left money to robert goodday of sampford and to robert's brother john and to each of robert's sisters, with something extra for grace, who was his goddaughter; and he did not forget nicholas goodday of stisted and robert goodday of coggeshall and their families, nor their relative john, who was a priest and had ten shillings for a trental. all these gooddays were doubtless bound to thomas paycocke by ties of work as well as of friendship. they belonged to a well-known coggeshall family, for generations connected with the cloth industry. thomas paycocke's namesake and grand-nephew, whose will is dated , was still in close relations with them, and left 'to edwarde goodaye my godson fourtie shillinges and to every brother and sister the saide edwarde hath livinge at the tyme of my decease tenne shillinges a pece,' and 'unto william gooday thelder tenne shillinges.' the hurrying, scattering generation of today can hardly imagine the immovable stability of the village of past centuries, when generation after generation grew from cradle to grave in the same houses, on the same cobbled streets, and folk of the same name were still friends, as their fathers and grandfathers had been before them. other friends and employees of thomas paycocke also had their legacies. he leaves _ s. d_. to humphrey stonor, 'somtyme my prentis'. we may see humphrey stonor, with sleepy eyes, making his way downstairs on a frosty morning, from those huge raftered attics, where perhaps the 'prentices used to sleep. he was on terms of impudent friendship, no doubt, with the weavers and fullers whom his master set to work; withal a young man of good family, a relative perchance of those stonors for whom thomas betson worked, for, as deloney wrote, 'the yonger sons of knights and gentlemen, to whom their fathers would leave no lands, were most commonly preferred to learn this trade, to the end that thereby they might live in good estate and drive forth their days in prosperity.' two of his friends got substantial legacies; apparently thomas paycocke had lent them money and wished to wipe out the debt upon his death-bed, for, says the will, 'i bequethe to john beycham, my weyver, v li and [i.e. if] there be so moch bitwene vs and ells to make it vp v li, and a gowne and a doublett.... i bequeth and forgive robert taylor, fuller, all that is betwixt vs, and more i give him iij s. iiij d.' other legacies show even more clearly that his operations were on a larger scale. 'i bequeth to all my wevers, ffullers and shermen that be not afore rehersed by name xij d. apece, and will they that have wrought me verey moch wark have iij s. iiij d. apece. item, i bequethe to be distributed amonge my kembers, carders and spynners summa iiij li.'[ ] here are all the branches of the cloth industry at a glance. it is thomas paycocke, clothier, round whom the whole manufacture revolves. he gives the wool to the women to comb it and card it and spin it; he receives it from them again and gives it to the weaver to be woven into cloth; he gives the cloth to the fuller to be fulled and the dyer to be dyed; and having received it when finished, he has it made up into dozens and sends it off to the wholesale dealer, the draper, who sells it; perhaps he has been wont to send it to that very 'thomas perpoint, draper' whom he calls 'my cosyn' and makes his executor. the whole of thomas paycocke's daily business is implicit in his will. in the year of his death he was still employing a large number of workers and was on friendly and benevolent terms with them. the building of his house had not signalized his retirement from business, as happened when another great clothier, thomas dolman, gave up cloth-making and the weavers of newbury went about lamenting: lord have mercy upon us, miserable sinners. thomas dolman has built a new house and turned away all his spinners.[ ] the relations between paycocke and his employees evinced in his will are happy ones. such was not always the case, for if the clothiers of this age had some of the virtues of capitalists, they also had many of their vices, and the age-old strife of capital and labour was already well advanced in the fifteenth century. one detail paycocke's will does not give us, which we should be glad to know: did he employ only domestic weavers, working in their own houses, or did he also keep a certain number of looms working in his house? it was characteristic of the period in which he lived that something like a miniature factory system was establishing itself in the midst of the new outwork system. the clothiers were beginning to set up looms in their own houses and to work them by journeymen weavers; as a rule the independent weavers greatly disliked the practice, for either they were forced from the position of free masters into that of hired servants, obliged to go and work in the clothier's loom shop, or else they found their payment forced down by the competition of the journeymen. moreover, the clothiers sometimes owned and let out looms to their work-people, and then also part of the industrial independence of the weaver was lost. all through the first half of the sixteenth century the weavers in the cloth districts kept on petitioning parliament against this new evil of capitalism. it was as though, long before it established itself in england they had a prevision of the factory system and of the worker no longer owning either his raw material, his tool, his workshop, or the produce of his industry, but only his labour; the master-weaver dwindled to a hired hand. certainly the practice was growing in essex, where, some twenty years after thomas paycocke's death, the weavers petitioned against the clothiers, who had their own looms and weavers and fullers in their own houses, so that the petitioners were rendered destitute; 'for the rich men, the clothiers, be concluded and agreed among themselves to hold and pay one price for weaving the said cloths,' a price too small to support their households, even if they worked day and night, holiday and work-day, so that many of them lost their independence and were reduced to become other men's servants.[ ] nevertheless, the outwork system remained the more common, and without doubt the majority of paycocke's workers lived in their own cottages, though it is probable also that he had some looms in his house, perhaps in the long, low room at the back, which is traditionally supposed to have been used for weaving, perhaps in a shed or 'spinning house'. a highly idyllic picture of work in one of these miniature factories, which we may amuse ourselves by applying to thomas paycocke's, is contained in deloney's _pleasant history of jack of newbery._ jack of newbury was an historical character, a very famous clothier named john winchcomb who died at newbury only a year later than paycocke himself, and of whom paycocke must certainly have heard, for his kersies were famous on the continent, and old fuller, who celebrates him among his _worthies of england_ calls him 'the most considerable clothier (without fancy or fiction) england ever beheld'.[ ] the tales of how he had led a hundred of his own 'prentices to flodden field, how he had feasted the king and queen in his house at newbury, how he had built part of newbury church, and how he had refused a knighthood, preferring 'to rest in his russet coat a poor clothier to his dying day,' spread about england, growing as they spread. in thomas deloney, the forefather of the novel, enshrined them in a rambling tale, half prose and half verse, which soon became extremely popular. it is from this tale that we may take an imaginary picture of work in a clothier's house, being wary to remember, however, that it is an exaggeration, a legend, and that the great john winchcomb certainly never had as many as two hundred looms in his own house, while our thomas paycocke probably had not more than a dozen. but the poet must have his licence, for, after all, the spirit of the ballad is the thing, and it is always a pleasant diversion to drop into rhyme: within one roome, being large and long there stood two hundred loomes full strong. two hundred men, the truth is so, wrought in these loomes all in a row. by every one a pretty boy sate making quilts with mickle joy, and in another place hard by a hundred women merily were carding hard with joy full cheere who singing sate with voyces cleere, and in a chamber close beside two hundred maidens did abide, in petticoats of stammell red, and milk white kerchers on their head. their smocke-sleeves like to winter snow that on the westerne mountaines flow, and each sleeve with a silken band was featly tied at the hand. these pretty maids did never lin but in that place all day did spin, and spinning so with voyces meet like nightingales they sang full sweet. then to another roome came they where children were in poore aray; and every one sate picking wool the finest from the course to cull: the number was sevenscore and ten the children of poore silly men: and these their labours to requite had every one a penny at night, beside their meat and drinke all day, which was to them a wondrous stay. within another place likewise full fifty proper men he spies and these were sheremen everyone, whose skill and cunning there was showne: and hard by them there did remaine full four-score rowers taking paine. a dye-house likewise had he then, wherein he kept full forty men: and likewise in his fulling mill full twenty persons kept he still. each weeke ten good fat oxen he spent in his house for certaintie, beside good butter, cheese and fish and many another wholesome dish. he kept a butcher all the yeere, a brewer eke for ale and beere; a baker for to bake his bread, which stood his hushold in good stead. five cookes within his kitchin great were all the yeare to dress his meat. six scullion boyes vnto their hands, to make clean dishes, pots and pans, beside poore children that did stay to turne the broaches every day. the old man that did see this sight was much amaz'd, as well he might: this was a gallant cloathier sure, whose fame forever shall endure.[ ] the private life of thomas paycocke, no less than his business, can be made to live again. of his family the invaluable will tells us a little. his first wife was that margaret whose initials, together with his own, decorate the woodwork of the house, and indeed it is probable that old john paycocke built the house for the young couple on their wedding. gay, indeed, must have been the sights which it witnessed on that happy day, for our ancestors knew how to put their hearts into a wedding, and merry england was never merrier then when the bridegroom led home the bride. we may borrow once again from deloney's idyll, to recreate the scene: the bride being attyred in a gowne of sheepes russet and a kertle of fine woosted, her head attyred with a billiment of gold and her haire as yeallow as gold hanging downe behinde her, which was curiously combed and pleated, according to the manner in those dayes; shee was led to church betweene two sweete boyes, with bridelaces and rosemary tied about their silken sleeves. then was there a fair bride-cup of silver and gilt carried before her, wherein was a goodly branch of rosemary gilded very faire, hung about with silken ribands of all colours; next was there a noyse of musicians that played all the way before her; after her came all the chiefest maydens of the country, some bearing great bride cakes and some garlands of wheate finely gilded and so she past unto the church. it is needlesse for mee to make any mention here of the bridegroome, who being a man so well beloued, wanted no company and those of the best sort, beside diuers marchant strangers of the stillyard that came from london to the wedding. the marriage being solemnized, home they came in order as before and to dinner they went where was no want of good cheare, no lack of melody.... the wedding endured ten dayes, to the great reliefe of the poore that dwelt all about.[ ] much dancing the house doubtless saw under the beautiful carved roof of the hall, with much song, games, kissing, and general abandon. even when the bride and groom retired to the bridal chamber with its roll-moulded beams the merry-making was not done; they must hold a levee to their nearest friends in the bedchamber itself, enthroned in the great four-poster bed. there was no false delicacy about our ancestors. indeed, as henry bullinger says (he was a very different person from jovial deloney, but he was a contemporary of paycocke's, and coverdale translated him, so let him speak): 'after supper must they begynne to pype and daunce agayne of the new. and though the yonge parsones, beynge weery of the bablyng noyse and inconuenience, come ones towarde theyer rest, yet can they haue no quietnesse. for a man shall fynd unmanerly and restlesse people, that will first go to theyr chambre dore, and there syng vycious and naughtie balates that the deuell maye haue his triumphe now to the vttermost.'[ ] what would we not give for one of those 'naughty ballads' today? the bride margaret, who was somewhat after this merry fashion brought home to coggeshall, came from clare, the ancient home of the coggeshall paycockes. she was the daughter of one thomas horrold, for whose memory paycocke retained a lively affection and respect, for in founding a chantry in coggeshall church he desired specially that it should be for the souls of himself and his wife, his mother and father, and his father-in-law, thomas horrold of clare. he also left five pounds, with which his executors were 'to purvey an oder stone to be hade to clare chirch and layd on my ffader in lawe thomas horrold w't his pycture and his wife and childryn thereon' (i.e. a memorial brass), and also five cows or else three pounds in money to clare church 'to kepe and mayntene my ffader in lawe thomas horrold his obitt'. he also left money to his wife's brother and sisters. margaret paycocke died before her husband and without children; and the only young folk of his name whom thomas ever saw at play in his lofty hall, or climbing upon his dresser to find the head, as small as a walnut, hidden in the carving of the ceiling, were his nephews and nieces, robert and margaret uppcher, his sister's children; john, the son of his brother john; and thomas, robert, and emma, the children of his brother robert; perhaps also his little godchild grace goodday. it was perhaps in the hope of a son to whom he might leave his house and name that thomas paycocke married again a girl called ann cotton. she was the wife of his old age, 'anne my good wif', and her presence must have made bright the beautiful house, silent and lonely since margaret died. her father, george cotton, is mentioned in the will, and her brothers and sister, richard, william, and eleanor, have substantial legacies. but thomas and ann enjoyed only a short term of married life; she brought him his only child, but death overtook him before it was born. in his will he provides carefully for ann; she is to have five hundred marks sterling, and as long as she lives the beautiful house is to be hers; for to his elaborate arrangements for its inheritance he adds, 'provided alwey that my wif ann haue my house that i dwell in while she lyvyth at hir pleyser and my dof house [dove-house] with the garden y't stoundeth in.' a gap in the paycocke records makes it difficult to say whether thomas paycocke's child lived or died; but it seems probable that it either died or was a girl, for paycocke had bequeathed the house, provided that he had no male heirs, to his nephew john (son of his eldest brother john), and in we find it in the hands of this john paycocke, while the house next door was in the hands of another thomas paycocke, his brother robert's son. this thomas died about , leaving only daughters, and after him, in , died john paycocke, sadly commemorated in the parish register as 'the last of his name in coxall'. so the beautiful house passed out of the hands of the great family of clothiers who had held it for nearly a hundred years.[ ] of thomas paycocke's personal character it is also possible to divine something from his will. he was obviously a kind and benevolent employer, as his thought for his work-people and their children shows. he was often asked to stand godfather to the babies of coggeshall, for in his will he directs that at his burial and the ceremonies which were repeated on the seventh day and 'month mind' after it there were to be 'xxiiij or xij smale childryn in rochettes with tapers in theire hands and as many as may be of them lett them be my god childryn and they to have vj s. viij d. apece and euery oder child iiij d. apece ... and also euery god chyld besyde vj s. viij d. apece.' all these children were probably little bread-winners, employed at a very early age in sorting thomas paycocke's wool. 'poore people,' says thomas deloney, 'whom god lightly blessed with most children, did by meanes of this occupation so order them, that by the time they were come to be sixe or seven yeeres of age, they were able to get their owne bread';[ ] and when defoe rode from blackstone edge to halifax, observing the cloth manufacture, which occupied all the villages of the west riding, it was one of his chief grounds for admiration that 'all [were] employed from the youngest to the oldest; scarce any thing above four years old, but its hands were sufficient for its own support.'[ ] the employment of children at what we should regard as an excessively early age was by no means a new phenomenon introduced with the industrial revolution. that thomas paycocke had many friends, not only in coggeshall but in the villages round, the number of his legacies bears witness. his will also shows that he was a man of deep religious feeling. he was a brother of the crutched friars of colchester and left them on his death five pounds to pray 'for me and for them that i am bound to pray fore'. it was customary in the middle ages for monastic houses to give the privilege of the fraternity of the house to benefactors and persons of distinction; the reception took place at a long and elaborate ceremony, during which the _consrater_ received the kiss of peace from all the brethren. it is a mark of the respect in which thomas paycocke was held in the countryside that he should have been made a brother by the crutched friars. he seems to have had a special kindness for the order of friars; he left the grey friars of colchester and the friars of maldon, chelmsford, and sudbury each ten shillings for a trental and s. d. to repair their houses; and to the friars of clare he left twenty shillings for two trentals, 'and at lent after my deceste a kade of red heryng'. he had great interest in coggeshall abbey; it lay less than a mile from his house, and he must often have dined in state with the abbot at his guest table on feast days and attended mass in the abbey church. he remembered the abbey as he lay dying, and the sound of its bells ringing for vespers came softly in at his window on the mellow september air; and he left 'my lord abbot and convent' one of his famous broadcloths and four pounds in money 'for to have a dirige and masse and their belles ryngyng at my buriall when it is doon at chirche, lykewyse the vijth day and mounth day, with iij tryntalls upon the same day yf they can serve them, orells when they can at more leasur, summa x li.' his piety is shown also in his bequests to the churches of bradwell, pattiswick, and markshall, parishes adjacent to coggeshall, and to stoke nayland, clare, poslingford, ovington, and beauchamp st pauls, over the essex order, in the district from which the paycockes originally came. but his greatest care was naturally for coggeshall church. one of the paycockes had probably built the north aisle, where the altar was dedicated to st katherine, and all the paycocke tombs lay there. thomas paycocke left instructions in his will that he should be buried before st katherine's altar, and made the following gifts to the church: 'item, i bequeth to the high aulter of coxhall chirche in recompence of tithes and all oder thyngs forgoten, summa iiij li. item, i bequethe to the tabernacle of the trenyte at the high awlter and an other of seint margarete in seint katryne ile, there as the great lady stands, for carvyng and gildyng of them summa c. marcs sterlinge. item, to the reparacons of the chirch and bells and for my lying in the chirche summa c. nobles.' he founded a chantry there also and left money to be given weekly to six poor men to attend mass in his chantry thrice a week. of piety and of family pride these legacies to religious houses and to churches speak clearly. another series of legacies, which takes a form characteristic of medieval charity, bears witness perhaps to thomas paycocke's habits. he must often have ridden abroad, to see the folk who worked for him or to visit his friends in the villages round coggeshall; or farther afield to clare, first to see the home of his ancestors, then to court margaret horrold, his bride, and then, with margaret beside him, to visit his well-loved father-in-law. certainly, whether he walked to church in coggeshall, or whether he rode along the country lanes, he often sighed over the state of the road as he went; often he must have struggled through torrents of mud in winter or stumbled among holes in summer; for in the middle ages the care of the roads was a matter for private or ecclesiastical charity, and all except the great highways were likely to be but indifferently kept. langland, in his _piers plowman_, mentions the amending of 'wikked wayes' (by which he means not bad habits but bad roads) as one of those works of charity which rich merchants must do for the salvation of their souls. thomas paycocke's choice of roads no doubt reflects many a wearisome journey, from which he returned home splashed and testy, to the ministrations of 'john reyner my man' or 'henry briggs my servant', and of margaret, looking anxiously from her oriel window for his return. in his own town he leaves no less than forty pounds, of which twenty pounds was to go to amend a section of west street (where his house stood), and the other twenty was 'to be layde on the fowle wayes bitwene coxhall and blackwater where as moost nede ys'; he had doubtless experienced the evils of this road on his way to the abbey. farther afield, he leaves twenty pounds for the 'fowle way' between clare and ovington, and another twenty for the road between ovington and beauchamp st pauls. as his life drew to its close he doubtless rode less often afield. the days would pass peacefully for him; his business flourished and he was everywhere loved and respected. he took pride in his lovely house, adding bit by bit to its beauties. in the cool of the evening he must often have stood outside the garden room and seen the monks from the big abbey fishing in their stewpond across the field, or lifted his eyes to where the last rays of sun slanted on to the lichened roof of the great tithebarn, and on to the rows of tenants, carrying their sheaves of corn along the road; and he reflected, perhaps, that john mann and thomas spooner, his own tenants, were good, steady friends, and that it was well to leave them a gown or a pound when he died. often also, in his last year or two, he must have sat with his wife in his garden with the dove-house and watched the white pigeons circling round the apple-trees, and smiled upon her bed of flowers. and in winter evenings sometimes he would take his furred cloak and stroll to the dragon inn, and edward aylward, mine host, would welcome him with bows; and so he would sit and drink a tankard of sack with his neighbours, very slow and dignified, as befitted the greatest clothier of the town, and looking benevolently upon the company. but at times he would frown, if he saw a truant monk from the abbey stolen out for a drink in spite of all the prohibitions of bishop and abbot, shaking his head, perhaps, and complaining that religion was not what it had been in the good old days; but not meaning much of it, as his will shows, and never dreaming that twenty years after his death abbot and monks would be scattered and the king's servants would be selling at auction the lead from off the roof of coggeshall abbey; never dreaming that after four hundred years his house would still stand, mellow and lovely, with its carved ceiling and its proud merchant's mark, when the abbey church was only a shadow on the surface of a field in hot weather and all the abbey buildings were shrunk to one ruined ambulatory, ignobly sheltering blue essex hay wagons from the rain. so thomas paycocke's days drew to a close amid the peace and beauty of the most english of counties, 'fatt, frutefull and full of profitable thinges,'[ ] whose little rolling hills, wych elms, and huge clouded skies constable loved to paint. there came a day in september when gloom hung over the streets of coggeshall, when the spinning-wheels were silent in the cottages, and spinners and weavers stood in anxious groups outside the beautiful house in west street; for upstairs in his bridal chamber, under its noble ceiling, the great clothier lay dying, and his wife wept by his bedside, knowing that he would never see his child. a few days later the cottages were deserted again, and a concourse of weeping people followed thomas paycocke to his last rest. the ceremony of his burial befitted his dignity: it comprised services, not only on burial day itself, but on the seventh day after it, and then again after a month had passed. it is given best in the words of his will, for thomas paycocke followed the custom of his time, in giving his executors elaborate injunctions for his funeral rites: 'i will myne executors bestowe vpon my buryng daye, vij day and mounthe daye after this manner: at my buriall to have a tryntall of prests and to be at dirige, lawdis, and comendacons as many of them as may be purveyed that day to serve the tryntall, and yf eny lack to make it vpp the vij'th daye. and at the mounthe daye an oder tryntall to be purveyed hoole of myne executors and to kepe dirige, lawdis and commendacons as is afore reherssed, with iij high massis be note [by note, i.e. with music], oon of the holy gost, an other of owre lady, and an other of requiem, both buriall, seuenth day and mounthe daye. and prests beyng at this obseruance iiij d. at euery tyme and childryn at euery tyme ij d., w't torches at the buriall xij, and vj at the vij'th day and xij at the mounthe daye, with xxiij'th or xij smale childryn in rochettes with tapers in theire honds, and as many as may be of them lett them be my god childryn, and they to haue vj s. viij d. apece; and euery oder child iiij d. apece; and euery man that holdith torches at euery day he to have ij apece; and euery man, woman and child that holdeth upp hound [hand] at eny of thes iij days to haue j d. apece; and also euery god chyld besyde vj s. viij d. apece; and to the ryngars for all iij dayes x s.; and for mete, drynke, and for twoo semones of a doctor, and also to haue a dirige at home, or i be borne to the chirche summa j li.' here is something very different from the modest thomas betson's injunction: 'the costes of my burying to be don not outrageously, but sobrely and discretly and in a meane maner, that it may be unto the worship and laude of almyghty god.' the worthy old clothier was not unmindful of the worship and laud of thomas paycocke also, and over £ in modern money was expended upon his burial ceremonies, over and above the cost of founding his new chantry. well indeed it was that his eyes were closed in death, ere the coming of the reformation abolished all the chantries of england, and with them the paycocke chantry in st katherine's aisle, which had provided alms for six poor men weekly. thomas paycocke belonged to the good old days; in a quarter of a century after his death essex was already changing. the monks were scattered from the abbey, which stood roofless; the sonorous latin tongue no longer echoed in the church, nor priests prayed there for the souls of thomas and his wife and his parents and his father-in-law. even the cloth industry was changing, and the county was growing more prosperous still with the advent of finer kinds of cloth, brought over there by feat-fingered aliens, the 'new drapery', known as 'bays and says'. for as the adage says: hops, reformation, bays and beer came into england all in a year, and coggeshall was destined to become more famous still for a new sort of cloth called 'coxall's whites', which thomas paycocke's nephews made when he was in his grave.[ ] one thing, however, did not change; for his beautiful house still stood in west street, opposite the vicarage, and was the delight of all who saw it. it stands there still, and looking upon it today, and thinking of thomas paycocke who once dwelt in it, do there not come to mind the famous words of ecclesiasticus? let us now praise famous men and our fathers that begat us. the lord hath wrought great glory by them through his great power from the beginning... rich men furnished with ability, living peaceably in their habitations: all these were honoured in their generations and were the glory of their times. _notes and sources_ * * * * * chapter ii the peasant bodo _a. raw material_ . the roll of the abbot irminon, an estate book of the abbey of st germain des prés, near paris, written between and . see _polyptyque de l'abbaye de saint-germain des prés_, pub. auguste longnon, t. i, _introduction_; t. ii, _texte_ (soc. de l'hist. de paris, - ). . charlemagne's capitulary, _de villis_, instructions to his stewards on the management of his estates. see guerard, _explication du capitulaire 'de villis'_ (acad. des inscriptions et belles-lettres, _mémoires_, t. xxi, ), pp. - , containing the text, with a detailed commentary and a translation into french. . _early lives of charlemagne_, ed. a.j. grant (king's classics, ). contains the lives by einhard and the monk of st gall, on which see halphen, cited below. . various pieces of information about social life may be gleaned from the decrees of church councils, old high german and anglo-saxon charms and poems, and aelfric's _colloquium_, extracts from which are translated in bell's eng. hist. source books, _the welding of the race_, - , ed. j.e.w. wallis ( ). for a general sketch of the period see lavisse _hist. de france_, t. ii, and for an elaborate critical study of certain aspects of charlemagne's reign (including the _polyptychum_) see halphen, _Études critiques sur l'histoire de charlemagne_ ( ); also a. dopsch, _wirtschaftsentwicklung der karolingerzeit, vornehmlich in deutschland_, vols. (weimar, - ), which halphen criticizes. _b. notes to the text_ . 'habet bodo colonus et uxor ejus colona, nomine ermentrudis, homines sancti germani, habent secum infantes iii. tenet mansum ingenuilem i, habentem de terre arabili bunuaria viii et antsingas ii, de vinea aripennos ii, de prato aripennos vii. solvit ad hostem de argento solidos ii, de vino in pascione modios ii; ad tertium annum sundolas c; de sepe perticas iii. arat ad hibernaticum perticas iii, ad tramisem perticas ii. in unaquaque ebdomada corvadas ii, manuoperam i. pullos iii, ova xv; et caropera ibi injungitur. et habet medietatem de farinarium, inde solvit de argento solidos ii.' op. cit., ii, p. . 'bodo a _colonus_ and his wife ermentrude a _colona_, tenants of saint-germain, have with them three children. he holds one free manse, containing eight _bunuaria_ and two _antsinga_ of arable land, two _aripenni_ of vines and seven _aripenni_ of meadow. he pays two silver shillings to the army and two hogsheads of wine for the right to pasture his pigs in the woods. every third year he pays a hundred planks and three poles for fences. he ploughs at the winter sowing four perches and at the spring sowing two perches. every week he owes two labour services _(corvées)_ and one handwork. he pays three fowls and fifteen eggs, and carrying service when it is enjoined upon him. and he owns the half of a windmill, for which he pays two silver shillings.' . _de villis_, c. . . ibid. cc. , . . from 'the casuistry of roman meals,' in _the collected writings of thomas de quincey_, ed. d. masson ( ), vii, p. . . aelfric's _colloquium_ in op. cit. p. . . the monk of st gall's _life_ in _early lives of charlemagne_, pp. - . . einhard's _life_ in op. cit., p. . . anglo-saxon charms translated in stopford brook, _english literature from the beginning to the norman conquest_ ( ), p. . . old high german charm written in a tenth-century hand in a ninth-century codex containing sermons of st augustine, now in the vatican library. brawne, _althochdeutsches lesebuch_ (fifth edition, halle, ), p. . . another old high german charm preserved in a tenth-century codex now at vienna. brawne, op. cit., p. . . from the ninth-century _libellus de ecclesiasticis disciplinis_, art. , quoted in ozanam, _la civilisation chrétienne chez les francs_ ( ), p. . the injunction however, really refers to the recently conquered and still half-pagan saxons. . _penitential_ of haligart, bishop of cambrai, quoted ibid. p. . . _documents relatifs à l'histoire de l'industrie et du commerce en france_, ed. g. faigniez, t. i, pp. - . . see references in chambers, _the medieval stage_ ( ), i, pp. - . . for the famous legend of the dancers of kölbigk, see gaston paris, _les danseurs maudits, légende allemande du xie siècle_ (paris , reprinted from the _journal des savants_, dec., ), which is a _conte rendu_ of schröder's study in _zeitschrift für kirchengeschichte_ ( ). the poem occurs in a version of english origin, in which one of the dancers, thierry, is cured of a perpetual trembling in all his limbs by a miracle of st edith at the nunnery of wilton in . see loc. cit., pp. , . . 'swete lamman dhin are,' in the original. the story is told by giraldus cambrensis in _gemma ecclesiastica_, pt. i, c. xlii. see _selections from giraldus cambrensis_, ed. c.a.j. skeel (s.p.c.k. _texts for students_, no. xi), p. . . einhard's _life_ in op. cit. p. . see also ibid., p. (note). . the monk of st gall's _life_ in op. cit., pp. - . . einhard's _life_ in op. cit., p. . . ibid., p. . . beazley, _dawn of modern geography_ ( ), i, p. . . the monk of st gall's _life_ in op. cit., pp. - . . see the description in lavisse, _hist. de france ii_, pt. i, p. ; also g. monod, _les moeurs judiciaires au viiie siècle_, revue historique, t. xxxv ( ). . see faigniez, op. cit., pp. - . . see the monk of st gall's account of the finery of the frankish nobles: 'it was a holiday and they had just come from pavia, whither the venetians had carried all the wealth of the east from their territories beyond the sea,--others, i say, strutted in robes made of pheasant-skins and silk; or of the necks, backs and tails of peacocks in their first plumage. some were decorated with purple and lemon-coloured ribbons; some were wrapped round with blankets and some in ermine robes.' op. cit., p. . the translation is a little loose: the 'phoenix robes' of the original were more probably made out of the plumage, not of the pheasant but of the scarlet flamingo, as hodgson thinks _(early hist. of venice_, p. ), or possibly silks woven or embroidered with figures of birds, as heyd thinks _(hist. du commerce du levant_, i, p. ). . the monk of st. gall's _life_ in op. cit., pp. - . . this little poem was scribbled by an irish scribe in the margin of a copy of priscian in the monastery of st gall, in switzerland, the same from which charlemagne's highly imaginative biographer came. the original will be found in stokes and strachan, _thesaurus palæohibernicus_ ( ) ii, p. . it has often been translated and i quote the translation by kuno meyer, _ancient irish poetry_ ( nd ed., ), p. . the quotation from the _triads of ireland_ at the head of this chapter is taken from kuno meyer also, ibid. pp. - . chapter iii marco polo _a. raw material_ . _the book of ser marco polo the venetian concerning the kingdoms and marvels of the east_, trans. and ed. with notes by sir henry yule ( rd edit., revised by henri cordier, vols., hakluyt soc., ). see also h. cordier, _ser marco polo: notes and addenda_ ( ). the best edition of the original french text is _le livre de marco polo_, ed. g. pauthier (paris, ), the most convenient and cheap edition of the book for english readers is a reprint of marsden's translation (of the latin text) and notes (first published, ), with an introduction by john masefield, _the travels of marco polo the venetian_ (everyman's library, ; reprinted, ); but some of the notes (identifying places, etc.) are now out of date, and the great edition by yule and cordier should be consulted where exact and detailed information is required. it is a mine of information, geographical and historical, about the east. i quote from the everyman edition as marco polo, op. cit., and from the yule edition as yule, op. cit. . _la cronique des veneciens de maistre martin da canal_. in _archivo storico italiano_, st ser., vol. viii (florence, ). written in french and accompanied by a translation into modern italian. one of the most charming of medieval chronicles. _b. modern works_ . for medieval venice see-- f.c. hodgson: _the early history of venice from the foundation to the conquest of constantinople_ ( ); and _venice in the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries, a sketch of venetian history, - _ ( ). p.g. molmenti: _venice, its growth to the fall of the republic_, vols. i and ii (_the middle ages_), trans. h.f. brown ( ); and _la vie privée à venise_, vol. i ( ). h.f. brown: _studies in the history of venice_, vol. i ( ). mrs oliphant: _the makers of venice_ ( ) is pleasant reading and contains a chapter on marco polo. . for medieval china, the tartars, and european intercourse with the far east see-- sir henry yule's introduction to his great edition of marco polo (above). _cathay and the way thither: medieval notices of china_, trans. and ed. by sir henry yule, vols. (hakluyt soc., - ). contains an invaluable introduction and all the best accounts of china left by medieval european travellers. above all, oderic of pordenone (d. ) should be read as a pendant to marco polo. r. beazley: _the dawn of modern geography_, vols. ii and iii ( - ). r. grousset: _histoire de l'asie_, t. iii ( rd edit., ), chap. i. a short and charmingly written account of the mongol empires from genghis khan to timour. h. howarth: _history of the mongols_ ( ). . for medieval trade with the east the best book is-- w. heyd: _histoire du commerce du levant au moyen-Âge_, trans., f. raynaud; vols. (leipzig and paris, - , reprinted ). _c. notes to the text_ . to be exact, the flanders galleys which sailed via gibraltar to southampton and bruges were first sent out forty years after --in . throughout the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries they sailed every year, and southampton owes its rise to prosperity to the fact that it was their port of call. . the occasion of the speech quoted was when the imperial representative longinus was trying to get the help of the venetians against the lombards in and invited them to acknowledge themselves subjects of the emperor. the speech is quoted in _encyclop. brit._, art. _venice_ (by h.f. brown), p. . the episode of the loaves of bread belongs to the attempt of pipin, son of charlemagne, to starve out the rialto in the winter of - . compare the tale of charlemagne casting his sword into the sea, with the words, 'truly, even as this brand which i have cast into the sea shall belong neither to me nor to you nor to any other man in all the world, even so shall no man in the world have power to hurt the realm of venice; and he who would harm it shall feel the wrath and displeasure of god, even as it has fallen upon me and my people.'--see canale, _cron._, c. viii. these are, of course, all legends. . 'voirs est que la mer arians est de le ducat de venise.'--canale, op. cit., p. . albertino mussato calls venice 'dominatrix adriaci maris.'--molmenti, _venice_, i, p. . . see some good contemporary accounts of the ceremony quoted in molmenti, _venice_, i, pp. - . . during the fatal war of chioggia between the two republics of venice and genoa, which ended in , it was said that the genoese admiral (or some say francesco carrara), when asked by the doge to receive peace ambassadors, replied, 'not before i have bitted the horses on st mark's.'--h.f. brown, _studies in the hist. of venice_, i, p. . . canale, op. cit., p. . . 'the weather was clear and fine ... and when they were at sea, the mariners let out the sails to the wind, and let the ships run with spread sails before the wind over the sea'--see, for instance, canale, op. cit., pp. , , and elsewhere. . canale, op. cit., cc. i and ii, pp. - . venice is particularly fortunate in the descriptions which contemporaries have left of her--not only her own citizens (such as canale, sanudo and the doge mocenigo) but also strangers. petrarch's famous description of venetian commerce, as occasioned by the view which he saw from his window in the fourteenth century, has often been quoted: 'see the innumerable vessels which set forth from the italian shore in the desolate winter, in the most variable and stormy spring, one turning its prow to the east, the other to the west; some carrying our wine to foam in british cups, our fruits to flatter the palates of the scythians and, still more hard of credence, the wood of our forests to the egean and the achaian isles; some to syria, to armenia, to the arabs and persians, carrying oil and linen and saffron, and bringing back all their diverse goods to us.... let me persuade you to pass another hour in my company. it was the depth of night and the heavens were full of storm, and i, already weary and half asleep, had come to an end of my writing, when suddenly a burst of shouts from the sailors penetrated my ear. aware of what these shouts should mean from former experience, i rose hastily and went up to the higher windows of this house, which look out upon the port. oh, what a spectacle, mingled with feelings of pity, of wonder, of fear and of delight! resting on their anchors close to the marble banks which serve as a mole to the vast palace which this free and liberal city has conceded to me for my dwelling, several vessels have passed the winter, exceeding with the height of their masts and spars the two towers which flank my house. the larger of the two was at this moment--though the stars were all hidden by the clouds, the winds shaking the walls, and the roar of the sea filling the air--leaving the quay and setting out upon its voyage. jason and hercules would have been stupefied with wonder, and tiphys, seated at the helm, would have been ashamed of the nothing which won him so much fame. if you had seen it, you would have said it was no ship but a mountain, swimming upon the sea, although under the weight of its immense wings a great part of it was hidden in the waves. the end of the voyage was to be the don, beyond which nothing can navigate from our seas; but many of those who were on board, when they had reached that point, meant to prosecute their journey, never pausing till they had reached the ganges or the caucasus, india and the eastern ocean. so far does love of gain stimulate the human mind.'--quoted from petrarch's _lettere senili_ in oliphant, _makers of venice_ ( ), p. ; the whole of this charming chapter, 'the guest of venice', should be read. another famous description of venice occurs in a letter written by pietro aretino, a guest of venice during the years to , to titian, quoted in e. hutton, _pietro aretino, the scourge of princes_ ( ), pp. - ; compare also his description of the view from his window on another occasion, quoted ibid., pp. - . the earliest of all is the famous letter written by cassiodorus to the venetians in the sixth century, which is partly translated in molmenti, op. cit., i, pp. - . . the account of the march of the gilds occupies cc. cclxiii-cclxxxiii of canale's chronicle, op. cit., pp. - . it has often been quoted. . canale, op. cit., c. cclxi, p. . . this account of hangchow is taken partly from marco polo, op. cit., bk. ii, c. lxviii: 'of the noble and magnificent city of kinsai'; and partly from odoric of pordenone, _cathay and the way thither_, ed. yule, pp. - . . oderic of pordenone, who was a man before he was a friar, remarks: 'the chinese are comely enough, but colourless, having beards of long straggling hair like mousers, cats i mean. and as for the women, they are the most beautiful in the world.' marco polo likewise never fails to note when the women of a district are specially lovely, in the same way that that other traveller arthur young always notes the looks of the chambermaids at the french inns among the other details of the countryside, and is so much affronted if waited on by a plain girl. marco polo gives the palm for beauty to the women of the province of timochain (or damaghan) on the north-east border of persia, of which, he says, 'the people are in general a handsome race, especially the women, who, in my opinion, are the most beautiful in the world.'--marco polo, op. cit., p. . of the women of kinsai he reports thus: 'the courtesans are accomplished and are perfect in the arts of blandishment and dalliance, which they accompany with expressions adapted to every description of person, insomuch that strangers who have once tasted of their charms, remain in a state of fascination, and become so enchanted by their meretricious arts, that they can never divest themselves of the impression. thus intoxicated with sensual pleasures, when they return to their homes they report that they have been in kinsai, or the celestial city, and pant for the time when they may be enabled to revisit paradise.' of the respectable ladies, wives of the master craftsmen he likewise says: 'they have much beauty and are brought up with languid and delicate habits. the costliness of their dresses, in silks and jewellery, can scarcely be imagined.'--op. cit., pp. , - . . yule, op. cit., ii, p. . . for prester john see sir henry yule's article 'prester john' in the _encyclopædia britannica_, and lynn thorndike, _a history of magic and experimental science_ ( ), ii, pp. - . there is a pleasant popular account in s. baring gould, _popular myths of the middle ages_ ( - ). . for their accounts see _the journal of william of rubruck to the eastern parts, - , by himself, with two accounts of the earlier journey of john of pian da carpine_, trans. and ed. with notes by w.w. rockhill (hakluyt soc., ). rubruck especially is a most delightful person. . this, together with the whole account of the first journey of the elder polos, the circumstances of the second journey, and of their subsequent return occurs in the first chapter of marco polo's book, which is a general introduction, after which he proceeds to describe in order the lands through which he passed. this autobiographical section is unfortunately all too short. . as a matter of fact, william of rubruck had seen and described it before him. . for marco polo's account of this custom in the province which he calls 'kardandan', see op. cit., p. . an illustration of it from an album belonging to the close of the ming dynasty is reproduced in s.w. bushell, _chinese art_ ( ), fig. . . marco polo, _op. cit_., pp. - . . a certain _poh-lo_ was, according to the chinese annals of the mongol dynasty, appointed superintendent of salt mines at yangchow shortly after . professor parker thinks that he may be identified with our polo, but m. cordier disagrees. see e.h. parker _some new facts about marco polos book_ in _imperial and asiatic quarterly review_ ( ), p. ; and h. cordier, _ser marco polo_, p. . see also yule, _marco polo_, i, introd., p. . . p. parrenin in _lett. edis_., xxiv, , quoted in yule, _op. cit_., i, introd., p. ii. . on marco polo's omissions see yule, _op. cit_., i, introd., p. . . marco polo, _op. cit_., p. . . on chao mêng-fu see s.w. bushell, _chinese art_ ( ), ii, pp. -- ; h.a. giles, _introd. to the history of chinese pictorial art_ (shanghai, nd ed., ), pp. ff.; the whole of c. vi of this book on the art which flourished under the mongol dynasty is interesting. see also l. binyon, _painting in the far east_ ( ), pp. - , - . one of chao mêng-fu's horse pictures, or rather a copy of it by a japanese artist, is reproduced in giles, _op. cit_., opposite p. . see also my notes on illustrations for an account of the famous landscape roll painted by him in the style of wang wei. . bushell, _op. cit_., p. . . _ibid_., pp. - , where the picture is reproduced. . for the episode of the mangonels constructed by nestorian mechanics under the directions of nicolo and maffeo see marco polo, _op. cit_., pp. - . . marco polo, _op. cit_., bk. iii, c. i, pp. - . . ramusio's preface, containing this account, and also the story of how rusticiano came to write the book at marco polo's dictation at genoa, is translated in yule, _op. cit_., i, introd., pp. - . . he mentions these in marco polo, _op. cit_., pp. , , . . yule, _op. cit_., i, introd., p. . . on rusticiano (who is mistakenly called a genoese by ramusio), see _ibid_., introd., pp. ff. . paulin paris, quoted _ibid_., introd., p. . . _ibid_., introd., pp. - . . extract from jacopo of acqui's _imago mondi_, quoted _ibid_., introd., p. . . m. ch.-v. langlois in _hist. litt. de la france_, xxxv ( ), p. . for tributes to marco polo's accuracy see aurel stein, _ancient_ _khotan_ ( ) and _ruins of desert cathay_ ( ); ellsworth huntington, _the pulse of asia_ ( ); and sven hedin, _overland to india_ ( ). . yule, _op. cit_., i, introd., pp. - . . for these later missions and traders see yule, _cathay and the way thither_, introd., pp. cxxxii-iv, and text, _passim_. . _ibid_., ii, p. ; and app., p. lxv. . concerning the marginal notes by columbus see yule, _op. cit_., ii, app. h, p. . the book is preserved in the colombina at seville. i must, however, frankly admit that modern research, iconoclastic as ever, not content with white-washing lucrezia borgia and catherine de medicis, and with reducing catherine of siena to something near insignificance, is also making it appear more and more probable that columbus originally set sail in to look for the islands of the antilles, and that, although on his return after his great discovery in he maintained that his design had always been to reach cipangu, this was a _post hoc_ story, the idea of searching for cipangu having probably come from his partner, martin pinzon. it is a pity that we do not know _when_ he made his notes in the edition (the probable date of publication of which was ) of marco polo's book, which might settle the matter. on the whole question see henry vignaud, _Études critiques sur la vie de colomb avant ses découvertes_ (paris, ) and _histoire de la grande enterprise de _, vols. (paris, ), and the summary and discussion of his conclusions by professor a.p. newton in _history_, vii ( ), pp. - (_historical revisions_ xx.--'christopher columbus and his great enterprise.') the idea that a new road to the east was being sought at this time, primarily because the turks were blocking the old trade routes, has also been exploded. see a.h. lybyer, _the ottoman turks and the routes of oriental trade_ in _eng. hist. review_, xxx ( ), pp. - . chapter iv madame eglentyne _a. raw material_ . chaucer's description of the prioress in the prologue to the _canterbury tales_. . miscellaneous visitation reports in episcopal registers. on these registers, and in particular the visitation documents therein, see r.c. fowler, _episcopal registers of england and wales_ (s.p.c.k. helps for students of history, no. ), g.g. coulton, _the interpretation of visitation documents_ (eng. hist. review, ), and c. xii of my book, cited below. a great many registers have been, or are being, published by learned societies, notably by the canterbury and york society, which exists for this purpose. the most important are the lincoln visitations, now in the course of publication, by dr a. hamilton thompson, _visitations of religious houses in the diocese of lincoln_, ed. a. hamilton thompson (lincoln rec. soc. and canterbury and york soc., ff.); two volumes have appeared so far, of which see especially vol. ii, which contains part of bishop alnwick's visitations ( - ); each volume contains text, translation, and an admirable introduction. see also the extracts from winchester visitations trans. in h.g.d. liveing, _records of romsey abbey_ ( ). full extracts from visitation reports and injunctions are given under the accounts of religious houses in the different volumes of the victoria county histories (cited as v.c.h.). . the monastic rules. see _the rule of st benedict_, ed. f.a. gasquet (kings classics, ), and f.a. gasquet, _english monastic life_ ( th ed., ). . for a very full study of the whole subject of english convent life at this period see eileen power, _medieval english nunneries c. to _( ). _b. notes to the text_ . _the register of walter de stapeldon, bishop of exeter_ ( - ), ed. f. hingeston randolph ( ), p. . the passage about philippa is translated in g.g. coulton, _chaucer and his england_ ( ), p. . . see the account of expenses involved in making elizabeth sewardby a nun of nunmonkton ( ) in _testamenta eboracensia_, ed. james raine (surtees soc., ), iii, p. ; and power, _op. cit_., p. . . _year book of king richard ii_, ed. c.f. deiser ( ), pp. - ; and power, _op. cit_., pp. - . . g.j. aungier, _hist. of syon_ ( ), p. . . as at gracedieu ( - ), _alnwick's visit_, ed. a.h. thompson, pp. - . . g.j. aungier, _op. cit_., pp. - . . translated from john de grandisson's register in g.g. coulton, _a medieval garner_ ( ), pp. - . . _rule of st benedict_, c. . . _v.c.h. lincs_., ii, p. . . translated in g.g. coulton, _a medieval garner_. . _myroure of oure ladye_, ed. j.h. blunt (e.e.t.s., ), p. . on tittivillus see my article in _the cambridge magazine_ ( ), pp. - . . _linc. visit_., ed. a.h. thompson, ii, pp. - ; and power, _op. cit._ pp. - . . _v.c.h. oxon_, ii. p. . . _linc. visit_., ed. a.h. thompson, i, p. . . on these gaieties see power, _op. cit_. pp. - . . _linc. visit_., ii, pp. - ; and see power, _op. cit_., pp. - , - , on gay clothes in nunneries. . _linc. visit_., ii. p. . . power, _op. cit_., p. . on pet animals see _ibid_., pp. - , and note e ('convent pets in literature'), pp. - . . power, _op. cit_., p. . . _ibid_., pp. - ; and see chap. ix _passim_ on the bull _periculoso_ and the wandering of nuns in the world. . _linc. visit_., ii, p. . . _v.c.h. yorks_., iii, p. . chapter v the mÉnagier's wife _a. raw material_ i. _le ménagier de paris, traité de morale et d'economie domestique, compose vers_ _par un bourgeois parisien ... publié pour la première fois par la société des bibliophiles francois_. (paris, ). vols., edited with an introduction by jérôme pichon. there is a notice of it by dr f.j. furnivall, at the end of his edition of _a booke of precedence_ (early english text soc., and ), pp. - . it was a book after his own heart, and he observes that it well deserves translation into english. . on the subject of medieval books of deportment for women see a.a. hentsch, _de la littérature didactique du moyen âge s'addressant spécialement aux femmes_ (cahors, ), an admirably complete collection of analyses of all the chief works of this sort produced in western europe from the time of st jerome to the eve of the renaissance. it is full of plums for adventurous jack horners. . with the ménagier's cookery book there may profitably be compared _two fifteenth century cookery books_, ed. by thomas austin (e.e.t.s., ). _b. notes to the text_ . pp. - . . these long moral treatises on the seven deadly sins and the even deadlier virtues were very popular in the middle ages. the best known to english readers occurs in the _parson's tale_ in chaucer's _canterbury tales,_ and is taken from the _somme de vices et de vertus_ of frère lorens, a thirteenth-century author. the sections on the deadly sins are usually, however, well worth reading, because of the vivid illustrative details which they often give about daily life. the ménagier's sections are full of vigour and colour, as one would expect. here, for instance, is his description of the female glutton: 'god commands fasting and the glutton says: "i will eat". god commands us to get up early and go to church and the glutton says: "i must sleep. i was drunk yesterday. the church is not a hare; it will wait for me." when she has with some difficulty risen, do you know what her hours are? her matins are: "ha! what shall we have to drink? is there nothing left over from last night?" afterwards she says her lauds thus: "ha! we drank good wine yesterday." afterwards she says thus her orisons: "my head aches, i shan't be comfortable until i have had a drink." certes, such gluttony putteth a woman to shame, for from it she becomes a ribald, a disreputable person and a thief. the tavern is the devil's church, where his disciples go to do him service and where he works his miracles. for when folk go there they go upright and well spoken, wise and sensible and well advised, and when they return they cannot hold themselves upright nor speak; they are all foolish and all mad, and they return swearing, beating and giving the lie to each other.'--_op. cit_., i, pp. - . the section on avarice is particularly valuable for its picture of the sins of executors of wills, rack-renting lords, extortionate shopkeepers, false lawyers, usurers, and gamblers.--see _ibid_., i, pp. - . . _prudence and melibeus_ is worth reading once, either in chaucer's or in renault de louens' version, because of its great popularity in the middle ages, and because of occasional vivid passages. here, for instance, is the episode in chaucer's version, in which melibeus, the sages, and the young men discuss going to war, and the sages advise against it: 'up stirten thanne the yonge folk at ones, and the mooste partie of that compaignye scorned the wise olde men, and bigonnen to make noyse, and seyden that "right so as, whil that iren is hoot, men sholden smyte, right so men sholde wreken hir wronges while that they been fresshe and newe"; and with loud voys they criden, "werre! werre!" up roos tho oon of thise olde wise, and with his hand made contenaunce that men sholde holden hem stille, and yeven hym audience. "lordynges," quod he, "ther is ful many a man that crieth 'werre! werre!' that woot ful litel what werre amounteth. werre at his bigynnyng hath so greet an entryng and so large, that every wight may entre whan hym liketh and lightly fynde werre; but certes, what ende that shal ther-of bifalle it is nat light to knowe; for soothly, whan that werre is ones bigonne ther is ful many a child unborn of his mooder that shal sterve yong by cause of that ilke werre, or elles lyve in sarwe, and dye in wrecchednesse; and therefore, er that any werre bigynne, men moste have greet conseil and greet deliberacioun."--chaucer, _tale of melibeus_,§ ; and see the french version, _op. cit_., i, p. . . ii, p. - . . i, pp. - . these medieval games are very difficult to identify. the learned editor remarks that _bric_, which is mentioned in the thirteenth century by rutebeuf was played, seated, with a little stick; _qui féry_ is probably the modern game called by the french _main chaude; pince merille,_ which is mentioned among the games of gargantua, was a game in which you pinched one of the players' arms, crying 'mérille' or 'morille'. though the details of these games are vague, there are many analagous games played by children today, and it is easy to guess the kind of thing which is meant. . i, pp. - . . i, , . . the story of jeanne la quentine is reproduced in the _heptameron_ of margaret of navarre (the th tale, or the th of the th day), where it is attributed to a _bourgeoise_ of tours, but it is probable that the ménagier's is the original version, since he says that he had it from his father; although, knowing the ways of the professional raconteur, i should be the first to admit that this is not proof positive. . i, pp. - . . i, p. . . this was a favourite saying. it occurs in the story of melibeus, 'trois choses sont qui gettent homme hors de sa maison, c'est assavoir la fumée, la goutière et la femme mauvaise.'--_ibid_., i, p. . compare chaucer's use of it: 'men seyn that thre thynges dryven a man out of his hous,--that is to seyn, smoke, droppyng of reyn and wikked wyves.'--_tale of melibeus_, § ; and 'thou seyst that droppying houses, and eek smoke, and chidyng wyves, maken men to flee out of hir owene hous.' --_wife of bath's prologue_, ll, - . . i, pp. - , - . . ii, p. . the ménagier also warns against running up long bills on credit. 'tell your folk to deal with peaceable people and to bargain always beforehand and to account and pay often, without running up long bills on credit by tally or on paper, although tally or paper are better than doing everything by memory, for the creditors always think it more and the debtors less, and thus are born arguments, hatreds, and reproaches; and cause your good creditors to be paid willingly and frequently what is owed to them, and keep them in friendship so that they depart not from you, for one cannot always get peaceable folk again.' . ii, pp. - . . it is curious here to note the antiquity of the term 'bloody' as an expletive. the ménagier says: 'forbid them ... to use ugly oaths, or words which are bad or indecent, as do certain evil or ill bred persons who swear at bad bloody fevers, the bad bloody week, the bad bloody day ('de males sanglantes fièvres,' 'de male sanglante sepmaine,' 'de male sanglante journée'), and they know not, nor should they know, what a bloody thing is, for honest women know it not, since it is abominable to them to see the blood but of a lamb or a pigeon, when it is killed before them.'--_ibid._, ii, p. . . the section on household management described above occupies sec. ii, art. , of the ménagier's book (ii, pp. - ). . i, pp. - . . i, pp. - . . the cookery book occupies sec. ii, arts. and (ii, pp. - ). . ii, pp. - . translated by dr furnivall in _a booke of precedence_ (e.e.t.s.), pp. - . . ii, pp. - , . the feast was still a thing of the future when the ménagier thus gathered all the details. he calls it 'l'ordenance de nopces que fera maistre helye en may, à un mardy ... l'ordonnance du souper que fera ce jour.' . 'the office of the woman is to make provision of tapestries, to order and spread them, and in especial to dight the room and the bed which shall be blessed.... and note that if the bed be covered with cloth, there is needed a fur coverlet of small vair, but if it be covered with serge, or broidery, or pinwork of cendal, not.'--ii, p. . the editor quotes the following ceremony for blessing the wedding bed: '_benedictio thalami ad nuptias et als_, beredic, domine, thalamum hunc et omnes habitantes in eo, ut in tua voluntate permaneant, requiescant et multiplicentur in longitudinem dierum. per christum, etc. _tunc thurificet thalamum in matrimonio, postea sponsum et sponsam sedentes vel jacentes in lecto suo. benedicentur dicendo_: benedic, domine, adolescentulos istos; sicut benedixisti thobiam et sarram filiam raguelis, ita benedicere eos digneris, domine, ut in nomine tuo vivant et senescant, et multiplicentur in longitudinem dierum. per christum, etc. benedictio dei omnipotentis, patris et filii et spiritus sancti descendat super vos et maneat super vobiscum. in nomine patris, etc.'--_ibid._, i, _introd._, p. lxxxvi. . chaucer, _tale of melibeus_, § . chapter vi thomas betson _a. raw material_ . _the stonor letters and papers_, - , ed. c.l. kingsford (royal hist. soc., camden, rd series), vols., . the betson correspondence is in vol. ii. . _the cely papers, selected from the correspondence and memoranda of the cely family, merchants of the staple_, - , ed. h.e. malden (royal hist. soc., camden rd series), . i am much beholden to the excellent introductions to these two books, which are models of what editorial introductions should be. . the best introduction to the history of the company of the staple is to be found in mr malden's aforesaid introduction to _the cely papers_, which also contains a masterly account of the political relations of england, france and burgundy during the period. i have constantly relied upon mr malden's account of the working of the staple system. other useful short accounts of the wool trade and the stapler's company may be found in the following works: sir c.p. lucas, _the beginnings of english overseas enterprise_ ( ), c. ii; and a.l. jenckes, _the staple of england_ ( ). _b. notes to the text_ . four interesting contemporary illustrations of parliament in , , some date during the seventeenth century, and respectively, are reproduced in professor a.f. pollard's stimulating study of _the evolution of parliament_ ( ). . _the lybelle of englyshe polycye_, in _political poems and songs_, ed. thos. wright (rolls ser., ), ii, p. . this remarkable poem was written in or , in order to exhort the english 'to kepe the see enviroun and namelye the narowe see' between dover and calais, since in the author's opinion the basis of england's greatness lay in her trade, for the preservation of which she needed the dominion of the seas. its chief value lies in the very complete picture which it gives of english import and export trade with the various european countries. there is a convenient edition of it in _the principal navigations voyages traffiques and discoveries of the english nation by richard hakluyt_ (everyman's lib. edition, ), i, pp. - . . g.w. morris and l.s. wood, _the golden fleece_ ( ), p. . . for accounts of these brasses see h. druitt, _a manual of costume as illustrated by monumental brasses_ ( ), pp. , , , , . john fortey's brass and william greville's brass are conveniently reproduced in g.w. morris and l.s. wood, _op. cit_., pp. , , together with several other illustrations, pertinent to the wool trade. . gower, _mirour de l'omme_ in _the works of john gower_. i. _the french works_, ed. g.c. macaulay ( ), p. - . . _the paston letters_, ed. j. gairdner (london, - ); supplement . see also h.s. bennett, _the pastons and their england_ ( ). . _plumpton correspondence_, ed. t. stapleton (camden soc., ). . _cely papers_, p. ; and compare below p. . . _stonor letters_, ii, p. . . _ibid_., ii, pp. - . . the brasses of his father 'john lyndewode, woolman', and of his brother, also 'john lyndewode, woolman' (_d._ ), are still in linwood church. they both have their feet on woolpacks, and on the son's woolpack is his merchant's mark. see h. druitt, _op. cit_., pp. - . . see _magna vita s. hugonis episcopi lincolniensis_, ed. j.f. dimock (rolls series, ), pp. - . . for these extracts see a vastly entertaining book, _child marriages and divorces in the diocese of chester_, - , ed. f.j. furnivall (e.e.t.s., ), pp. xxii, , - . . _stonor letters_, ii, pp. - . . _ibid_., ii, pp. , . . _ibid_., ii, p. . . _ibid_., ii, pp. - . . _ibid_., ii, p. . . _ibid_., ii, pp. , - . . _ibid_., ii, pp. - . . _ibid_., ii, p. . . _ibid_., ii, p. . . _ibid_., ii, p. . . _ibid_., ii, p. . . _ibid_., ii, pp. - . . _ibid_., ii, pp. - . . _ibid_., ii, p. . . _ibid_., ii, pp. - . . _ibid_., ii, pp. - . . _ibid_., ii, p. . . _ibid_., ii, pp. - , . . see richard cely's amusing account of the affair in a letter to his brother george, written on may , , _cely papers_, pp. - . for other references to the wool dealer william midwinter see _ibid_., pp. , , , , , , , , , , , , , . . _stonor letters_, ii, p. . . _ibid_., ii, p. . . _testamenta eboracensia_ (surtees soc.), ii, p. . he was a well-known wool merchant of york, at different times member of the town council of twelve, sheriff and mayor, who died in . he is constantly mentioned in the city records; see _york memorandum book_, ed. maud sellers (surtees soc., and ), vols. i and ii, _passim_. . _cely papers_, pp. - . . _ibid_., p. . . see his will ( ) in _test. ebor._, iv, p. , where he is called 'johannes barton de holme juxta newarke, stapulae villae carlisiae marcator,' and ordains 'volo quod thomas filius meus johannem tamworth fieri faciat liberum hominem stapulae carlis,' _ibid_., p. . . _ibid_., p. . . _ibid_., p. . . _ibid_., pp. - . . _the lybelle of englysche polycye_ in _loc. cit._, pp. - , _passim_. compare gower's account of the machinations of the lombards, _op. cit_., pp. - . . see the clear account of all these operations in mr malden's introduction to the _cely papers_, pp. xi-xiii, xxxviii. . _ibid_., p. vii. . _cely papers_, pp. - ; and see _introd_., pp. xxxvi-viii. . _ibid_., pp. - . . _ibid_., pp. - , a book entitled on the cover 'the rekenyng of the margett cely,' and beginning, 'the first viage of the margaret of london was to seland in the yere of our lord god m iiijciiijxxv. the secunde to caleis and the thrid to burdews ut videt. md to se the pursers accomptes of the seide viages. g. cely.' . _ibid_., p. xxxviii. . _stonor letters_, ii, p. . . _ibid_., ii, p. . . _cely papers_, pp. - . . _ibid_., p. ; compare _ibid_., p. . . 'sir, the wool ships be come to calais all save three, whereof two be in sandwich haven and one is at ostend, and he hath cast over all his wool overboard.'--_ibid_., p. . 'item, sir, on friday the day of february came passage from dover and they say that on thursday afore came forth a passenger from dover to calais ward and she was chased with frenchmen and driven in to dunkirk haven.'--_ibid_., p. . (there are many records of similar chases; see _introd_., pp. xxxiv-v.) . _ibid_., p. . . 'sir, i cannot have your wool yet awarded, for i have do cast out a sarpler, the which is [ap]pointed by the lieutenant to be casten out toward the sort by, as the ordinance now is made that the lieutenant shall [ap]point the [a]warding sarplers of every man's wool, the which sarpler that i have casten out is no. , and therein is found by william smith, packer, a middle fleeces and it is a very gruff wool; and so i have caused william smith privily to cast out another sarpler no. , and packed up the wool of the first sarpler in the sarpler of no. , for this last sarpler is fair wool enough, and therefore i must understand how many be of that sort and the number of the[m], for they must be packed again' ( sept., ).--_ibid_., p. . item, sir, your wool is awarded by the sarpler that i cast out last, etc. item, sir, this same day your mastership is elected and appointed here by the court one of the , the which shall assist the master of the staple now at this parliament time.'-_ibid_., p. . . gower, _op. cit_., p. . . _cely papers_, pp. xii, xxiv-v. . _stonor letters_, ii, pp. - ; see also _cely papers_, pp. , , . . _stonor letters_, ii, p. . . chaucer, _canterbury tales (shipman's tale_) ll, - . . _stonor letters_, ii, p. . . _cely papers_, p. xxiii. . _lybelle of englysshe polycye_ in _loc. cit_., pp. - . . with deference, i think that mr malden in his introduction to the _cely papers_, app. ii, pp. lii-iii, is mistaken in seeking to identify synchon mart with a particular fair at antwerp on st john's day, bammes mart with the fair at st rémy (a flemish name for whom is bamis) on august , and cold mart with cortemarck near thourout. the names simply refer to the seasons in which there were fairs in most of the important centres, though doubtless in one place the winter and in another the spring, summer, or autumn fair was the more important. that the names refer to seasons and not to places appears quite clearly in various letters and regulations relating to the merchant adventurers of york. see _the york mercers and merchant adventurers_, - , ed. m. sellers (surtees soc., ), pp. , - , , - ; see miss sellers' note, _ibid_., p. , quoting w. cunningham: 'the ancient celtic fairs ... were a widespread primitive institution and appear to have been fixed for dates marked by the change of seasons.'--_scottish hist. review_, xiii, p. . for instance, a document of ('for now att this cold marte last past, holdyn at barow in brabond,' _loc. cit_. p. ) disposes of the idea that the cold mart was the mart at cortemarck, while another document refers to merchants intending to ship 'to the cold martes' and 'to the synxon martes' in the plural. _ibid_., p. . the identification of balms mart with the fair at st rémy on august is, moreover, belied by the same document ( - ), which runs, 'whereas this present marte ... we have lycensed and set you at libertie to shipp your commodities to the balmes marte next coming. nevertheless ... we thinke it good ... that upon the recepte of these our letters ye ... assemble and consult together, and if ye shall thinke good amongest yourselffs ... discretly to withdraw and with holde your hands from shippyng to the said balmes marte.... wryten at andwarp the xvij day of august.' _ibid_., p. . the balms mart was obviously the autumn fairtide, and mr malden is no doubt right in identifying balms (bammys, bammes) with bamis, the local flemish name of st rémy; st rémy's day was october , and the balms mart was not the mart held on august at st rémy, but the mart held on and round about st rémy's day. another document of gives interesting information about the shippings for three of the marts: 'the last daye of shippinge unto the fyrst shippinge beinge for the pasche marte is ordeyned to be the laste of marche nexte ensuyinge; and the seconde shippinge which is appointed for the sinxon marte the laste day to the same, is appoynted the laste of june then nexte followinge; and unto the colde marte the laste day of shippinge is appoynted to be the laste of november then nexte insuyinge.'--_ibid_., p. . the merchant adventurers tried sometimes to restrict merchants to the cold and the synxon marts, which were the most important. . _cely papers_, p. xl, and _passim_. . _ibid_., p. . richard cely the younger to george: 'i understand that ye have a fair hawk. i am right glad of her, for i trust to god she shall make you and me right great sport. if i were sure at what passage ye would send her i would fetch her at dover and keep her till ye come. a great infortune is fallen on your bitch, for she had fair whelps, and after that she had whelped she would never eat meat, and so she is dead and all her whelps; but i trust to purvey against your coming as fair and as good to please that gentleman.'--_ibid_., p. . . _ibid_., p. xlix. . _ibid_., app. i., pp. xlix-lii, a very interesting note on contemporary coinage, identifying all the coins mentioned in the letters. . _ibid_., p. . . _ibid_., p. . . _stonor letters_, ii, p. . so dame elizabeth stonor ends a letter to her husband: 'written at stonor, when i would fain have slept, the morrow after our lady day in the morning,'--_ibid_., p. . . chaucer, _canterbury tales (shipman's tale_), ll, - , in _works_ (globe ed., ), p. . . the will is p.c.c. logge at somerset house. for this analysis of its contents and information about the life of thomas betson after his breach with the stonors see _stonor letters_, i, pp. xxviii-ix. . they are ( ) john bacon, citizen and woolman, and joan, his wife (_d_. ); ( ) thomas gilbert, citizen and draper of london and merchant of the staple of calais (_d_. ), and agnes, his wife (_d_. ); ( ) christopher rawson, mercer of london and merchant of the staple of calais, junior warden of the mercers' company in (_d_. ), and his two wives. thomas betson was doubtless acquainted with gilbert and rawson. chapter vii thomas paycocke of coggeshall _a. raw material_ . the raw material for this chapter consists of paycocke's house, presented to the nation in by the right hon. noel buxton, m.p., which stands in west street, coggeshall, essex (station, kelvedon); the paycocke brasses, which lie in the north aisle of the parish church of st peter ad vincula at coggeshall; and the wills of john paycocke (_d_. ), thomas paycocke (_d_. ), and thomas paycocke (_d_. ), which are now preserved at somerset house (p.c.c. adeane , ayloffe , and arundell , respectively), and of which that of the first thomas has been printed in mr beaumont's paper, cited below, while i have analysed fully the other two in my book, _the paycockes of coggeshall_ ( ), which deals at length with the history of the paycockes and their house. see also g.f. beaumont, _paycocke's house, coggeshall, with some notes on the families of paycocke and buxton_ (reprinted from trans. essex archæol. soc., ix, pt. v) and the same author's _history of coggeshall_ ( ). there is a beautifully illustrated article on the house in _country life_ (june , ), vol. liii, pp. - . . for an apotheosis of the clothiers, see _the pleasant history of john winchcomb, in his younger days called jack of newbery, the famous and worthy clothier of england_ and _thomas of reading, or the six worthy yeomen of the west_, in _the works of thomas deloney_, ed. f.o. mann ( ), nos. ii and v. the first of these was published in and the other soon afterwards and both went through several editions by . . on the cloth industry in general see g. morris and l. wood, _the golden fleece_ ( ); e. lipson, _the woollen industry_ ( ); and w.j. ashley, _introd. to english economic history_ ( edit.). for the east anglian woollen industry see especially the _victoria county histories_ of essex and suffolk. for a charming account of another famous family of clothiers see b. mcclenaghan, _the springs of lavenham_ (harrison, ipswich, ). _b. notes to the text_ . _deloney's works_, ed. f.o. mann, p. . . thomas fuller, _the worthies of england_ ( ), p. . . a convenient introduction to the study of monumental brasses, with illustrations and a list of all the surviving brasses in england, arranged according to counties, is w. macklin, _monumental brasses_ ( ). see also h. druitt, _costume on brasses_ ( ). these books also give details as to the famous early writers on the subject, such as weaver, holman, and a.j. dunkin. . _testamenta eboracensia, a selection of wills from the registry at york_, ed. james raine, vols. (surtees soc., - ). the surtees society has also published several other collections of wills from durham and elsewhere, relating to the northern counties. a large number of wills have been printed or abstracted. see, for instance, _wills and inventories from the registers of bury st edmunds_, ed. s. tymms (camden soc., ); _calendar of wills proved and enrolled in the court of hastings_, _london_, ed. r.r. sharpe, vols. ( ); _the fifty earliest english wills in the court of probate, london_, ed. f.j. furnivall (e.e.t.s., ); _lincoln wills_, ed. c.w. foster (lincoln record soc., ); and _somerset medieval wills_, - , ed. f.w. weaver, vols. (somerset record soc., - ). . the will of the other thomas paycocke 'cloathemaker', who died in , also refers to the family business. he leaves twenty shillings 'to william gyon my weaver'; also 'item, i doe give seaven poundes tenne shillinges of lawful money of englande to and amongest thirtie of the poorest journeymen of the fullers occupacion in coggeshall aforesaide, that is to every one of them fyve shillinges.' william gyon or guyon was related to a very rich clothier, thomas guyon, baptized in and buried in , who is said to have amassed £ , by the trade. thomas paycocke's son-in-law thomas tyll also came of a family of clothiers, for in a certificate under date of wool bought by clothiers of coggeshall during the past year there occur the names of thomas tyll, william gyon, john gooddaye (to whose family the first thomas paycocke left legacies), robert lytherland (who receives a considerable legacy under the will of the second thomas), and robert jegon (who is mentioned incidentally in the will as having a house near the church and was father of the bishop of norwich of that name). see power, _the paycockes of coggeshall_, pp. - . . quoted in lipson, _introd. to the econ. hist, of england_ ( ), i, p. . . quoted _ibid_., p. . . on john winchcomb see power, _op. cit_., pp. - ; and lipson, _op. cit_., p. . . deloney's works, ed. f.c. mann, pp. - . . _ibid_., p. . . quoted in c.l. powell, _eng. domestic relations_, - ( ), p. . . the house subsequently passed, it is not quite clear at what date, into the hands of another family of clothiers, the buxtons, who had intermarried with the paycockes some time before . william buxton (_d_. ) describes himself as 'clothyer of coggeshall' and leaves 'all my baey lombs [looms]' to his son thomas. thomas was seventeen when his father died and lived until , also carrying on business as a clothier, and the house was certainly in his possession. he or his father may have bought it from john paycocke's executors. by him it was handed down to his son thomas, also a clothier (_d_. ), who passed it on to his son isaac, clothier (_d_. ). isaac's two eldest sons were clothiers likewise, but soon after their father's death they retired from business. he apparently allowed his third son, john, to occupy the house as his tenant, and john was still living there in . but isaac had left the house by will in to his youngest son, samuel, and samuel, dying in , left it to his brother charles, the fourth son of isaac. charles never lived in it, because he spent most of his life in the pursuit of his business as an oil merchant in london, though he is buried among his ancestors in coggeshall church. in he sold the house to robert ludgater and it passed completely out of the paycocke-buxton connexion, and in the course of time fell upon evil days and was turned into two cottages, the beautiful ceilings being plastered over. it was on the verge of being destroyed some years ago when it was bought and restored to its present fine condition by mr noel buxton, a direct lineal descendant of the charles buxton who sold it. see power, _op. cit_., pp. - . . _deloney's works_, ed. f.o. mann, p. . . defoe, _tour through great britain_, ( edit.), pp. - . . 'this shire is the most fatt, frutefull and full of profitable thinges, exceeding (as far as i can finde) anie other shire for the general commodities and the plentie, thowgh suffolk be more highlie comended by some (wherewith i am not yet acquainted). but this shire seemeth to me to deserve the title of the englishe goshen, the fattest of the lande, comparable to palestina, that flowed with milk and hunnye.'--norden, _description of essex_ ( ), (camden soc.), p. . . according to leake, writing about , 'about began the first spinning on the distaffe and making of coxall clothes.... these coxall clothes weare first taught by one bonvise, an italian.'--quoted _v.c.h. essex_, ii, p. . _notes on illustrations_ plate i. _bodo at his work_ from an eleventh-century anglo-saxon calendar in the british museum (ms. tit., b.v., pt. i), showing the occupations of bodo, or of his masters, for each month of the year. the months illustrated are january (ploughing with oxen), march (breaking clods in a storm), august (reaping), and december (threshing and winnowing). the other pictures represent february (pruning), april (bodo's masters feasting), may (keeping sheep), june (mowing), july (woodcutting), september (bodo's masters boar-hunting), october (bodo's masters hawking), and november (making a bonfire). plate ii. _embarkation of the polos at venice_ from the magnificent ms. of marco polo's book, written early in the fifteenth century and now preserved at the bodleian library, oxford (ms. no. , f. ). the artist gives an admirable view of medieval venice, with the piazetta to the left, and the polos embarking on a rowing boat to go on board their ship. in the foreground are depicted (after the medieval fashion of showing several scenes of a story in the same picture) some of the strange lands through which they passed. note the venetian trading ships. plate iii. _part of a landscape roll by chao mêng-fu_ this very beautiful scene is taken from a roll painted by chao mêng-fu in in the style of wang wei, a poet and artist of the t'ang dynasty (a.d. - ). a fine description of it is given by mr laurence binyon: 'in the british museum collection is a long roll, over seventeen feet long, painted almost entirely in blues and greens on the usual warm brown silk.... it is one continuous landscape, in which the scenes melt into one another. such rolls are not meant to be exhibited or looked at all at once, but enjoyed in small portions at a time, as the painting is slowly unrolled and the part already seen rolled up again. no small mastery is requisite, as may be imagined, to contrive that wherever the spectator pauses an harmonious composition is presented. one has the sensation, as the roll unfolds, of passing through a delectable country. in the foreground water winds, narrowing and expanding, among verdant knolls and lawns, joined here and there by little wooden bridges; and the water is fed by torrents that plunge down among pine-woods from crags of fantastic form, glowing with hues of lapis-lazuli and jade; under towering peaks are luxuriant valleys, groves with glimpses of scattered deer, walled parks, clumps of delicate bamboo, and the distant roofs of some nestling village. here and there is a pavilion by the water in which poet or sage sits contemplating the beauty round him. these happy and romantic scenes yield at last to promontory and reed-bed on the borders of a bay where a fisherman's boat is rocking on the swell. it is possible that a philosophic idea is intended to be suggested--the passage of the soul through the pleasant delights of earth to the contemplation of the infinite.'--laurence binyon, _painting in the far east_ ( ), pp. - . the section of the roll which has been chosen for reproduction here has already been reproduced in s.w. bushell, _chinese art_ ( ), ii, fig. , where it is thus described: 'a lake with a terraced pavilion on an island towards which a visitor is being ferried in a boat, while fishermen are seen in another boat pulling in their draw-net; the distant mountains, the pine-clad hills in the foreground, the clump of willow opposite, and the line of reeds swaying in the wind along the bank of the water are delightfully rendered, and skilfully combined to make a characteristic picture.'--_ibid_., ii, p. . other sections of the same roll are reproduced in h.a. giles, _introd. to the hist, of chinese pictorial art_ ( nd ed., ) facing p. ; and in l. binyon, _op. cit_., plate iii (facing p. ). it is exceedingly interesting to compare this landscape roll with the ms of marco polo, illuminated about a century later, from which the scene of the embarkation at venice has been taken; the one is so obviously the work of a highly developed and the other of an almost naïve and childish civilization. plate iv. _madame eglentyne at home_ this is a page from a fine manuscript of _la sainte abbaye_, now in the british museum (ms. add. , f. vo). at the top of the picture a priest with two acolytes prepares the sacrament; behind them stands the abbess, holding her staff and a book, and accompanied by her chaplain and the sacristan, who rings the bell; behind them is a group of four nuns, including the cellaress with her keys, and nuns are seen at the windows of the dorter above. at the bottom is a procession of priest, acolytes and nuns in the choir; notice the big candles carried by the young nuns (perhaps novices) in front, and the notation of the music books. plate v. _the ménagier's wife has a garden party_ this beautiful scene is taken from a fifteenth-century manuscript of the _roman de la rose_ (harl. ms. ), which is one of the greatest treasures of the british museum. plate vi. _the ménagier's wife cooks his supper with the aid of his book_ from ms. royal, d. i, f. , in the british museum which is part of a _petite bible historiale_, or biblical history, by guyart des moulins, expanded by the addition of certain books of the bible, in french. it was made at bruges by the order of edward iv, king of england by one j. du ries and finished in , so that it is about eighty years later than the ménagier's book. the illustration represents a scene from the story of tobias; tobit, sick and blind, is lying in bed, and his wife anna is cooking by the fire, with the help of a book and a serving maid. the right-hand half of the picture, which is not reproduced here, shows the outside of the house, with tobias bringing in the angel raphael. the illuminated border of the page from which this scene is taken contains the arms of edward iv, with the garter and crown. plate vii. _calais about the time of thomas betson_ this plan of calais in is reproduced from a 'platt of the lowe countrye att calleys, drawne in october, the th hen. viii, by thomas pettyt,' now in the british museum. (cott. ms. aug. i, vol. ii, no. ). there is only room to show the top corner of the plan, with the drawing of calais itself, but the whole plan is charming, with its little villages and great ships riding in the channel. plate viii. _thomas paycocke's house at coggeshall_ from a photograph of the front of the house, standing on the street. note the long carved breastsummer that supports the overhanging upper story. on the left can be seen, much foreshortened, the archway and double doors of linen fold panels. the windows are renovations on the original design, flat sash windows having been put in in the eighteenth century. _index_ abu lubabah, acqui, jacapo of, , acre, , adrianople, , adriatic, , , , , aegean, , aelfric, _colloquium_, , agnes, dame, _see_ beguine aldgate, alexander, alexandria, , alnwick, william, bishop of lincoln, , ambrose, andaman islands, , anglia, east, , antilha, antilles, , antwerp, , , arab, arabia, , , , ararat, mount, aretino, pietro, arghun, khan of persia, , armenia, , , , arnold, matthew, arras, asia: central, , , , , , , , ; minor, attila, , audley, lady, augustine, st, , augustus, ausonius, ff; his country estate, ff; his friends, ff; and university of bordeaux, austin friars, auvergne, ff bacon, francis, badakhshan, , , bagdad, , baku, bale: peter, ; wyllikyn, balk, ballard: james, ; jane, balms (_bammers, bamis, bammys_) mart, , barbarians, - babarian invasions, bardi, barton, john, of holme, base, jacob van de, bath, wife of, , , , bayard, _bays and says_, beauchamp st pauls, , becerillo, _beguine_, dame agnes the, , , bellela, _see_ polo benedict, st, , , betson: agnes, alice, elizabeth, john, thomas (the younger), ; katherine, _see_ riche betson, thomas; chap vi _passim_, ; children of, ; death of, ; illness of, - ; letters of, , , , , , , , ; member of fishmongers company, ; partnership with sir w. stonor, , ; will of, , , bevice, mistress, bishops' registers, , , , , _bicorne_, black death, , black prince, black sea, , , , blakey, sir roger, booking, bodo, chap _ii passim_, - , - , bokhara, , bolgana, wife of khan of persia, bordeaux, burdews, ; university of, bordelais, the, , brabant, , brad well, brasses, , , , , , , , , braunch, robert, brenner pass, brescia, albertano de, breten, will, brews, margery, - bridge, john, briggs, henry, brightlingsea, brinkley, brittany, broadway, whyte of, _brogger_, bruges, , , , , bruyant, jean, bucephalus, buddha, bullinger, henry, burgundy, dukes of, , burma, , bury, busshe, john, buxton: charles, isaac, samuel, thomas, william, ; mr noel, byzantium, _see_ constantinople caffa, calais, , , , , , , , , , , , , , , cambaluc (see peking), , , , , cambrensis, giraldus, canale, martino da, - , , , , , candia, canterbury, _canterbury tales_, , , , , canton, ca' polo, , carrara, francesco, carsy, anthony, caspian sea, , cassiodorus, , castro, diego da, cathay (_see also_ china), , , , , , , caucasus, , cely: family of wood merchants, - _passim_; george, , , , , ; richard, , , , ; william, , , , _cely papers_, , , , , , , ceylon, , , , chagatai, khan of, chao mêng-fu, , , chao yung, charlemagne, , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , charms (_see also_ superstition), - , , , châtelet, chaucer, , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , chelmsford, chesne, jean du, _chichevache_, chi'en hsüan, child-marriages, - , chilperic, king, , chilterns, china (_see also_ cathay), , - , , - , , - , , , chioggia, war of, church, attitude to: child marriages, , ; convent pets, ; dancing, , , ; decline of roman empire, ; monastic intercourse with the world, , ; nuns' dowries, ; superstition, , , ; attack on worldliness of, ; bequests to (_see also_ wills), , ; brasses in, _see_ brasses; councils of, churches of: barking, all hallows, , ; beauchamp st pauls, ; bradwell, ; calais, our lady, ; chipping campden, ; chipping norton, ; cirencester, , ; clare, , ; coggeshall, st peter ad vincula, , , , , ; constantinople, st sophia, ; east anglia, ; lechlade, ; london, st olave's, ; linwood, , ; markswell, ; newbury, ; newland, ; northleach, , ; ovington, ; pattiswick, ; peking, ; poslingford, ; stoke nayland, ; venice, st mark's, , , , , , cipangu (japan), , cistercian, citeaux, , clare, , , , clarke, thomas, cloth, _see_ chapter vii _passim_, ; capitalism in industry, ; coxall's whites, , ; growth of english manufacture of, - ; makers of, , ; merchants of, _see_ merchants, paycocke, staple; processes in manufacture, , , , ; where made, - , , cochin china, , coggeshall, _see_ chapter vii _passim_, , , , , , , , , , , coinage, debasement and rates of exchange of, coins: crown, new and old, of france, ; david, of utrecht, ; falewe, of utrecht, ; florin, rhenau, ; groat, carolus, hettinus, limburg, of milan, of nimueguen, , ; venetian, ; guilder, andrew (of scotland), arnoldus (of gueldres) rhenish, , ; lewe, louis d'or, ; noble, ; philippus (philipe d'or) of brabant, ; plaques, of utrecht, ; postlate, ; rider, scots, of burgundy, ; ryall, english, ; setiller, colchester, , , cold mart, , coleridge, colne, curate of, cologne, _coloni_, - columbina, the (seville), columbus, , company: east india ('john company'), ; fishmongers, ; haberdashers, ; mercers, ; merchant adventurers, ; staplers. chapter vi _passim_ compline, , _consrater_, constantinople (_see_ byzantium), , , , , , convent, _see_ nunneries cookery, medieval, , - , corea, _corte milioni_, cotswolds, , , , , , , , , cotton, ann, court rolls, coverdale, coxall, _see_ coggeshall _coxall's whites_, , crimea, , croke, mistress, crusader, crusades, , dalmatia, , dalton, william, , damaghan, dancing: at clothier's wedding, ; church's attitude to, , , ; in churchyard, , ; of dancers of kölbigk, , ; of nun at northampton, dandolo, doge, enrico, danube, river, danyell, john, dardanelles, dean, forest of, decasoun, benynge, dedham, defoe, , defuye, gabriel, deloney, thomas, , - , , , delowppys, john, denys, st, abbey of, ; fair of, , destermer, john, dogs, , , , , , , dogaressa, doges, , - , , dolman, thomas, _domesday book_, dominic, dominican, , don, river, donata, _see_ polo doria, lamba, edith, st, edward ii, edward iii, , eglentyne, madame (_see_ chapter iv _passim_), _see also_ nunnery, prioress egypt, , einhard, , , , , elias, master, , elizabeth, queen, elmes, john, of henley, , england, , , , , , , , , ermentrude, wife of bodo, - , ermoin, eryke, robert, essex, , , , , euric, king, ewen, robert, exchange, rates of, - exeter: bishop of, , ; canons of, fairs, , , , . _see_ marts fantina, _see_ polo felmersham, wife of, fisc, flanders, , , , , , , , , flemings, , , , flodden field, florence, , fo-kien, _fondaco_, fortey: john, ; thomas, fortunatus, ff frambert, france, french, , , , , , ; _see also_ gaul franciscan: convents, ; friars, , , ; nuns, ; tertiaries, franks, ff, fredegond, friars: austin, ; of chelmsford, ; of clare, ; crutched, of colchester, ; franciscan, , ; of maldon, ; of sudbury, frisia, fuller, thomas, , fyldes, welther, gallo-roman civilization, ff games, medieval, , gall, monk of st, , , , gascon, gaul, ff genoa, , , , , , , georgia, germain des pres, abbey of, - , - , germans, germany, , , , , , , gerbert, , ghent, gibraltar, gilds (_see also_ companies); procession of, at venice, , ; restrictions of, gloucestershire, gobi, desert of, goës, benedict, golconda, golden horde, , gooday (coggeshall family), , goths, , gower, , , graunger, thomas, , greece, gregory x, gregory of tours, ff grève, place de, grevel (greville) william, griselda, , , , , groat (_see_ coins), , , , guelder, guilder, gulden (_see_ coins), , , guntrum, king, hainault, philippa of, halitgart, halstead, hangchow (_see also_ kinsai), - , , , , , hansard, haroun el raschid, hautecourt, wedding of, hedin, sven, henham, thomas, , , , , henley, _see_ elmes, john henry viii, , , _heptameron_, hildegard, , hiwen thsang, hoangho, river, holake, _see_ howlake holme, _see_ barton, john holy roman emperor, , hormuz, horrold: margaret, ; thomas, house of lords, howlake, thomas, , _hugh, st, tale of_, hull, , hun, , hungarian, , hundred years war, , huntington, ellsworth, india, , , , , indian ocean, indies, , indo-china, , , inns: the 'dragon' (coggeshall), ; the 'fleece' (coggeshall), ; the 'tabard' (southwark), ; the 'woolpack' (coggeshall), ipswich, irminon, abbot of st germain des pres, estate book of, - , , , islam, isomachus, , italy, italian, ; _see also_ florence, genoa, venice, etc. jamui, queen of kublai khan, japan, java, , jerusalem, , jews, , johnson, doctor, judea, julian the apostate, , justices, itinerant, , karakorum, , kashgar, kerman, khan: of central asia, ; of kipchak, ; of persia, , , (_see also_ mangu, kublai) khorassan, khotan, , kinsai (_see also_ hangchow), - , , , kipchak, , kölbigk, dancers of, , kuan, kublai khan, , , , , , , , , , , , lagny, abbot of, lajazzo, lamberton, _see_ turbot, robert lancaster, thomas of, langland, , laos, lauds, leadenhall, letters, _see_ cely, paston, plumpton, stonor levant, , , , _libelle of englyshe policye_, , lincoln, , linwood, , lob, lake, lokyngton, john, lollington, john, , lombard, peter, lombards, the, , , , lombard street, lombardy, london, , , , , , , , , , louens, renault de, louis, st, ; the pious, , louvain, lucca, lucolongo, peter, of ludgater, robert, lyndeshay, lyndwood (lyndewode): john, , ; william, lyndys, william, lynn, , lyons, madagascar, , maidstone, , , major, _see_ steward malabar, , , maldon, manchuria, manji, , mangu khan, mann, john, manor, _see_ bodo, manse, , , , , mansi. _see_ manji marcus aurelius, , , marignolli, john, marino faliero, mark lane, , markshall, marmora, sea of, marts, , , . _see_ fairs mass, , , , , matins, , mechlin, mediterranean, , , medway, , 'meg', a hawk, melaria, _melibeus and prudence_, , ménagier de paris, chap. v _passim_ , ; on accounts, ; on cookery, , , , , , , ; on deportment, , - , ; on duty to husband, , , - , ; on extermination of insects, in, ; on games, , , ; on garments and household linen, , , , , , , ; on management of farm, ; on servants, , , - , , , , ; on wife's second marriage, , mercers, merchant adventurers, , merchant: arab, ; chinese, , , , ; english, _see_ betson, company merchant adventurers, paycocke, staple; indian, ; italian, ; roman, ff; spanish, ; venetian, _see_ venice, trade of, marks of, , , , ; repair of roads by, merovingian, meung, jean de, middleburgh, middle classes: growth of, ; houses of, , ; ménagier as type of, midwinter, william, , milhall, milton, minoresses, minstrels, , , _missi dominici, see_ justices money, _see_ coins mongol, , , , mongolia, , , , monte corvino, john of, montfort, simon de, more, lewis, moreta. _see_ polo moslem, , mosul, _myroure of our ladye_, , navarre, margaret of, navy: genoese, , ; vandal, ; venetian, , nestorian, , netherlands, , , newark, newbury, ; jack of (john winchcomb), , , - , newhithe, nicobar, nile, none, norman, normandy, northampton, , northleach, , , , norwich, nunneries, chap. iv _passim_, and , ; of minoresses, ; at stainfield, ; of syon, ; of wilton, ; bishops' visits to, - ; chaucer's sources for study of, ; dissolution of, , ; fashions in, , ; management of, - ; mentioned in wills, ; paying guests in, , ; pets in, , ; schoolgirls in, , ; silence hours in, ; sources for study of, nuns (_see_ eglentyne, nunneries, prioress, chap. iv _passim_), ; clothes of, , ; complaints of, to bishop, - , , ; dowries of, - ; intercourse of, with the world, - ; meals of, ; offices of, ; periods of silence of, ; pets of, , ; recreations of, ; work of, orewelle (orwell), orleans, bishop of, orosius, ovington, , ovis poli, oxbridge, goddard, oxus, river, , paris, , , , , , , parliament, _pask_ (pasche) mart, , paston, john, ; letters, , pattiswick, paulinus, st, of nela, paycocke: emma, ; john, , ; john, jun., ; margaret, , ; robert, ; robert, jun., ; thomas, jun., ; thomas, chap. vii _passim, see also_ cloth; bequests of, , _see_ will of; brasses of family of, , ; burial ceremonies of, - ; character of, ; child of, , ; _consrater_ of crutched friars, ; death of, , ; friends of, ; house of, , , , , , ; merchant mark of, , ; repairs roads, ; second wife of, , , ; wedding of, ; will of, , , , , , , , , pegolotti, francis balducci, peking (_see also_ cambaluc, china, polo), , , , ; ambassadors sent to, ; archbishop of, ; description of, by oderic of pordenone, ; papal legate, to, ; tartar rule in, pembroke, william, earl of, perpendicular architecture, , , perpoint, thomas, persia, , , , , , , peter the tartar, petrarch, , , piacenza, tebaldo di, pian da carpine (_see_ piano carpini) pierre an lait, _piers plowman_, , pilgrims' way, piano carpini, john of, , _pleasant history of jack of newbury_, , plumpton letters, polo: bellela, donata, fantina, moreta, maffeo, - marco, _see_ chap. ill _passim_, , kublai khan; attendant on khan, ; book of, ff, , , , ; death of, ; departure from china of, ; father of (_see_ maffeo), - ; governor of yangchow, , ; interest in tartars, - ; journeys of, - , ; mention of, in venetian records, ; nicknamed _il milione_, ; prisoner of genoese, - ; released by genoese, ; return to venice of, ; sent on mission by khan, ; stories of, about khan, - ; uncle of, - , ; wife and family, nicolo, - _polyptychum_, pope, , , , , , , pordenone, ordoric of, , , porte-de-paris, prester john, , prioress, _see_ eglentyne, nunneries, nuns, chap. iv _passim_, ; in bishop's registers, - ; clothes of, , , ; complaints by nuns of, - , , ; entertainment of visitors by, , ; intercourse of, with world, , - ; pets of, , ; treatment of nuns by, ; work of, , , , prime, prologue: of _canterbury tales_, - , , , , , , , ; of ménagier de paris, quentin, la'quentine, jehanne, , quincey, de, , rade, daniel and peter van de, ragenold, rainham, , ramsbotham, elizabeth, ramusio, , raynold, john, reading, thomas of, , reformation, , remy, saint, renault de louens, revolution, industrial, , , reyner, rialto, , ricimer, riche: anne, ; elizabeth, , _see_ stoner, elizabeth, jane, ; katherine, - , , , rigmarden, john, roman: civilization, ; emperor - ; villa, , , _roman de la rose_, rome, chap. i _passim_, , , roman empire, - , , , decline of, - ; reasons for disintegration of, - ; trade of, ff? romsey abbey, rotherhithe, rouen, _round table_, , rubruck, william of, , , rumania, rumney wine, russell, richard, russia, , rusticiano, , , salvian of marseilles, st gothard pass, st sophia, saleby, grace de, samarcand, sanly, peter, sandwich, sext, shalford, shandu, xanadu, shansi, , shensi, , ships, , , , , ; masters of, , ; names of, , - siam, siberia, , sicily, sidonius apollinaris, , ff; and his villa, ; and siege of clermont, ff socrates, _sohrab and rustum_, soldaia, somerset house, , sordyvale, william, spain, spaniards, spanish, , spices, , spice islands, spooner, thomas, stainfield, stamford, staple, chap. vi _passim, see_ betson, merchant; banking facilities of, ; benefits of, , ; brasses of merchants of, , ; business of merchants of, - ; competition of, with merchant adventurers, ; history of company of, ; location of, ; merchants of the, chap. vi _passim_; organization of, ; regulations of, , , , , ; wills of merchants of, ; _see also_ betson, wills starkey, humphrey, stein, sir aurel, stepney, steward: charlemagne's instructions to, , , , ; master john the, , - , - ; of villaris, , , - stoke nayland, stonor: dame elizabeth, , , , , ; humphrey, ; letters, , , , ; sir william, , - , , , strabant, gynott, stratford-atte-bowe, , strossy, marcy, suchow, sugui, , , sudbury, suffolk, sugui, _see_ suchow sumatra, , , sung dynasty, , , superstition (_see_ charms), - , symmachus, , _synxon_ (synchon) mart, , syon abbey, syria, , - szechuen, tabriz, tacitus, tana, tangut, , , , tartar(s), - , , , - , , _see also_ marco polo; attitude of west to, ; embassy of, ; fall of dynasty of, ; modern books on, ; peter the, ; power of, ; princess, , ; slaves, tartary, , , tate, john, , taylor, robert, templars, temyngton, . _testamenta eboracensia_, , , , thames, theodulf, bishop of orleans, tibet, , , , , , tiepolo, doge lorenzo, , , tierce, timochain, , tittivillus, - torneys, robert, trade, _see_ merchant trebizond, , , tripoli, turbot, robert of lamberton, turcomania, turkestan, tuscan, tyre, , udine, underbay, _f_ uppcher, margaret and robert, vandals, venice: venetian, - , - , , , - , , , , - ; cassiodorus on, ; chronicler of, _see_ canale, martino da; doge of, , - , ; excommunication of, ; history of, - , , ; merchants of, at hangchow, , ; modern works on, ; polos' return to, , ; procession of gilds in, , , ; records of, ; rivalry of, with genoa, , - ; trade of, , , , - , , , , ; wedding of, with sea, , ; wool dealers of, vespers, villaris, , , _villicus, see_ steward villein, villeinage, , , visigoths, walberswick, walpole, wang wei, _way of poverty and wealth_, wedding feasts, - , - welbech, william, west: riding, ; street, coggeshall, , , whyte of broadway, wido (_see also_ bodo), , , , wilkins (wylkyns) henry, william i, wills: of john barton of holme, ; of thomas betson, , , ; of bishops, ; of paycockes, , - , , ; of villeins, ; general sources for, , , wilton, winchester, st mary's, abbess of, winchcomb, john (_see_ jack of newbury) wood, lieutenant john, wool (_see_ betson, cely, merchan staple); export of, , gower on, , ; inspection of, ; lives of merchants of, (_see_ betson); packing and shipping of, - ; ports from whence sent, ; private bargains in, ; private letters or export of, ; purchase of, - , regulations concerning, - ; revenues from, ; sale of, , - ; tombs of merchants of, ; where grown, , woolsack, wykeham, william of, xanadu (_see_ shandu), xenophon, yangchow, , yangtze river, yarkand, yellow river, yezd, york, , yorkshire, , , ypres, yuan dynasty, yule, sir henry, , yunnen, zaiton, , , zanzibar, zara, zealand (seland), , zeno, renier, [transcriber's notes] this is derived from these copies on the internet archive: http://www.archive.org/details/cu ( ) http://www.archive.org/details/cu ( ) the two editions are combined because of missing pages in one and missing images in the other. page numbers in this book are indicated by numbers enclosed in curly braces, e.g. { }. they have been located where page breaks occurred in the original book. obvious spelling errors have been corrected but "inventive" and inconsistent spelling is left unchanged. [end transcriber's notes] by the same author fordham university press series makers of modern medicine lives of the men to whom nineteenth century medical science owes most. second edition. new york, . $ . net. the popes and science the story of papal patronage of the sciences and especially medicine. th thousand. new york, . $ . net. makers of electricity lives of the men to whom important advances in electricity are due. in collaboration with brother potamian, f. s. c, sc.d. (london), professor of physics at manhattan college. new york, . $ . net. education, how old the new addresses in the history of education on various occasions. rd thousand. new york, . $ . net. old-time makers of medicine the story of the students and teachers of the sciences related to medicine during the middle ages. new york, , $ . net. modern progress and history. academic addresses on how old the new is in education, medicine, dentistry, politics, etc. new york, . $ . act. the century of columbus the story of the renaissance $ . net. the dolphin press series catholic churchmen in science first, second and third series, each $ . net. psychotherapy lectures on the influence of the mind on the body delivered at fordham university school of medicine. appletons, new york, . $ . net. {i} {ii} [illustration] le beau dieu (amiens) {iii} the thirteenth greatest of centuries by james j. walsh, k.c.st.g., m.d., ph.d., ll.d, litt. d. (georgetown), sc.d. (notre dame) medical director, school of sociology, fordham university; professor of physiological psychology at cathedral college, new york; lecturer in psychology, marywood college, scranton and st. mary's college, plainfield; trustee of the catholic summer school of america; member of the new york academy of medicine, of the german and french and italian societies of the history of medicine, a.m.a., a.a.a.s., etc. _popular edition_ _ (sixtieth thousand)_ catholic summer school press new york, {iv} _ copyright _ james j. walsh set up and stereotyped (first edition , ) reprinted with appendix georgetown edition enlarged and extra illustrated fourth edition reprinted with additions ( th thousand) fifth edition, knights of columbus, , , - . made by the superior printing co akron, ohio {v} to right rev. monsignor m. j. lavelle, rector of st. patrick's cathedral, new york, sometime president of the catholic summer school, to whose fatherly patronage this book is largely due, and without whose constant encouragement it would not have been completed, it is respectfully and affectionately dedicated by the author. {vi} proem. (epimetheus.) wake again, teutonic father-ages, speak again, beloved primeval creeds; flash ancestral spirit from your pages, wake the greedy age to noble deeds. ..... ye who built the churches where we worship, ye who framed the laws by which we move, fathers, long belied, and long forsaken, oh, forgive the children of your love! (peometheus.) there will we find laws which shall interpret, through the simpler past, existing life; delving up from mines and fairy caverns charmed blades to cut the age's strife. _--rev. charles kingsley.--the saints' tragedy._ {vii} preface. "why take the style of these heroic times? for nature brings not back the mastodon--nor we those times; and why should any man remodel models?" what tennyson thus said of his own first essay in the idyls of the king, in the introduction to the morte d'arthur, occurs as probably the aptest expression of most men's immediate thought with regard to such a subject as the thirteenth, greatest of centuries. though tennyson was confessedly only remodeling the thoughts of the thirteenth century, we would not be willing to concede-- "that nothing new was said, or else. something so said, 'twas nothing," for the loss of the idyls would make a large lacuna in the literature of the nineteenth century, "if it is allowed to compare little things with great," a similar intent to that of the laureate has seemed sufficient justification for the paradox the author has tried to set forth in this volume. it may prove "nothing worth, mere chaff and draff much better burnt," but many friends have insisted they found it interesting. authors usually blame friends for their inflictions upon the public, and i fear that i can find no better excuse, though the book has been patiently labored at, with the idea that it should represent some of the serious work that is being done by the catholic summer school on lake champlain, {viii} now completing nearly a decade and a half of its existence. this volume is, it is hoped, but the first of a series that will bring to a wider audience some of the thoughts that have been gathered for summer school friends by many workers, and will put in more permanent form contributions that made summer leisure respond to the greek term for school. the object of the book is to interpret, in terms that will be readily intelligible to this generation, the life and concerns of the people of a century who, to the author's mind, have done more for human progress than those of any like period in human history. there are few whose eyes are now holden as they used to be, as to the surpassing place in the history of culture of the last three centuries of the middle ages. personally the author is convinced, however, that only a beginning of proper appreciation has come as yet, and he feels that the solution of many problems that are vexing the modern world, especially in the social order, are to be found in these much misunderstood ages, and above all in that culmination of medieval progress--the period from to . the subject was originally taken up as a series of lectures in the extension course of the catholic summer school, as given each year in lent and advent at the catholic club, new york city. portions of the material were subsequently used in lectures in many cities in this country from portland, me., to portland, ore., st. paul, minn., to new orleans, la. the subject was treated _in extenso_ for the brooklyn institute of arts and sciences in , after which publication was suggested. the author does not flatter himself that the book adequately represents the great period which it claims to present. the subject has been the central idea of studies in leisure moments for a dozen years, and during many wanderings in europe but there will doubtless prove to be errors in detail, for which the author would crave the indulgence of more serious students {ix} of history. the original form in which the material was cast has influenced the style to some extent, and has made the book more wordy than it would otherwise have been, and has been the cause of certain repetitions that appear more striking in print than they seemed in manuscript. there were what seemed good reasons for not delaying publication, however, and leisure for further work at it, instead of growing, was becoming more scant. it is intrusted to the tender mercies of critics, then, and the benevolent reader, if he still may be appealed to, for the sake of the ideas it contains, in spite of their inadequate expression. preface. (georgetown university edition). this third edition is published under the patronage of georgetown university as a slight token of appreciation for the degree of doctor of letters, conferred on the author for this work at the last commencement. this issue has been enlarged by the addition of many illustrations selected to bring out the fact that all the various parts of europe shared in the achievements of the time and by an appendix containing in compendium twenty-six chapters that might have been. each of these brief sketches could easily have been extended to the average length of the original chapters. it was impossible to use all the material that was gathered. these hints of further sources are now appended so as to afford suggestions for study to those who may care to follow up the idea of the thirteenth as the greatest of centuries, that is, of that period in human existence when man's thoughts on all the important human interests were profoundly valuable for future generations and their accomplishments models for all the after time. {x} preface. (fourth edition). many of the now rather numerous readers and hearers of this book, for it has been read in the refectories of over religious communities, have said that the title seemed almost deterring at first because of the high claim that is set up for a medieval century. to mitigate the possible initial deterrent effect of the paradox of the thirteenth as the greatest of centuries, it has seemed worth while in this edition then to premise a series of quotations from some of the most distinguished historical writers in english of our own time which amply justify the claim here set up. frederic harrison, macaulay, freeman, and fiske are sufficiently different in themselves to make their agreement in supreme admiration for the thirteenth century very striking. in spite of their lack of sympathy with many things in the period, all of them emphatically declare that it is the source of most that is great and good since, and that while we have added details, we have failed to surpass its artistic and intellectual achievement in all the years that have elapsed. august , . preface. (fifth edition). after the success of the knights of columbus edition of the popes and science of which , were issued it gives me great pleasure to accede to the request of the supreme officers of the order to permit them to issue a correspondingly large edition of the present volume. the good work which the knights of columbus have thus done in diffusing a knowledge of the true relations of the church to science,--generous patronage and encouragement, instead of supposed opposition,--will, i think, be greatly furthered by the wide distribution of the information contained in this volume with regard to the supremely helpful attitude of the church towards art and architecture, literature, education and above all the important social problems, which is so well illustrated during the great period of the thirteenth century. i sincerely hope that brother knights of columbus will find in the book some of that renewal of devotion to mother church that came as the result of my own studies of this glorious period of her history, when her action was untrammelled by political considerations and when she was free to express herself in every great movement for the benefit of humanity. feast of the immaculate conception, . {xi} frederic harrison, macaulay, freeman, and fiske on the place of the thirteenth century in history of all the epochs of effort after a new life, that of the age of aquinas, roger bacon, st. francis, st. louis, giotto, and dante is the most purely spiritual, the most really constructive, and indeed the most truly philosophic. . . . the whole thirteenth century is crowded with creative forces in philosophy, art, poetry, and statesmanship as rich as those of the humanist _renaissance_. and if we are accustomed to look on them as so much more limited and rude it is because we forget how very few and poor were their resources and their instruments. in creative genius giotto is the peer, if not the superior of raphael. dante had all the qualities of his three chief successors and very much more besides. it is a tenable view that in inventive fertility and in imaginative range, those vast composite creations--the cathedrals of the thirteenth century, in all their wealth of architectural statuary, painted glass, enamels, embroideries, and inexhaustible decorative work may be set beside the entire painting of the sixteenth century. albert and aquinas, in philosophic range, had no peer until we come down to descartes, nor was roger bacon surpassed in versatile audacity of genius and in true encyclopaedic grasp by any thinker between him and his namesake the chancellor. in statesmanship and all the qualities of the born leader of men we can only match the great chiefs of the thirteenth century by comparing them with the greatest names three or even four centuries later. now this great century, the last of the true middle ages, which as it drew to its own end gave birth to modern society, has a special character of its own, a character that gives it an abiding and enchanting interest. we find in it a harmony of power, a universality of endowment, a glow, an aspiring ambition and confidence such as we never find in later centuries, at least so generally and so permanently diffused. . . . the thirteenth century was an era of no special character. it was in nothing one-sided and in nothing discordant. it had great thinkers, great rulers, great teachers, great poets, {xii} great artists, great moralists, and great workmen. it could not be called the material age, the devotional age, the political age, or the poetic age in any special degree. it was equally poetic, political, industrial, artistic, practical, intellectual, and devotional. and these qualities acted in harmony on a uniform conception of life with a real symmetry of purpose. there was one common creed, one ritual, one worship, one sacred language, one church, a single code of manners, a uniform scheme of society, a common system of education, an accepted type of beauty, a universal art, something like a recognized standard of the good, the beautiful, and the true. one-half of the world was not occupied in ridiculing or combating what the other half was doing. nor were men absorbed in ideals of their own, while treating the ideals of their neighbors as matters of indifference and waste of power. men as utterly different from each other, as were stephen langton, st. francis, thomas aquinas, roger bacon, dante, giotto, st. louis, edward i--all profoundly accepted one common order of ideas, equally applying to things of the intellect, of moral duty, of action, and of the soul--to public and private life at once--and they could all feel that they were all together working out the same task. it may be doubted if that has happened in europe ever since.--frederic harrison, _a survey of the thirteenth century in the meaning of history and other historical pieces_. macmillan, . * * * the sources of the noblest rivers which spread fertility over continents, and bear richly laden fleets to the sea, are to be sought in wild and barren mountain tracts, incorrectly laid down in maps, and rarely explored by travellers. to such a tract the history of our country during the thirteenth century may not unaptly be compared. sterile and obscure as is that portion of our annals, it is there that we must seek for the origin of our freedom, our prosperity, and our glory. then it was that the great english people was formed, that the national character began to exhibit those peculiarities which it has ever since retained, and that our fathers became emphatically islanders, islanders not merely in geographical position, but in their politics, their feelings, and their manners. then first appeared with distinctness that constitution which has ever since, through all changes, preserved its identity; that constitution of which all the other free constitutions in the world are copies, and which, in spite of some defects, deserves to be regarded as the best under which any great {xiii} society has ever yet existed during many ages. then it was that the house of commons, the archetype of all the representative assemblies which now meet, either in the old or in the new world, held its first sittings. then it was that the common law rose to the dignity of a science, and rapidly became a not unworthy rival of the imperial jurisprudence. then it was that the courage of those sailors who manned the rude barks of the cinque ports first made the flag of england terrible on the seas. then it was that the most ancient colleges which still exist at both the great national seats of learning were founded. then was formed that language, less musical indeed than the languages of the south, but in force, in richness, in aptitude for all the highest purposes of the poet, the philosopher, and the orator, inferior to the tongue of greece alone. then too appeared the first faint dawn of that noble literature, the most splendid and the most durable of the many glories of england.--macaulay. * * * this time of fusion during which all direct traces of foreign conquest were got rid of, was naturally the time during which the political and social institutions of the country gradually took on that form which distinguishes modern england, the england of the last years from the older england of the first years of english history. ... by the time of edward i, though the english tongue had not yet finally displaced french, it had assumed the main characters which distinguished its modern from its ancient form. in architecture a great change had taken place, by which the romanesque style gave way to the so-called gothic. the subordinate arts had taken prodigious strides. the sculpture of the thirteenth century is parted from that of the twelfth by a wider gap than any that parts these centuries, in law or language. _and in the root of the matter in our law and constitution itself those changes have been made which wrought the body politic of england into a shape which has left future ages nothing to do but to improve in detail_. (italics ours.) in short the great destructive and creative age of europe and civilized asia passed over england as it passed over other lands. the age which saw the eastern empire fall beneath the arms of the frank and the eastern caliphate before the arms of the mogul--the age which saw the true power and glory of the western empire buried in the grave of the wonder of the world--the age which ruled that the warriors of the cross should work their will in spain and in prussia {xiv} and should not work their will in the holy land itself--the age which made venice mistress of the eastern seas, and bade florence stand forth as the new type of democratic freedom--the age which changed the nominal kingship of the lord of paris and orleans into the mighty realm of philip augustus and philip the fair--this age of wonders did its work of wonder in england also.--freeman, _the norman conquest_, vol. v, page . oxford, the clarendon press, . * * * the moment when this interaction might have seemed on the point of reaching a complete and harmonious result was the glorious thirteenth century, the culminating moment of the holy roman empire. then, as in the times of caesar or trajan, there might have seemed to be a union among civilized men, in which the separate life of individuals and localities was not submerged. in that golden age, alike of feudal system of empire and of church, there were to be seen the greatest monarchs, in fullest sympathy with their peoples, that christendom has ever known--an edward i, a st. louis, a frederick ii. then when in the pontificates of innocent iii and his successors the roman church reached its apogee, the religious yearning of men sought expressions in the sublimest architecture the world has seen. then aquinas summed up in his profound speculations the substance of catholic theology, and while the morning twilight of modern science might be discerned in the treatises of roger bacon, while wandering minstrelsy revealed the treasures of modern speech, soon to be wrought under the hands of dante and chaucer into forms of exquisite beauty, the sacred fervor of the apostolic ages found itself renewed in the tender and mystic piety of st. francis of assisi. it was a wonderful time, but after all less memorable as the culmination of medieval empire and medieval church than as the dawning of the new era in which we live to-day. * * * while wave after wave of germanic colonization poured over romanized europe, breaking down old boundary lines and working sudden and astonishing changes on the map, setting up in every quarter baronies, dukedoms, and kingdoms fermenting with vigorous political life; while for twenty generations this salutary but wild and dangerous work was going on, there was never a moment when the imperial sway of {xv} rome was quite set aside and forgotten, there was never a time when union of some sort was not maintained through the dominion which the church had established over the european mind. when we duly consider this great fact in its relations to what went before and what came after, it is hard to find words fit to express the debt of gratitude which modern civilization owes to the roman catholic church. when we think of all the work, big with promise of the future, that went on in those centuries which modern writers in their ignorance used once to set apart and stigmatize as the "dark ages"; when we consider how the seeds of what is noblest in modern life were then painfully sown upon the soil which imperial rome had prepared; when we think of the various work of a gregory, a benedict, a boniface, an alfred, a charlemagne, we feel that there is a sense in which the most brilliant achievements of pagan antiquity are dwarfed in comparison with these. until quite lately, indeed, the student of history has had his attention too narrowly confined to the ages that have been pre-eminent for literature and art--the so-called classical ages--and thus his sense of historical perspective has been impaired.--fiske, _the beginnings of new england, or the puritan theocracy in its relations to civil and religions liberty_. {xvi} {xvii} contents. chapter i introduction, the thirteenth, greatest of centuries. deeds and men of a marvellous period. evolution and man. no intellectual development in historical period. the wonderful medieval pre-renaissance. our gothic ancestors. education for the classes and masses. universities, cathedrals, arts, and crafts. origins in art. supreme literature in every language. origins in law and liberty. beginnings of modern democracy. chapter ii universities and preparatory schools. origins of universities. triumph of invention. character unchanged ever since. university evolution, salerno, bologna, paris, oxford, cambridge, italian, french and spanish universities. origin of preparatory schools. cathedral colleges. decree of the council of lateran, every cathedral to have a school and metropolitan churches to have colleges. attendance at these preparatory schools. chapter iii what and how they studied at the universities. education of the middle ages usually ridiculed. ignorance of critics. scholastics laughed at by those only who know them, but at second hand. "logic, ethics and metaphysics owe to scholasticism a precision, unknown to the ancients themselves" (condorcet.) teaching methods. scholarly interests quite as in our own day. magnetism in literature. a magnetic engine. aquinas and the indestructibility of matter and the conservation of energy. roger bacon's four grounds of human ignorance. prophecy of explosives for motor purposes. correction of the calendar. contributions to optics. experiment as the basis of scientific knowledge. whewell's appreciation. albertus magnus and the natural sciences humboldt's praise for his physical geography. contributions to botany. declaration with regard to foolish popular notions. the {xviii} great group of scientific men at the university of paris. robert of sorbonne's directions how to study. education of the heart as well as the head. chapter iv the number of students and discipline. largest universities of all time. more students to the population than at any time since. discussion as to the numbers in attendance. comparative average ages of students. how such numbers were supported. working their way through college. some reasons for false impressions, as to university attendance. m. compayré's paragraph on education in the middle ages. supposed ignorance. the monks at the universities. how many students clerical. college abuses and discipline. the "nations," the under-graduate committee on discipline. teaching practical democracy. chapter v post-graduate work at the universities. medieval universities and additions to knowledge. original work done, their best apology. extensive writings of professors. enthusiasm of students who copied their books. post-graduate work in theology and in philosophy. period of the scholastics. graduates in law and collections and digests. post-graduate work in medicine most important. teaching by case histories. the significance of dropsy, suture of divided nerves, healing by first intention. william of salicet and his pupil lanfranc. the danger of the separation of surgery from medicine. red light and smallpox. mondaville and arnold of villanova. the republication of old texts. the supposed bull forbidding anatomy. the supposed bull forbidding chemistry. the encouragement of science in the medieval universities. chapter vi the book of the arts and popular education. the gothic cathedrals, the stone books of medieval arts. st. hugh of lincoln. wealth of meaning in the cathedrals. their power to please. gothic architecture everywhere, but no slavish imitation. english, french, german, and italian gothic. spanish gothic. gothic ideas in modern architecture. beauty of details. sculpture. gothic statuary, not stiff, nor ugly. most affinity with greek sculpture (reinach). the angel choir at lincoln. {xix} the marvellous stained glass of the period,--lincoln, york, chartres, bourges. storied windows and their teachings. beauty and utility in the arts. magnificent needlework, the cope of ascoli. the cathedral as an educator. the great stone book, which he who ran must read. symbolism of the cathedrals. the great abbeys, the monasteries, municipal and domestic architecture of the century. furniture and decorations. ruskin on giotto's tower. chapter vii arts and crafts--great technical schools. solution of problems of social unrest. blessed is the man who has found his work. merrie england. the workman's pleasure in his work. influence of the church in the arts and crafts movement. rivalry in building the cathedrals. organization of technical instruction. correction of optical illusions. the village blacksmith and carpenter. comparative perfection of the work done then and now. the trade guilds and the training of workmen. the system of instruction, apprentice, journeyman, master. the masterpiece. social co-operation and fraternity. mystery plays and social education. chapter viii great origins in painting. rise of painting. franciscans and dominicans, patrons of art. st. francis' return to nature, the incentive of art. cimabue's madonna. gaddi. guido, ugolino and duccio of siena. berlinghieri of lucca, giunta of pisa. giotto the master. his work at assisi, verona, naples, rome. marvellous universal appreciation of art. contrast with other times. false notions with regard to gothic art. sadness not a characteristic. the beauty of the human form divine. chapter ix libraries and bookmen. monastic regulations for collecting and lending books. library rules. circulating libraries. the abbey of st. victor, the sorbonne, st. germain des prés, and notre dame. fines for misuse of books. library catalogues. library of la ste. chapelle. first medical library at the hotel dieu. how books were collected. exchange of books. special revenue for the libraries in the monasteries. book collecting and bequests by ecclesiastics. cost of books. franciscan and dominican libraries. richard de bury's {xx} philobiblon. how books were valued. richard a typical bookman. his place in history. illuminated books. the most interesting and original of all time (humphreys). st. louis' beautiful books. chapter x the cid, the holy grail, the nibelungen. literature equal to accomplishment in other lines. architecture and literature, and the expression of national feelings. national epics of three western-most nations informed within the same half century. the cid, its unity of authorship and action. martial interest and spirited style. tender domestic scenes. psychological analysis. walter mapes, and the arthur legends. authorship and place in literature. launcelot one of the greatest heroes ever invented. unity of authorship of nibelungen. place in literature. modern interest. influence of these epics on national poetry. chapter xi meistersingers, minnesingers, trouvÃ�res, troubadours. a great century of song. the high character of women, as represented in these songs. nature-poetry, and love. walter von der vogelweide, hartman von aue, wolfram von eschenbach, conrad von kirchberg. the troubadours and their love songs. selections from arnaud de marveil, arnaud daniel, bertrand de born, william of st. gregory, and peyrols. chapter xii great latin hymns. greatest poetic bequest of the period. place of rhyme in latin. latin hymns the first native poetry in the language. influence of their charm of rhyme and rhythm on the developing languages of europe. supremacy of the dies irae, its many admirers. other surpassing latin hymns. celtic origin of rhyme. the stabat mater, some translations. critical faculty in hymn selection. jerusalem the golden, its place in christian song. aquinas' hymn, the pange lingua, its popularity. musical expression of feeling and plain chant. the best examples from this period. invention of part music, its adaptation and development in popular music. {xxi} chapter xiii the three most read books. a generation and the books it reads. reynard the fox, the golden legend, and the romance of the rose. "reynard the most profoundly humorous book ever written." powers of the author as observer. besides gulliver's travels, don quixote and pilgrim's progress. its relations to uncle remus and many other animal stories. the place of the golden legend in literature. longfellow's use of it. the romance of the rose for three centuries the most read book in europe. the answer to the charge of dullness. the rose as a commentary on the morning paper. the abuse of wealth as the poet saw it in the thirteenth century. praise of "poverty light heart and gay." chapter xiv some thirteenth century prose. prose of the century as great as the poetry. medieval latin unappreciated but eminently expressive. the prose style, simple, direct and nicely accurate. saintsbury's opinion as to the influence on modern literature of the scholastic philosophers' style. the chroniclers and the modern war correspondent. villehardouin, jocelyn of brakelond, joinville, matthew of paris. vincent of beauvais and the first encyclopedia. pagel's opinion of vincent's style. durandus' famous work on symbolism. examples of his style. the scriptures as the basis of style. chapter xv origin of drama. st. francis and the first nativity play. earlier mystery plays. chester cycle. humorous passages introduced. complete bible story represented. actors' wages and costumes. innocent diversion and educational influence. popular interest. everyman in our own day. comparison with the passion play at oberammergau. the drama as an important factor in popular education. active as well as passive participation in great poetry. anticipation of a movement only just beginning again. chapter xvi francis, the saint--the father of the renaissance. the renaissance, so-called. before the renaissance. gothic architecture and art. francis the father of the real renaissance. {xxii} matthew arnold and "the poor little man of god." st. francis as a literary man. the canticle of the sun. st. francis' career. the simple life. ruskin on francis' poverty. st. francis in the last ten years. the disciples who gathered around him. a century of franciscans. the third order of st. francis. kings and queens, nobles and scholars hail st. francis as father. what the religious orders accomplished. st. clare and the second order. chapter xvii aquinas, the scholar. the nobility and education. studies at cologne and paris. the distinguished faculty of paris in his time. _summa contra gentiles_. pope leo xiii. and aquinas' teaching. foundations of christian apologetics. characteristic passages from aquinas. necessity for revelation of god's existence. explanation of resurrection. liberty in aquinas' writings. greatness of aquinas and his contemporaries and the subsequent decadence of scholasticism. contemporary appreciation of st. thomas. his capacity for work. his sacred poetry. chapter xviii louis, the monarch. the greatest of rulers. his relations as a son, as a husband, as a father. his passion for justice. interest in education, in books, in the encyclopedia. tribute of voltaire. guizot's praise. the righting of wrongs. letters to his son. affection for his children. regard for monks. would have his children enter monasteries. treatment of the poor. attitude towards lepers. one of nature's noblemen. louis and the crusades. bishop stubbs, on the real meaning of the crusades. louis' interest in the crusades not a stigma, but an added reason for praise. chapter xix dante, the poet. dante not a solitary phenomenon. a troubadour. his minor poems and prose works. his wonderful sonnets. the growth of appreciation for him. italian art, great as it kept nearer to dante. tributes from italy's' greatest literary men. michael angelo's sonnets to him. a world poet. english admiration old and new. tributes of the two great english cardinals. dean church's essay. ruskin on the grotesque on {xxiii} dante. german critical appreciation. humboldt's tribute. america's burden of praise. dante and the modern thinker. his wonderful powers of observation. comparison with milton. his place as one of the supreme poets of all times. a type of the century. chapter xx the women of the century. women of the century worthy of the great period. st. clare of assisi's place in history. happiness. the supper at the portiuncula. peace, in the cloister and woman's influence. equality of sexes in the religious orders. st. elizabeth of hungary, the first settlement worker. "dear st. elizabeth's" influence on women since her time. blanche of castile as queen and mother. her influence as a ruler. difficulties with her daughter-in-law. mabel rich, the london tradesman's wife, and her sons. isabella countess of arundel and courageous womanly dignity. women's work in the century. service of the sick. co-education in italy. reason for absence in france and england. women professors at italian universities. feminine education four times in history. reasons for decline. women in the literature of the century. the high place accorded them by the poets of every country. dante's tribute to their charm without a hint of the physical. chapter xxi city hospitals--organized charity. charity occupied a co-ordinate place to education. pope innocent iii. organized both. his foundations of the city hospitals of the world, the santo spirito at rome the model. rise of hospitals in every country, virchow's tribute to innocent iii. care for lepers in special hospitals and eradication of this disease. the meaning of this for the modern time and tuberculosis. special institutions for erysipelas which prevented the spread of this disease. the organization of charity. the monasteries and the people. the freeing of prisoners held in slavery. two famous orders for this purpose. chapter xxii great origins in law. legal origins most surprising feature of the century. significance of magna charta. excerpts that show its character. the church, widows and orphans, common pleas, international law, no {xxiv} tax without consent, rights of freemen. development of meaning as time and progress demanded it. bracton's digest of the common law. edward i. the english justinian. simon de montfort. real estate laws. chapter xxiii justice and legal development. legal origins in other countries besides england. montalembert and france. st. louis and the enforcement of law. fehmic courts of germany and our vigilance committees. andrew ii., and the "golden bull, that legalized anarchy" in hungary. laws of poland. the popes and legal codification; innocent iii, gregory ix. commentaries on law at the universities. pope boniface viii, the canonist. origin of "no taxation without representation." chapter xxiv democracy, christian socialism and nationality. origins in popular self-government. representation in the governing body. german free cities. swiss declaration of independence. christian socialism and "the three eights." saturday half-holiday, and the vigils of holy-days. christian fraternity and the guilds. organization of charity. the guild merchant and fraternal solidarity. the guild of the holy cross, stratford, and its place in town government and education. progress of democracy. how the crusades strengthened the democratic spirit. their place in the history of human liberty and of nationality. chapter xxv great explorers and the foundation of geography. geography's wonderful development. modern problems, thibet explored, lhasa entered. this perhaps the greatest triumph of the century. marco polo's travels. former mistrust now unstinted admiration. striking observations of polo. john of carpini's travels in the near east. colonel yule on the book of the tartars. friar william of rubruquis' travels in tartary. anticipations of modern opinions as to language. some details of description. friar odoric and his irish companion. the praemonstratensian hayton. franciscan missionary zeal supplied for our geographical societies. idle monks. {xxv} chapter xxvi great beginnings of modern commerce. this is the most interesting phase for our generation. hanseatic league and obscurity of its origin. league of lombard cities and effect of crusades. importance of hansa. enforcement of its decrees. confederation of cities from england to central russia. surprising greatness of the cities. beginnings of international law. commerce and peace. origins of coast regulation. fraternal initiations and their equivalents in the aftertime. origins in hazing. commerce and liberty. fostering of democracy. international comity. appendix i so-called history. appendix ii twenty-six chapters that might have been. i. america in the thirteenth century--papal documents. ii. a representative upper house. iii. the parish, and training in citizenship. iv. the chance to rise. v. insurance--fire, marine, robbery, against injustice. vi. old age pensions, disability wages. vii. ways and means of charity--organized charity. viii. scientific universities, investigation, writing. ix. medical education and high professional status. x. magnetism--first perpetual motion inventor--the north pole. xi. biological theories--evolution, recapitulation. xii. the pope of the century--innocent iii. xiii. international arbitration. xiv. bible revision. xv. fiction of the century. xvi. great orators. xvii. great beginnings of english literature. xviii. origins of music. xix. refinement and table manners. xx. textiles, satins, brocades, laces, needlework. xxi. glass-making. xxii. inventions. xxiii. industry and trade. xxiv. fairs and markets. xxv. intensive farming. xxvi. cartography and the teaching of geography--hereford map of the world. appendix iii criticisms, comments, documents. human progress. the century of origins. education. technical education of the masses. how it all stopped. comfort and poverty. comfort and happiness. comfort and health. hygiene. wages and the condition of working people. interest and loans. the eighteenth lowest of centuries. {xxvi} {xxvii} list of illustrations. . le beau dieu (amiens)--frontispiece (ii) . virgin with the divine child (mosaic, st. mark's, venice)--opposite page . pulpit (n. pisano, siena)--opposite page . archangel michael (giovanni pisano, pisa)--opposite page . christ (andrea pisano, florence)--opposite page . sta. reparata (andrea pisano, florence)--opposite page . paschal candlestick (baptistery, florence)--opposite page . reliquary (cathedral orvieto, ugolino di vieri)--opposite page . the church in symbol (paris)--on page . adoration of magi (pulpit, siena, nic. pisano)--opposite page . cathedral (lincoln)--opposite page . cathedral (york)--opposite page . cloister of st. john lateran (rome)--opposite page . jacques coeur's house (bourges)--on page . rathhaus (tangermünde)--opposite page . cathedral (hereford)--opposite page . cathedral (york, east)--opposite page . single flying buttress--on page . christ driving out money changers (giotto)--opposite page . bride from marriage of cana (giotto)--opposite page . head (mosaic, st. mark's, venice)--opposite page . head of blessed virgin annunciation--opposite page . petrarch portraits by benozzo gozzoli--opposite page . dante portraits by benozzo gozzoli--opposite page . giotto portraits by benozzo gozzoli--opposite page . screen (hereford)--opposite page . doorway of sacristy (bourges)--opposite page . double flying buttress--on page . angel choir (lincoln)--opposite page . cathedral (amiens)--opposite page . cathedral (rheims)--opposite page . cloister of st. paul's (without the walls, rome)--opposite page . cathedral (bourges)--opposite page . cathedral (chartres)--opposite page . durham castle and cathedral--opposite page . king john's castle (limerick)--opposite page . giotto's tower (florence)--opposite page . palazzo vecchio (florence) campanile (giotto)--opposite page {xxviii} . fountain (perugia) [town pump]--opposite page . lavatoio (todi) [public wash-house]--opposite page . reliquary (limoges museo, florence)--opposite page . crucifix (duomo, siena)--opposite page . madonna, cimabue (rucellai chapel, santa maria novella, florence)-- opposite page . st. francis' marriage with poverty (giotto, assisi)--opposite page . espousal of st. catherine (gaddi, xiii. century pupil, perugia)-- opposite page . group from visitation (rheims)--on page . monument of cardinal de bray (arnolfo)--opposite page . decoration (xiii. cent. psalter mss.)--on page . santa maria sopra minerva (rome's gothic cathedral)--opposite page . crozier (obverse and reverse)--on page . tower of scaligers--on page . st. francis prophesies the death of celano (giotto, upper ch., assisi)--opposite page . virgin and child (pisa, campo santo, giov. pisano)--opposite page . entombment of blessed virgin--on page . st. christopher (alto relievo, venice)--opposite page . madonna and child (giov. pisano, padua)--opposite page . tower (lincoln)--on page . porta romana gate, florence (n. pisano)--opposite page . ponte alle grazie (lapo)--opposite page . church and cloisters, san antonio (padua)--opposite page . st. catherine's (lübeck)--opposite page . stone carving (paris)--on page . the first nativity play (giotto, upper church of assisi)--opposite page . palazzo buondelmonti (florence)--opposite page . palazzo tolomei (siena)--opposite page . capital (lincoln)--on page . the glorification of st. francis (giotto, lower church of assisi)-- opposite page . st. francis (church of the frari, venice, nic. pisano)--opposite page . st. clare--three franciscans (giotto)--opposite page . st. louis--three franciscans (giotto)--opposite page . st. elizabeth--three franciscans (giotto)--opposite page . side capital (lincoln)--on page . notre dame (paris)--opposite page . la sainte chapelle (paris)--opposite page [missing] . cathedral (orvieto)--opposite page [missing] {xxix} . apostle (la sainte chapelle, paris)--opposite page . decoration (queen mary's psalter, xiii. century ms.)--on page . portrait of dante (giotto, in the bargello, florence)--opposite page . torre del fame (dante, pisa)--opposite page . palazzo pretorio (todi)--opposite page . angel (rheims)--on page . st. clare bids the dead st. francis good-bye (giotto, up. ch. assisi)--opposite page . church (doberan, germany)--opposite page . san damiano (assisi)--opposite page . st. elizabeth's cathedral (marburg)--opposite page . marriage of the blessed virgin (giotto, padua)--opposite page . mosaic (st. mark's, venice, )--opposite page . stone carving (amiens)--on page . hospital of the holy ghost (lübeck)--opposite page . charity (giotto)--opposite page . fortitude (giotto)--opposite page . hope (giotto)--opposite page . hospital interior--on page . tower (marburg)--on page . city gate (neubrandenburg)--opposite page . rathhaus (stralsund)--opposite page . portrait of pope boniface viii. (giotto, rome)--opposite page . decoration (xiii. cent. psalter)--on page . doorway (lincoln)--opposite page . nave (durham)--opposite page . broken arch (st. mary's, york, climax of gothic)--opposite page . animals from bestiarium (xiii. cent. ms.)--on page . door of giotto's tower (florence)--opposite page . principal door of baptistery (pisa)--opposite page . palazzo dei consoli (gubbio)--opposite page . palazzo zabarella (padua)--opposite page . rathhaus (lübeck)--opposite page . city gate (neubrandenburg)--opposite page . minster (chorin, germany)--opposite page . hinge from schlestadt--on page . portion of letter of innocent iii., mentioning greenland--on page . double pivoted compass needle--on page . peregrinus' compass--on page . portion of ms. of ormulum--on page . key of map of world (hereford)--on page . map of world (hereford)--opposite page {xxx} { } i introduction the thirteenth, the greatest of centuries it cannot but seem a paradox to say that the thirteenth was the greatest of centuries. to most people the idea will appear at once so preposterous that they may not even care to consider it. a certain number, of course, will have their curiosity piqued by the thought that anyone should evolve so curious a notion. either of these attitudes of mind will yield at once to a more properly receptive mood if it is recalled that the thirteenth is the century of the gothic cathedrals, of the foundation of the university, of the signing of magna charta, and of the origin of representative government with something like constitutional guarantees throughout the west of europe. the cathedrals represent a development in the arts that has probably never been equaled either before or since. the university was a definite creation of these generations that has lived and maintained its usefulness practically in the same form in which it was then cast for the seven centuries ever since. the foundation stones of modern liberties are to be found in the documents which for the first time declared the rights of man during this precious period. a little consideration of the men who, at this period, lived lives of undying influence on mankind, will still further attract the attention of those who have not usually grouped these great characters together. just before the century opened, three great rulers died at the height of their influence. they are still and will always be the subject of men's thoughts and of literature. they were frederick barbarossa, saladin, and richard coeur de lion. they formed but a suggestive prelude of what was to come in the following century, when such { } great monarchs as st. louis of france, st. ferdinand of spain, alfonso the wise of castile, frederick ii of germany, edward i, the english justinian, rudolph of hapsburg, whose descendants still rule in austria, and robert bruce, occupied the thrones of europe. was it by chance or providence that the same century saw the rise of and the beginning of the fall of that great eastern monarchy which had been created by the genius for conquest of jenghiz khan, the tartar warrior, who ruled over all the eastern world from beyond what are now the western confines of russia, poland, and hungary, into and including what we now call china. but the thrones of europe and of asia did not monopolize the great men of the time. the thirteenth century claims such wonderful churchmen as st. francis and st. dominic, and while it has only the influence of st. hugh of lincoln, who died just as it began, it can be proud of st. edmund of canterbury, stephen langton, and robert grosseteste, all men whose place in history is due to what they did for their people, and such magnificent women as queen blanche of castile, st. clare of assisi, and st. elizabeth of hungary. the century opened with one of the greatest of the popes on the throne, innocent iii, and it closed with the most misunderstood of popes, who is in spite of this one of the worthiest successors of peter, boniface viii. during the century there had been such men as honorius iv, the patron of learning, gregory ix, to whom canon law owes so much, and john xxi, who had been famous as a scientist before becoming pope. there are such scholars as st. thomas of aquin, albertus magnus, roger bacon, st. bonaventure, duns scotus, raymond lully, vincent of beauvais, and alexander of hales, and such patrons of learning as robert of sorbonne, and the founders of nearly twenty universities. there were such artists as gaddi, cimabue, and above all giotto, and such literary men as the authors of the arthur legends and the nibelungen, the meistersingers, the minnesingers, the troubadours, and trouvères, and above all dante, who is universally considered now to be one of the greatest literary men of all times, but who was not, as is so often thought and said, a solitary phenomenon in the period, but only the culmination of a great literary movement that had to have { } some such supreme expression of itself as this in order to properly round out the cycle of its existence. if in addition it be said that this century saw the birth of the democratic spirit in many different ways in the various countries of europe, but always in such form that it was never quite to die out again, the reasons for talking of it as possibly the greatest of centuries will be readily appreciated even by those whose reading has not given them any preliminary basis of information with regard to this period, which has unfortunately been shrouded from the eyes of most people by the fact, that its place in the midst of the middle ages would seem to preclude all possibility of the idea that it could represent a great phase of the development of the human intellect and its esthetic possibilities. there would seem to be one more or less insuperable objection to the consideration of the thirteenth as the greatest of centuries, and that arises from the fact that the idea of evolution has consciously and unconsciously tinged the thoughts of our generation to such a degree, that it seems almost impossible to think of a period so far in the distant past as having produced results comparable with those that naturally flow from the heightened development of a long subsequent epoch. whatever of truth there may be in the great theory of evolution, however, it must not be forgotten that no added evidence for its acceptance can be obtained from the intellectual history of the human race. we may be "the heirs of all the ages in the foremost files of time," but one thing is certain, that we can scarcely hope to equal, and do not at all think of surpassing, some of the great literary achievements of long past ages. in the things of the spirit apparently there is very little, if any, evolution. homer wrote nearly three thousand years ago as supreme an expression of human life in absolute literary values as the world has ever known, or, with all reverence for the future be it said, is ever likely to know. the great dramatic poem job emanated from a hebrew poet in those earlier times, and yet, if judged from the standpoint of mere literature, is as surpassing an expression of human intelligence in the presence of the mystery of evil as has ever come from the mind of man. we are no nearer the solution of the problem of { } evil in life, though thousands of years have passed and man has been much occupied with the thoughts that disturbed the mind of the ruler of moab. the code of hammurabi, recently discovered, has shown very definitely, that men could make laws nearly five thousand years ago as well calculated to correct human abuses as those our legislators spend so much time over at present, and the olden time laws were probably quite as effective as ours can hope to be, for all our well intentioned purpose and praiseworthy efforts at reform. it used to be a favorite expression of virchow, the great german pathologist, who was, besides, however, the greatest of living anthropologists, that from the history of the human race the theory of evolution receives no confirmation of any kind. his favorite subject, the study of skulls, and their conformation in the five thousand years through which such remains could be traced, showed him absolutely no change. for him there had been also no development in the intellectual order in human life during the long period of human history. of course this is comparatively brief if the long aeons of geological times be considered, yet some development might be expected to manifest itself in the more than two hundred generations that have come and gone since the beginning of human memory. perhaps, then, the prejudice with regard to evolution and its supposed effectiveness in making the men of more recent times superior to those of the past, may be considered to have very little weight as an _a priori_ objection to the consideration of the thirteenth century as representing the highest stage in human accomplishment. so far as scientific anthropology goes there is utter indifference as to the period that may be selected as representing man at his best. to most people the greater portion of surprise with regard to the assertion of the thirteenth as the greatest of centuries will be the fact that the period thus picked out is almost in the heart of the middle ages. it would be not so amazing if the fifth century before christ, which produced such marvelous accomplishments in letters and art and philosophy among the greeks, was chosen as the greatest of human epochs. there might not even be so much of unpreparedness of mind if that supreme century of roman history, from fifty years before christ to fifty years after, were picked out for such signal notice. [illustration] virgin with the divine child (mosaic, st. mark's, venice) { } we have grown accustomed, however, to think of the middle ages as hopelessly backward in the opportunities they afforded men for the expression of their intellectual and artistic faculties, and above all for any development of that human liberty which means so much for the happiness of the race and must constitute the basis of any real advance worth while talking about in human affairs. it is this that would make the thirteenth century seem out of place in any comparative study for the purpose of determining proportionate epochal greatness. the spirit breathes where it will, however, and there was a mighty wind of the spirit of human progress abroad in that thirteenth century, whose effects usually miss proper recognition in history, because people fail to group together in their minds all the influences in our modern life that come to us from that precious period. all this present volume pretends to do is to gather these scattered details of influence in order to make the age in which they all coincided so wonderfully, be properly appreciated. if we accept the usual historical division which places the middle ages during the thousand years between the fall of the roman empire, in the fifth century and the fall of the grecian empire of constantinople, about the middle of the fifteenth, the thirteenth century must be considered the culmination of that middle age. it is three centuries before the renaissance, and to most minds that magical word represents the beginning of all that is modern, and therefore all that is best, in the world. most people forget entirely how much of progress had been made before the so-called renaissance, and how many great writers and artists had been fostering the taste and developing the intelligence of the people of italy long before the fall of constantinople. the renaissance, after all, means only the re-birth of greek ideas and ideals, of greek letters and arts, into the modern world. if this new birth of greek esthetics had not found the soil thoroughly prepared by the fruitful labor of three centuries before, history would not have seen any such outburst of artistic and literary accomplishments as actually came at the end of the fifteenth and during the sixteenth centuries. { } in taking up the thesis, the thirteenth the greatest of centuries, it seems absolutely necessary to define just what is meant by the term great, in its application to a period. an historical epoch, most people would concede at once, is really great just in proportion to the happiness which it provides for the largest possible number of humanity. that period is greatest that has done most to make men happy. happiness consists in the opportunity to express whatever is best in us, and above all to find utterance for whatever is individual. an essential element in it is the opportunity to develop and apply the intellectual faculties, whether this be of purely artistic or of thoroughly practical character. for such happiness the opportunity to rise above one's original station is one of the necessary requisites. out of these opportunities there comes such contentment as is possible to man in the imperfect existence that is his under present conditions. almost as important a quality in any epoch that is to be considered supremely great, is the difference between the condition of men at the beginning of it and at its conclusion. the period that represents most progress, even though at the end uplift should not have reached a degree equal to subsequent periods, must be considered as having best accomplished its duty to the race. for purposes of comparison it is the amount of ground actually covered in a definite time, rather than the comparative position at the end of it, that deserves to be taken into account. this would seem to be a sort of hedging, as if the terms of the comparison of the thirteenth with other centuries were to be made more favorable by the establishment of different standards. there is, however, no need of any such makeshift in order to establish the actual supremacy of the thirteenth century, since it can well afford to be estimated on its own merits alone, and without any allowances because of the stage of cultural development at which it occurred. john ruskin once said that a proper estimation of the accomplishments of a period in human history can only be obtained by careful study of three books--the book of the deeds, the book of the arts, and the book of the words, of the given epoch. the thirteenth century may be promptly ready for this judgment of what it accomplished for men, of { } what it wrote for subsequent generations, and of the artistic qualities to be found in its art remains. in the book of the deeds of the century what is especially important is what was accomplished for men, that is, what the period did for the education of the people, not alone the classes but the masses, and what a precious heritage of liberty and of social coordination it left behind. to most people it will appear at once that if the most important chapter of thirteenth century accomplishment is to be found in the book of its deeds and the deeds are to be judged according to the standard just given of education and liberty, then there will be no need to seek further, since these are words for which it is supposed that there is no actual equivalent in human life and history for at least several centuries after the close of the thirteenth. as a matter of fact, however, it is in this very chapter that the thirteenth century will be found strongest in its claim to true greatness. the thirteenth century saw the foundation of the universities and their gradual development into the institutions of learning which we have at the present time. those scholars of the thirteenth century recognized that, for its own development and for practical purposes, the human intellect can best be trained along certain lines. for its preliminary training, it seemed to them to need what has since come to be called the liberal arts, that is, a knowledge of certain languages and of logic, as well as a thorough consideration of the great problems of the relation of man to his creator, to his fellow-men, and to the universe around him. grammar, a much wider subject than we now include under the term, and philosophy constituted the undergraduate studies of the universities of the thirteenth century. for the practical purposes of life, a division of post-graduate study had to be made so as to suit the life design of each individual, and accordingly the faculties of theology, for the training of divines; of medicine, for the training of physicians; and of law, for the training of advocates, came into existence. we shall consider this subject in more detail in a subsequent chapter, but it will be clear at once that the university, as organized by these wise generations of the thirteenth century, has come down unchanged to us in the modern time. we { } still have practically the same methods of preliminary training and the same division of post-graduate studies. we specialize to a greater degree than they did, but it must not be forgotten that specialism was not unknown by any means in the thirteenth century, though there were fewer opportunities for its practical application to the things of life. if this century had done nothing else but create the instrument by which the human mind has ever since been trained, it must be considered as deserving a place of the very highest rank in the periods of human history. it is, however, much more for what it accomplished for the education of the masses than for the institutions it succeeded in developing for the training of the classes, that the thirteenth century merits a place in the roll of fame. this declaration will doubtless seem utterly paradoxical to the ordinary reader of history. we are very prone to consider that it is only in our time that anything like popular education has come into existence. as a matter of fact, however, the education afforded to the people in the little towns of the middle ages, represents an ideal of educational uplift for the masses such as has never been even distantly approached in succeeding centuries. the thirteenth century developed the greatest set of technical schools that the world has ever known. the technical school is supposed to be a creation of the last half century at the outside. these medieval towns, however, during the course of the building of their cathedrals, of their public buildings and various magnificent edifices of royalty and for the nobility, succeeded in accomplishing such artistic results that the world has ever since held them in admiration, and that this admiration has increased rather than diminished with the development of taste in very recent years. nearly every one of the most important towns of england during the thirteenth century was erecting a cathedral. altogether some twenty cathedrals remain as the subject of loving veneration and of frequent visitation for the modern generation. there was intense rivalry between these various towns. each tried to surpass the other in the grandeur of its cathedral and auxiliary buildings. instead of lending workmen to one another there was a civic pride in accomplishing for one's native town whatever was best. [illustration] pulpit (pisano, siena) { } each of these towns, then, none of which had more than twenty thousand inhabitants except london, and even that scarcely more, had to develop its own artist-artisans for itself. that they succeeded in doing so demonstrates a great educational influence at work in arts and crafts in each of these towns. we scarcely succeed in obtaining such trained workmen in proportionately much fewer numbers even with the aid of our technical schools, and while these thirteenth century people did not think of such a term, it is evident that they had the reality and that they were able to develop artistic handicraftsmen--the best the world has ever known. with all this of education abroad in the lands, it is not surprising that great results should have flowed from human efforts and that these should prove enduring even down to our own time. accomplishments of the highest significance were necessarily bound up with opportunities for self-expression, so tempting and so complete, as those provided for the generations of the thirteenth century. the books of the words as well as of the arts of the thirteenth century will be found eminently interesting, and no period has ever furnished so many examples of wondrous initiative, followed almost immediately by just as marvelous progress and eventual approach to as near perfection as it is perhaps possible to come in things human. ordinarily literary origins are not known with sufficient certainty as to dates for any but the professional scholar to realize the scope of the century's literature. only a very little consideration, however, is needed to demonstrate how thoroughly representative of what is most enduring in literary expression in modern times, are the works in every country that had origin in this century. there was not a single country in civilized europe which did not contribute its quota and that of great significance to the literary movement of the time. in spain there came the cid and certain accompanying products of ballad poetry which form the basis of the national literature and are still read not only by scholars and amateurs, but even by the people generally, because of the supreme human interest in them. in england, the beginning of the thirteenth century saw the putting { } into shape of the arthur legends in the form in which they were to appeal most nearly to subsequent generations. walter map's work in these was, as we shall see, one of the great literary accomplishments of all time. subsequent treatments of the same subject are only slight modifications of the theme which he elaborated, and mallory's and spenser's and even our own tennyson's work derive their interest from the humanly sympathetic story, written so close to the heart of nature in the thirteenth century that it will always prove attractive. in germany, just at the same time, the nibelungen-lied was receiving the form in which it was to live as the great national epic. the meistersingers also were accomplishing their supreme work of christianizing and modernizing the old german and christian legends which were to prove such a precious heritage of interest for posterity. in the south of germany the minnesingers sang their tuneful strains and showed how possible it was to take the cruder language of the north, and pour forth as melodious hymns of praise to nature and to their beloved ones as in the more fluent southern tongues. most of this was done in the old suabian high german dialect, and the basis of the modern german language was thus laid. the low german was to prove the vehicle for the original form of the animal epic or stories with regard to reynard, the fox, which were to prove so popular throughout all of europe for all time thereafter. in north france the trouvères were accomplishing a similar work to that of the minnesingers in south germany, but doing it with an original genius, a refinement of style characteristic of their nation, and a finish of form that was to impress itself upon french literature for all subsequent time. here also jean de meun and guillaume de lorris wrote the romance of the rose, which was to remain the most popular book in europe down to the age of printing and for some time thereafter. at the south of france the work of the troubadours, similar to that of the trouvères and yet with, a spirit and character all its own, was creating a type of love songs that the world recurs to with pleasure whenever the lyrical aspect of poetry becomes fashionable. the influence of the troubadours was to be felt in italy, and before the end of the { } thirteenth century there were many writers of short poems that deserve a place in what is best in literature. men like sordello, guido cavalcanti, cino da pistoia, and dante da maiano, deserve mention in any historical review of literature, quite apart from the influence which they had on their great successor, the prince of italian poets and one of the immortal trio of the world's supreme creative singers--dante alighieri. with what must have seemed the limit of conceit he placed himself among the six greatest poets, but posterity breathes his name only with those of homer and shakespeare. dante, in spite of his giant personality and sublime poetic genius, is not an exception nor a solitary phenomenon in the course of the century, but only a worthy culmination of the literary movement which, beginning in the distant west in spain and england, gradually worked eastward quite contrary to the usual trend of human development and inspired its greatest work in the musical tuscan dialect after having helped in the foundation of all the other modern languages. dante is the supreme type of the thirteenth century, the child of his age, but the great master whom medieval influences have made all that he is. that he belongs to the century there can be no doubt, and of himself alone he would be quite sufficient to lift any period out of obscurity and place it among the favorite epochs, in which the human mind found one of those opportune moments for the expression of what is sublimest in human thought. it is, however, the bock of the arts of the thirteenth century that deserves most to be thumbed by the modern reader intent on learning something of this marvelous period of human existence. there is not a single branch of art in which the men of this generation did not accomplish excelling things that have been favorite subjects for study and loving imitation ever since. perhaps the most marvelous quality of the grand old gothic cathedrals, erected during the thirteenth century, is not their impressiveness as a whole so much as their wonderful finish in detail. it matters not what element of construction or decoration be taken into consideration, always there is an approach to perfection in accomplishment in some one of the cathedrals that shows with what thoroughness the men of the { } time comprehended what was best in art, and how finally their strivings after perfection were rewarded as bountifully as perhaps it has ever been given to men to realize. of the major arts--architecture itself, sculpture and painting--only a word will be said here since they will be treated more fully in subsequent chapters. no more perfect effort at worthy worship of the most high has ever been accomplished than is to be seen in the gothic cathedrals in every country in europe as they exist to the present day. while the movement began in north france, and gradually spread to other countries, there was never any question of mere slavish imitation, but on the contrary in each country gothic architecture took on a national character and developed into a charming expression of the special characteristics of the people for whom and by whom it was made. english gothic is, of course, quite different to that of france; spanish gothic has a character all its own; the german gothic cathedrals partake of the heavier characteristics of the northern people, while italian gothic adds certain airy decorative qualities to the french model that give renewed interest and inevitably indicate the origin of the structures. in painting, cimabue's work, so wonderfully appreciated by the people of florence that spontaneously they flocked in procession to do honor to his great picture, was the beginning of modern art. how much was accomplished before the end of the century will be best appreciated when the name of giotto is mentioned as the culmination of the art movement of the century. as we shall see, the work done by him, especially at assisi, has been a source of inspiration for artists down even to our own time, and there are certain qualities of his art, especially his faculty for producing the feeling of solidity in his paintings, in which very probably he has never been surpassed. gothic cathedrals in other countries did not lend themselves so well as subjects of inspiration for decorative art, but in every country the sacred books in use in the cathedral were adorned, at the command of the artistic impulse of the period, in a way that has made the illuminated missals and office books of the thirteenth century perhaps the most precious that there are in the history of book-making. {opp } [illustration] archangel michael (giovanni pisano, pisa) [illustration] christ (andrea pisano, florence) [illustration] sta. reparata (andrea pisano, florence) { } it might be thought that in sculpture, at least, these thirteenth-century generations would prove to be below the level of that perfection and artistic expression which came so assuredly in other lines. it is true that most of the sculptures of the period have defects that make them unworthy of imitation, though it is in the matter of technique that they fail rather than in honest effort to express feelings appropriately within the domain of chiseled work. on the other hand there are some supreme examples of what is best in sculpture to be found among the adornments of the cathedrals of the period. no more simply dignified rendition of the god man has ever been made in stone than the statue of christ, which with such charming appropriateness the people of amiens have called _le beau dieu_, their beautiful god, and that visitors to their great cathedral can never admire sufficiently, admirably set off, as it is, in its beautiful situation above the main door of the great cathedral. other examples are not lacking, as for instance some of the thirteenth-century effigies of the french kings and queens at st. denis, and some of the wonderful sculptures at rheims. in its place as a subsidiary art to architecture for decorative purposes, sculpture was even more eminently successful. the best example of this is the famous angel choir of lincoln, one of the most beautiful things that ever came from the hand of man and whose designation indicates the belief of the centuries that only the angels could have made it. in the handicrafts most nearly allied to the arts, the thirteenth century reigns supreme with a splendor unapproached by what has been accomplished in any other century. the iron work of their gates and railings, even of their hinges and latches and locks, has been admired and imitated by many generations since. when a piece of it is no longer of use, or loosens from the crumbling woodwork to which it was attached, it is straightway transported to some museum, there to be displayed not alone for its antiquarian interest, but also as a model and a suggestion to the modern designer. this same thing is true of the precious metal work of the times also, at least as regards the utensils and ornaments employed in the sacred services. the chalices and other sacred { } vessels were made on severely simple lines and according to models which have since become the types of such sacred utensils for all times. the vestments used in the sacred ceremonials partook of this same character of eminently appropriate handiwork united to the chastest of designs, executed with supreme taste. the famous cope of ascoli which the recent pierpont morgan incident brought into prominence a year or so ago, is a sample of the needlework of the times that illustrates its perfection. it is said by those who are authorities in the matter that thirteenth-century needlework represents what is best in this line. it is not the most elaborate, nor the most showy, but it is in accordance with the best taste, supremely suitable to the objects of which it formed a part. it is, after all, only an almost inevitable appendix to the beautiful work done in the illumination of the sacred books, that the sacred vestments should have been quite as supremely artistic and just as much triumphs of art. as a matter of fact, every minutest detail of cathedral construction and ornamentation shared in this artistic triumph. even the inscriptions, done in brass upon the gravestones that formed part of the cathedral pavements, are models of their kind, and rubbings from them are frequently taken because of their marvelous effectiveness as designs in gothic tracery. their bells were made with such care and such perfection that, down to the present time, nothing better has been accomplished in this handicraft, and their marvelous retention of tone shows how thorough was the work of these early bell-makers. the triumph of artistic decoration in the cathedrals, however, and the most marvelous page in the book of the arts of the century, remains to be spoken of in their magnificent stained-glass windows. where they learned their secret of glass-making we know not. artists of the modern time, who have spent years in trying to perfect their own work in this line, would give anything to have some of the secrets of the glass-makers of the thirteenth century. such windows as the five sisters at york, or the wonderful jesse window of chartres with some of its companions, are the despair of the modern { } artists in stained glass. the fact that their glass-making was not done at one, or even a few, common centers, but was apparently executed in each of these small medieval towns that were the site of a cathedral, only adds to the marvel of how the workmen of the time succeeded so well in accomplishing their purpose of solving the difficult problems of stained glasswork. {opp } [illustration ] paschal candlestick (baptistery, florence) [illustration:] reliquary (cathedral orvieto, ugolino di vieri) if, to crown all that has been said about the thirteenth century, we now add a brief account of what was accomplished for men in the matter of liberty and the establishment of legal rights, we shall have a reasonably adequate introduction to this great subject. liberty is thought to be a word whose true significance is of much more recent origin than the end of the middle ages. the rights of men are usually supposed to have received serious acknowledgment only in comparatively recent centuries. the recalling of a few facts, however, will dispel this illusion and show how these men of the later middle age laid the foundation of most of the rights and privileges that we are so proud to consider our birthright in this modern time. the first great fact in the history of modern liberty is the signing of magna charta which took place only a little after the middle of the first quarter of the thirteenth century. the movement that led up to it had arisen amongst the guildsmen as well as the churchmen and the nobles of the preceding century. when the document was signed, however, these men did not consider that their work was finished. they kept themselves ready to take further advantage of the necessities of their rulers and it was not long before they had secured political as well as legal rights. shortly after the middle of the thirteenth century the first english parliament met, and in the latter part of that half century it became a formal institution with regularly appointed times of meeting and definite duties and privileges. then began the era of law in its modern sense for the english people. the english common law took form and its great principles were enunciated practically in the terms in which they are stated down to the present day. bracton made his famous digest of the english common law for the use of judges and lawyers and it became a standard work of reference. such it { } has remained down to our own time. at the end of the century, during the reign of edward i, the english justinian, the laws of the land were formulated, lacunae in legislation filled up, rights and privileges fully determined, real-estate laws put on a modern basis, and the most important portions of english law became realities that were to be modified but not essentially changed in all the after time. this history of liberty and of law-making, so familiar with regard to england, must be repeated almost literally with regard to the continental nations. in france, the foundation of the laws of the kingdom were laid during the reign of louis ix, and french authorities in the history of law, point with pride, to how deeply and broadly the foundations of french jurisprudence were laid. under louis's cousin, ferdinand iii of castile, who, like the french monarch, has received the title of saint, because of the uprightness of his character and all that he did for his people, forgetful of himself, the foundations of spanish law were laid, and it is to that time that spanish jurists trace the origin of nearly all the rights and privileges of their people. in germany there is a corresponding story. in saxony there was the issue of a famous book of laws, which represented all the grants of the sovereigns, and all the claims of subjects that had been admitted by monarchs up to that time. in a word, everywhere there was a codification of laws and a laying of foundations in jurisprudence, upon which the modern superstructure of law was to rise. this is probably the most surprising part of the thirteenth century. when it began men below the rank of nobles were practically slaves. whatever rights they had were uncertain, liable to frequent violation because of their indefinite character, and any generation might, under the tyranny of some consciousless monarch, have lost even the few privileges they had enjoyed before. at the close of the thirteenth century this was no longer possible. the laws had been written down and monarchs were bound by them as well as their subjects. individual caprice might no longer deprive them arbitrarily of their rights and hard won privileges, though tyranny might still assert itself and a submissive generation might, for a time, { } allow themselves to be governed by measures beyond the domain of legal justification. any subsequent generation might, however, begin anew its assertion of its rights from the old-time laws, rather than from the position to which their forbears had been reduced by a tyrant's whim. is it any wonder, then, that we should call the generations that gave us the cathedrals, the universities, the great technical schools that were organized by the trades guilds, the great national literatures that lie at the basis of all our modern literature, the beginnings of sculpture and of art carried to such heights that artistic principles were revealed for all time, and, finally, the great men and women of this century--for more than any other it glories in names that were born not to die--is it at all surprising that we should claim for the period which, in addition to all this, saw the foundation of modern law and liberty, the right to be hailed--the greatest of human history? [illustration] the church [symbolized] (paris) { } ii universities and preparatory schools. to see, at once, how well the thirteenth deserves the name of the greatest of centuries, it is necessary, only, to open the book of her deeds and read therein what was accomplished during this period for the education of the men of the time. it is, after all, what a generation accomplishes for intellectual development and social uplift that must be counted as its greatest triumph. if life is larger in its opportunities, if men appreciate its significance better, if the development of the human mind has been rendered easier, if that precious thing, whose name, education, has been so much abused, is made readier of attainment, then the generation stamps itself as having written down in its book of deeds, things worthy for all subsequent generations to read. though anything like proper appreciation of it has come only in very recent times, there is absolutely no period of equal length in the history of mankind in which so much was not only attempted, but successfully accomplished for education, in every sense of the word, as during the thirteenth century. this included, not only the education of the classes but also the education of the masses. for the moment, we shall concern ourselves only with the education offered to, and taken advantage of by so many, in the universities of the time. it was just at the beginning of the thirteenth century that the great universities came into being as schools, in which all the ordinary forms of learning were taught. during the twelfth century, bologna had had a famous school of law which attracted students from all over europe. under irnerius, canon and civil law secured a popularity as subjects of study such as they never had before. the study of the old roman law brought back with it an interest in the latin classics, and the beginning of the true new birth--the real renaissance--of modern education must be traced from here. at paris there was a theological school attached to { } the cathedral which gradually became noted for its devotion to philosophy as the basis of theology, and, about the middle of the twelfth century, attracted students from every part of the civilized world. as was the case at bologna, interest after a time was not limited to philosophy and theology; other branches of study were admitted to the curriculum and a university in the modern sense came into existence. during the first quarter of the thirteenth century both of these schools developed faculties for the teaching of all the known branches of knowledge. at bologna faculties of arts, of philosophy and theology, and finally of medicine, were gradually added, and students flocked in ever increasing numbers to take advantage of these additional opportunities. at paris, the school of medicine was established early in the thirteenth century, and there were graduates in medicine before the year . law came later, but was limited to canon law to a great extent, orleans having a monopoly of civil law for more than a century. these two universities, bologna and paris, were, in every sense of the word, early in the century, real universities, differing in no essential from our modern institutions that bear the same name. if the thirteenth century had done nothing else but put into shape this great instrument for the training of the human mind, which has maintained its effectiveness during seven centuries, it must be accorded a place among the epoch-making periods of history. with all our advances in modern education we have not found it necessary, or even advisable, to change, in any essential way, this mold in which the human intellect has been cast for all these years. if a man wants knowledge for its own sake, or for some practical purpose in life, then here are the faculties which will enable him to make a good beginning on the road he wishes to travel. if he wants knowledge of the liberal arts, or the consideration of man's duties to himself, to his fellow-man and to his creator, he will find in the faculties of arts and philosophy and theology the great sources of knowledge in these subjects. if, on the other hand, he wishes to apply his mind either to the disputes of men about property, or to their injustices toward one another and the correction of abuses, then the faculty of law will { } supply his wants, and finally the medical school enables him, if he wishes, to learn all that can be known at a given time with regard to man's ills and their healing. we have admitted the practical-work subjects into university life, though not without protest, but architecture, engineering, bridge-building and the like, in which the men of the thirteenth century accomplished such wonders, were relegated to the guilds whose technical schools, though they did not call them by that name, were quite as effective practical educators as even the most vaunted of our modern university mechanical departments. it is rather interesting to trace the course of the development of schools in our modern sense of the term, because their evolution recapitulates, to some degree at least, the history of the individual's interest in life. the first school which acquired a european reputation was that of salernum, a little town not far from naples, which possessed a famous medical school as early as the ninth century, perhaps earlier. this never became a university, though its reputation as a great medical school was maintained for several centuries. this first educational opportunity to attract a large body of students from all over the world concerned mainly the needs of the body. the next set of interests which man, in the course of evolution develops, has to do with the acquisition and retention of property and the maintenance of his rights as an individual. it is not surprising, then, to find that the next school of world-wide reputation was that of law at bologna which became the nucleus of a great university. it is only after man has looked out for his bodily needs and his property rights, that he comes to think of his duties toward himself, his fellow-men, and his creator, and so the third of these great medieval schools, in time, was that of philosophy and theology, at paris. it is sometimes thought that the word university applied to these institutions after the aggregation of other faculties, was due to the fact that there was a universality of studies, that all branches of knowledge might be followed in them. the word university, however, was not originally applied to the school itself, which, if it had all the faculties of the modern university, was, in the thirteenth century, called a _studium generale_. the latin word universitas had quite a different { } usage at that time. whenever letters were formally addressed to the combined faculties of a _studium generale_ by reigning sovereigns, or by the pope, or by other high ecclesiastical authorities, they always began with the designation, universitas vestra, implying that the greeting was to all of the faculty, universally and without exception. gradually, because of this word constantly occurring at the beginning of letters to the faculty, the term universitas came to be applied to the institution. [footnote ] [footnote : certain other terms that occur in these letters of greeting to university officials have a more than passing interest. the rector of the university, for instance, was always formally addressed as amplitudo vestra, that is, your ampleness. considering the fact that not a few of the rectors of the old time universities, all of whom were necessarily ecclesiastics, must have had the ampleness of girth so characteristic of their order under certain circumstances, there is an appropriateness about this formal designation which perhaps appeals more to the risibilities of the modern mind than to those of medieval time.] while the universities, as is typically exemplified by the histories of bologna and paris, and even to a noteworthy degree of oxford, grew up around the cathedrals, they cannot be considered in any sense the deliberate creation, much less the formal invention, of any particular set of men. the idea of a university was not born into the world in full panoply as minerva from the brain of jove. no one set about consciously organizing for the establishment of complete institutions of learning. like everything destined to mean much in the world the universities were a natural growth from the favoring soil in which living seeds were planted. they sprang from the wonderful inquiring spirit of the time and the marvelous desire for knowledge and for the higher intellectual life that came over the people of europe during the thirteenth century. the school at paris became famous, and attracted pupils during the twelfth century, because of the new-born interest in scholastic philosophy. after the pupils had gathered in large numbers their enthusiasm led to the establishment of further courses of study. the same thing was true at bologna, where the study of law first attracted a crowd of earnest students, and then the demand for broader education led to the establishment of other faculties. { } above all, there was no conscious attempt on the part of any supposed better class to stoop down and uplift those presumably below it. as we shall see, the students of the university came mainly from the middle class of the population. they became ardently devoted to their teachers. as in all really educational work, it was the man and not the institution that counted for much. in case of disagreement of one of these with the university authorities, not infrequently there was a sacrifice of personal advantage for the moment on the part of the students in order to follow a favorite teacher. paris had examples of this several times before the thirteenth century, and notably in the case of abelard had seen thousands of students follow him into the distant desert where he had retired. later on, when abuses on the part of the authorities of paris limited the university's privileges, led to the withdrawal of students and the foundation of oxford, there was a community of interest on the part of certain members of the faculty and thousands of students. this movement was, however, distinctly of a popular character, in the sense that it was not guided by political or other leaders. nearly all of the features of university life during the thirteenth century, emphasize the democracy of feeling of the students, and make it clear that the blowing of the wind of the spirit of human liberty and intellectual enthusiasm influencing the minds of the generation, rather than any formal attempt on the part of any class of men deliberately to provide educational opportunities, is the underlying feature of university foundation and development. while the great universities of paris, bologna, and oxford were, by far, the most important, they must not be considered as the only educational institutions deserving the name of universities, even in our modern sense, that took definite form during the thirteenth century. in italy, mainly under the fostering care of ecclesiastics, encouraged by such popes as innocent iii, gregory ix, and honorius iv, nearly a dozen other towns and cities saw the rise of studia generalia eventually destined, and that within a few decades after their foundation, to have the complete set of faculties, and such a number of teachers and of students as merited for them the name of university. {opp } [illustration] adoration of magi (pulpit, siena, nic. pisano). { } very early in the century vicenza, reggio, and arezzo became university towns. before the first quarter of the century was finished there were universities at padua, at naples, and at vercelli. in spite of the troublous times and the great reduction in the population of rome there was a university founded in connection with the roman curia, that is the papal court, before the middle of the century, and siena and piacenza had founded rival university institutions. perugia had a famous school which became a complete university early in the fourteenth century. nor were other countries much behind italy in this enthusiastic movement. montpelier had, for over a century before the beginning of the thirteenth, rejoiced in a medical school which was the most important rival of that at salernum. at the beginning this reflected largely the moorish element in educational affairs in europe at this time. during the course of the thirteenth century montpelier developed into a full-fledged university though the medical school still continued to be the most important faculty. medical students from all over the world flocked to the salubrious town to which patients from all over were attracted, and its teachers and writers of medicine have been famous in medical history ever since. how thorough was the organization of clinical medical work at montpelier may perhaps best be appreciated from the fact, noted in the chapter on city hospitals--organized charity, that when pope innocent iii. wished to establish a model hospital at rome with the idea that it would form an exemplar for other european cities, he sent down to montpelier and summoned guy, the head of the hospital of the holy ghost in that city, to the papal capital to establish the roman hospital of the holy ghost and, in connection with it, a large number of hospitals all over europe. a corresponding state of affairs to that of montpelier is to be noted at orleans, only here the central school, around which the university gradually grouped itself, was the faculty of civil law. canon law was taught at paris in connection with the theological course, but there had always been objection to the admission of civil law as a faculty on a basis of equality with the other faculties. there was indeed { } at this time some rivalry between the civil and the canon law and so the study of civil law was relegated to other universities. even early in the twelfth century orleans was famous for its school of civil law in which the exposition of the principles of the old roman law constituted the basis of the university course. during the thirteenth century the remaining departments of the university gradually developed, so that by the close of the century, there seem to be conservative claims for over one thousand students. besides these three, french universities were also established at angers, at toulouse, and the beginnings of institutions to become universities early in the next century are recorded at avignon and cahors. spain felt the impetus of the university movement early in the thirteenth century and a university was founded at palencia about the end of the first decade. this was founded by alfonso xii. and was greatly encouraged by him. it is sometimes said that this university was transferred to salamanca about , but this is denied by denifle, whose authority in matters of university history is unquestionable. it seems not unlikely that salamanca drew a number of students from palencia but that the latter continued still to attract many students. about the middle of the thirteenth century the university of valladolid was founded. before the end of the century a fourth university, that of lerida, had been established in the spanish peninsula. spain was to see the greatest development of universities during the fourteenth century. it was not long after the end of the thirteenth century before coimbra, in portugal, began to assume importance as an educational institution, though it was not to have sufficient faculty and students to deserve the more ambitious title of university for half a century. while most people who know anything about the history of education realize the important position occupied by the universities during the thirteenth century and appreciate the estimation in which they were held and the numbers that attended them, very few seem to know anything of the preparatory schools of the time, and are prone to think that all the educational effort of these generations was exhausted in connection { } with the university. it is often said, as we shall see, that one reason for the large number of students reported as in attendance at the universities during the thirteenth century is to be found in the fact that these institutions practically combined the preparatory school and the academy of our time with the university. the universities are supposed to have been the only centers of education worthy of mention. there is no doubt that a number of quite young students were in attendance at the universities, that is, boys from to who would in our time be only in the preparatory school. we shall explain, however, in the chapter on the numbers in attendance at the universities that students went to college much younger in the past and graduated much earlier than they do in our day, yet apparently, without any injury to the efficacy of their educational training. in the universities of southern europe it is still the custom for boys to graduate with the degree of a. b. at the age of to , which supposes attendance at the university, or its equivalent in under-graduate courses, at the age of or even less. there is no need, however, to appeal to the precociousness of the southern nations in explanation of this, since there are some good examples of it in comparatively recent times here in america. most of the colleges in this country, in the early part of the nineteenth century and the end of the eighteenth, graduated young men of and and thought that they were accomplishing a good purpose, in allowing them to get at their life work in early manhood. many of the distinguished divines who made names in educational work are famous for their early graduations. dr. benjamin rush, of philadelphia, whom the medical profession of this country hails as the father of american medicine, graduated at princeton at . he must have begun his college course, therefore, about the age of . this may be considered inadvisable in our generation, but, it must be remembered that there are many even in our day, who think that our college men are allowed to get at their life-work somewhat too late for their own good. it must be emphasized, moreover, that in many of the university towns there were also preparatory schools. courses { } were not regularly organized until well on in the thirteenth century, but younger brothers and friends of students as well as of professors would not infrequently be placed under their care and thus be enabled to receive their preparation for university work. at paris, robert sorbonne founded a preparatory school for that institution under the name of the college of calvi. other colleges of this kind also existed in paris. this custom of having a preparatory school in association with the university has not been abandoned even in our own day, and it has some decided advantages from an educational standpoint, though perhaps these are not enough to balance certain ethical disadvantages almost sure to attach to such a system, disadvantages which ultimately led in the middle ages to the prohibition that young students should be taken at the universities under any pretext. the presence of these young students in university towns probably did add considerably to the numbers reported as in attendance. it must not be thought, however, that there were no formal preparatory schools quite apart from university influence. this thought has been the root of more misunderstanding of the medieval system of education than almost any other. as a matter of fact there were preliminary and preparatory schools, what we would now call academies and colleges, in connection with all of the important monasteries and with every cathedral. schools of less importance were required by a decree of a council held at the beginning of the thirteenth century to be maintained in connection with every bishop's church. during the thirteenth century there were some twenty cathedrals in various parts of england; each one had its cathedral school. besides these there were at least as many important abbeys, nearly a dozen of them immense institutions, in which there were fine libraries, large writing rooms, in which copies of books were being constantly made, many of the members of the communities of which were university men, and around which, therefore, there clung an atmosphere of bookishness and educational influence that made them preparatory schools of a high type. the buildings themselves were of the highest type of architecture; the community life was well calculated to bring out what was best in the { } intellectuality of members of the community, and, then, there was a rivalry between the various religious orders which made them prepare their men well in order that they might do honor to the order when they had the opportunity later, as most of those who had the ability and the taste actually did have, to go to one or other of the universities. this system of preparatory schools need not be accepted on the mere assumption that the monasteries and churches must surely have set about such work, because there is abundant evidence of the actual establishment and maintenance of such schools. with regard to the monasteries there can be no doubt, because it was the members of the religious orders who particularly distinguished themselves at the universities, and the histories of oxford, cambridge, and paris are full of their accomplishments. they succeeded in obtaining the right to have their own houses at the universities and to have their own examinations count in university work, in order that they might maintain their influence over the members of the orders during the precious formative period of their intellectual life. with regard to the church schools there is convincing evidence of another kind. in the chapter on the foundation of city hospitals we have detailed on the authority of virchow all that innocent iii. accomplished for the hospital system of europe. this chapter was published originally in the form of a lecture from the historical department of the medical school of fordham university and a reprint of it was sent to a distinguished american educator well known for his condemnation of supposed church intolerance in the matter of education and scientific development. he said that he was glad to have it because it confirmed and even broadened the idea that he had long cherished, that the church had done more for charity during the despised middle ages than national governments had ever been able to accomplish since, though it was all the more surprising to him that it should not have under the circumstances, done more for education, since this might have prevented some of the ills that charity had afterward to relieve. this expression very probably represents the state of mind of very many scholars with regard to this period. the church is supposed to have interested herself { } in charity almost to the exclusion of educational influence. charity is of course admitted to be her special work, yet these scholars cannot help but regret that more was not done in social prophylaxis by the encouragement of education. in the light of this almost universal expression it is all the more interesting to find that such opinions are founded entirely on a lack of knowledge of what was done in education, since the same pope, in practically the same way and by the exertion of the same prestige and ecclesiastical authority, did for education just what he did for charity in the matter of the hospitals and the ailing poor. virchow, as we shall see, declared that to innocent iii. is due the foundation of practically all the city hospitals in europe. if the effect of certain of the decrees issued in his papacy be carefully followed, it will be found that practically as many schools as hospitals owe their origin to his beneficent wisdom and his paternal desire to spread the advantages of christianity all over the civilized world. this policy with regard to the hospitals led to the foundation before the end of the century of at least one hospital in every diocese of all the countries which were more closely allied with the holy see. there is extant a decree issued by the famous council of lateran, in , a council in which innocent's authority was dominant, requiring the establishment of a chair of grammar in connection with every cathedral in the christian world. this chair of grammar included at least three of the so-called liberal arts and provided for what would now be called, the education of a school preparatory to a university. before this, innocent iii, [footnote ] who had himself received the benefit of the best education of the time, having spent some years at rome and later at paris and at bologna, had encouraged the sending of students to these universities in every way. [footnote : most of the details of what was accomplished for education by pope innocent iii, and all the references needed to supply further information, can be found in the _hestoire litteratire de la france_, recent volumes of which were issued by the french institute, though the magnificent work itself was begun by benedictines of st. maur, who completed some fifteen volumes. the sixteenth volume, most of which is written by dauñou, is especially valuable for this period. du boulay, in his history of the university of paris, will furnish additional information with regard to pope innocent's relations to education throughout europe, especially, of course, in what regards the university of paris.] [illustration] cathedral (york) [illustration] cathedral (lincoln) { } bishops who came to rome were sure to hear inculcated the advisability of a taste for letters in clergymen, hear it said often enough that such a taste would surely increase the usefulness of all churchmen. schools had been encouraged before the issuance of the decree. this only came as a confirmatory document calculated to perpetuate the policy that had already been so prominently in vogue in the church for over fifteen years of the pope's reign. it was meant, too, to make clear to hesitant and tardy bishops, who might have thought that the papal interest in education was merely personal, that the policy of the church was concerned in it and recalled them to a sense of duty in the matter, since the ordinary enthusiasm for letters, even with the added encouragement of the pope, did not suffice to make them realize the necessity for educational establishments. the institution of the schools of grammar in connection with cathedrals was well adapted to bring about a definite increase in the opportunities for book learning for those who desired it. in connection with the cathedrals there was always a band of canons whose duty it was to take part in the singing of the daily office. their ceremonial and ritual duties did not, however, occupy them more than a few hours each day. during the rest of the time they were free to devote themselves to any subject in which they might be interested and had ample time for teaching. the requirement that there should be at least a school of grammar in connection with every cathedral afforded definite opportunity to such of these ecclesiastics as had intellectual tastes to devote themselves to the spread of knowledge and of culture, and this reacted, as can be readily understood, to make the whole band of canons more interested in the things of the mind, and to make the cathedral even more the intellectual center of the district than might otherwise have been the case. for the metropolitan churches a more far-reaching regulation was made by this same council of lateran under the inspiration of the pope himself. these important archiepiscopal cathedrals were required to maintain professors of three chairs. one of these was to teach grammar, a second philosophy, and a third canon law. under these designations there was practically included much of what is now studied not only in preparatory { } schools but also at the beginning of university courses. the regulation was evidently intended to lead eventually to the formation of many more universities than were then in existence, because already it had become clear that the traveling of students to long distances and their gathering in such large numbers in towns away from home influences, led to many abuses that might be obviated if they could stay in their native cities, or at least did not have to leave their native provinces. this was a far-seeing regulation that, like so many other decrees of the century, manifests the very practical policy of the pope in matters of education as well as charity. as a matter of fact this decree did lead to the gradual development of about twenty universities during the thirteenth century, and to the establishment of a number of other schools so important in scope and attendance that their evolution into universities during the fourteenth century became comparatively easy. this formal church law, moreover, imposed upon ecclesiastical authorities the necessity for providing for even higher education in their dioceses and made them realize that it was entirely in sympathy with the church's spirit and in accord with the wish of the father of christendom, that they should make as ample provision for education as they did for charity, though this last was supposed to be their special task as pastors of the christian flock. all this important work for the foundation of preparatory schools in every diocese and of the preliminary organization of teaching institutions that might easily develop into universities, as they actually did in a score of cases in metropolitan cities, was accomplished under the first pope of the thirteenth century, innocent iii. his successors kept up this good work. pope honorius iii., his immediate successor, went so far in this matter as to depose a bishop who had not read donatus, the popular grammarian of the time. the bishop evidently was considered unfit, as far as his mental training went, to occupy the important post of head of a diocese. pope gregory ix., the nephew of innocent iii., was one of the most important patrons of the study of law in this period (see legal origins in other countries), and encouraged the collection of the decrees of former popes so as to make them available for purposes of study as well as for court use. he is famous for { } having protected the university of paris during some of the serious trouble with the municipal authorities, when the large increase of the number of students in attendance at the university had unfortunately brought about strained relations between town and gown. pope innocent iv. by several decrees encouraged the development of the university of paris, increased its rights and conferred new privileges. he also did much to develop the university of toulouse, and especially to raise its standard and make it equal to that of paris as far as possible. the patronage of toulouse on the part of the pope is all the more striking because the study of civil law was here a special feature and the ecclesiastical authorities were often said to have looked askance at the rising prominence of civil law, since it threatened to diminish the importance of canon law; and the cultivation of it, only too frequently, seemed to give rise to friction between civil and ecclesiastical authorities. while the pontifical court of innocent iv. was maintained at lyons it seemed, according to the literary history of france, [footnote ] more like an academy of theology and of canon law than the court of a great monarch whose power was acknowledged throughout the world, or a great ecclesiastic who might be expected to be occupied with details of church government. [footnote : histoire litteratire de la france, vol. xvi, introductory discourse.] succeeding popes of the century were not less prominent in their patronage of education. pope alexander iv. supported the cause of the mendicant friars against the university of paris, but this was evidently with the best of intentions. the mendicants came to claim the privilege of having houses in association with the university in which they might have lectures for the members of their orders, and asked for due allowance in the matter of degrees for courses thus taken. the faculty of the university did not want to grant this privilege, though it was acknowledged that some of the best professors in the university were members of the mendicant orders, and we need only mention such names as albertus magnus and st. thomas aquinas from the dominicans, and st. bonaventure, roger bacon and duns scotus from the franciscans, to show the truth of this assertion. to give such a privilege { } seemed a derogation of the faculty rights and the university refused. then the holy see interfered to insist that the university must give degrees for work done, rather than merely for regulation attendance. the best possible proof that pope alexander cannot be considered as wishing to injure or even diminish the prestige of the university in any way, is to be found in the fact that he afterwards sent two of his nephews to paris to attend at the university. all these popes, so far mentioned, were not frenchmen and therefore could have no national feeling in the matter of the university of paris or of the french universities in general. it is not surprising to find that pope urban iv., who was a frenchman and an alumnus of the university of paris, elevated many french scholars, and especially his fellow alumni of paris, to church dignitaries of various kinds. after urban iv., nicholas iv. who succeeded him, though once more an italian, founded chairs in the university of montpelier, and also a professorship in a school that it was hoped would develop into a university at gray in franche comte. in a word, looked at from every point of view, it must be admitted that the church and ecclesiastical authorities were quite as much interested in education as in charity during this century, and it is to them that must be traced the foundation of the preparatory schools, as well as the universities, and the origin and development of the great educational movement that stamps this century as the greatest in human history. [illustration] jacques coeur's house (bourges) [illustration] cloister of st. john lateran (rome) { } iii what and how they studied at the universities. it is usually the custom for text books of education to dismiss the teaching at the universities of the middle ages with some such expression as: "the teachers were mainly engaged in metaphysical speculations and the students were occupied with exercises in logic and in dialectics, learning in long drawn out disputations how to use the intellectual instruments they possessed but never actually applying them. all knowledge was supposed to be amenable to increase through dialectical discussion and all truth was supposed, to be obtainable as the conclusion of a regular syllogism." great fun especially is made of the long-winded disputations, the time-taking public exercises in dialectics, the fine hair-drawn distinctions presumably with but the scantiest basis of truth behind them and in general the placing of words for realities in the investigation of truth and the conveyance of information. the sublime ignorance of educators who talk thus about the century that saw the rise of the universities in connection with the erection of the great cathedrals, is only equaled by their assumption of knowledge. it is very easy to make fun of a past generation and often rather difficult to enter into and appreciate its spirit. ridicule comes natural to human nature, alas! but sympathy requires serious mental application for understanding's sake. fortunately there has come in recent years a very different feeling in the minds of many mature and faithful students of this period, as regards the middle ages and its education. dialectics may seem to be a waste of time to those who consider the training of the human mind as of little value in comparison with the stocking of it with information. dialectical training will probably not often enable men to earn more money than might have otherwise been the case. this will be { } eminently true if the dialectician is to devote himself to commercial enterprises in his future life. if he is to take up one of the professions, however, there may be some doubt as to whether even his practical effectiveness will not be increased by a good course of logic. there is, however, another point of view from which this matter of the study of dialectics may be viewed, and which has been taken very well by prof. saintsbury of the university of edinburgh in a recent volume on the thirteenth century. he insists in a passage which we quote at length in the chapter on the prose of the century, that if this training in logic had not been obtained at this time in european development, the results might have been serious for our modern languages and modern education. he says: "if at the outset of the career of the modern languages, men had thought with the looseness of modern thought, had indulged in the haphazard slovenliness of modern logic, had popularized theology and vulgarized rhetoric, as we have seen both popularized and vulgarized since, we should indeed have been in evil case." he maintains that "the far-reaching educative influence in mere language, in mere system of arrangement and expression, must be considered as one of the great benefits of scholasticism." this is, after all, only a similar opinion to that evidently entertained by mr. john stuart mill, who, as prof. saintsbury says, was not often a scholastically-minded philosopher, for he quotes in the preface of his logic two very striking opinions from very different sources, the scotch philosopher, hamilton, and the french philosophical writer, condorcet. hamilton said, "it is to the schoolmen that the vulgar languages are indebted for what precision and analytical subtlety they possess." condorcet went even further than this, and used expressions that doubless will be a great source of surprise to those who do not realize how much of admiration is always engendered in those who really study the schoolmen seriously and do not take opinions of them from the chance reading of a few scattered passages, or depend for the data of their judgment on some second-hand authority, who thought it clever to abuse these old-time thinkers. condorcet thought them far in advance of the old greek philosophers for, he said, "logic, ethics, and metaphysics { } itself, owe to scholasticism a precision unknown to the ancients themselves." with regard to the methods and contents of the teaching in the undergraduate department of the university, that is, in what we would now call the arts department, there is naturally no little interest at the present time. besides the standards set up and the tests required can scarcely fail to attract attention. professor turner, in his history of philosophy, has summed up much of what we know in this matter in a paragraph so full of information that we quote it in order to give our readers the best possible idea in a compendious form of these details of the old-time education. "by statutes issued at various times during the thirteenth century it was provided that the professor should read, that is expound, the text of certain standard authors in philosophy and theology. in a document published by denifle, (the distinguished authority on medieval universities) and by him referred to the year , we find the following works among those prescribed for the faculty of arts: logica vetus (the old boethian text of a portion of the organon, probably accompanied by porphyry's isagoge); logica nova (the new translation of the organon); gilbert's liber sex principorium; and donatus's barbarismus. a few years later ( ), the following works are prescribed: aristotle's physics, metaphysics, de anima, de animalibus, de caelo et mundo, meteorica, the minor psychological treatises and some arabian or jewish works, such as the liber de causis and de differentia spirititus et animae." "the first degree for which the student of arts presented himself was that of bachelor. the candidate for this degree, after a preliminary test called responsiones (this regulation went into effect not later than ), presented himself for the determination which was a public defense of a certain number of theses against opponents chosen from the audience. at the end of the disputation, the defender summed up, or determined, his conclusions. after determining, the bachelor resumed his studies for the licentiate, assuming also the task of cursorily explaining to junior students some portion of the organon. the test for the degree of licentiate consisted { } in a _collatio_, or exposition of several texts, after the manner of the masters. the student was now a licensed teacher; he did not, however, become magister, or master of arts, until he had delivered what was called the _inceptio_, or inaugural lecture, and was actually installed (_birrettatio_). if he continued to teach he was called _magisier actu regens_; if he departed from the university or took up other work, he was called _magister non regens_. it may be said that, as a general rule, the course of reading was: ( ) for the bachelor's degree, grammar, logic, and psychology; ( ) for the licentiate, natural philosophy; ( ) for the master's degree, ethics, and the completion of the course of natural philosophy." quite apart from the value of its methods, however, scholasticism in certain of its features had a value in the material which it discussed and developed that modern generations only too frequently fail to realize. with regard to this the same distinguished authority whom we quoted with regard to dialectics, prof. saintsbury, does not hesitate to use expressions which will seem little short of rankly heretical to those who swear by modern science, and yet may serve to inject some eminently suggestive ideas into a sadly misunderstood subject. "yet there has always in generous souls who have some tincture of philosophy, subsisted a curious kind of sympathy and yearning over the work of these generations of mainly disinterested scholars, who, whatever they were, were thorough, and whatever they could not do, could think. _and there, have even, in these latter days, been some graceless ones who have asked whether the science of the nineteenth century, after an equal interval, will be of any more positive value--whether it will not have even less comparative interest than that which appertains to the scholasticism of the thirteenth."_ in the light of this it has seemed well to try to show in terms of present-day science some of the important reflections with regard to such problems of natural history, as magnetism, the composition of matter, and the relation of things physical to one another, which we now include under the name science, some of the thoughts that these scholars of the thirteenth century were thinking and were developing for the benefit of the { } enthusiastic students who flocked to the universities. we will find in such a review though it must necessarily be brief many more anticipations of modern science than would be thought possible. to take the example for the moment of magnetism which is usually considered to be a subject entirely of modern attention, a good idea of the intense interest of this century in things scientific, can be obtained from the following short paragraph in which brother potamian in his sketch of petrus peregrinus, condenses the references to magnetic phenomena that are found in the literature of the time. most of the writers he mentions were not scientists in the ordinary sense of the word but were literary men, and the fact that these references occur shows very clearly that there must have been wide-spread interest in such scientific phenomena, since they had attracted the attention of literary writers, who would not have spoken of them doubtless, but that they knew that in this they would be satisfying as well as exciting public interest. "abbot neckam, the augustinian ( - ), distinguished between the properties of the two ends of the lodestone, and gives in his de utensilibus, what is perhaps the earliest reference to the mariner's compass that we have. albertus magnus, the dominican ( - ), in his treatise de mineralibus, enumerates different kinds of natural magnets and states some of the properties commonly attributed to them; the minstrel, guyot de provins, in a famous satirical poem, written about , refers to the directive quality of the lodestone and its use in navigation, as do also cardinal de vitry in his historia orientialis ( - ), brunetto latini, poet, orator and philosopher (the teacher of dante), in his tresor des sciences, a veritable library, written in paris in ; raymond lully, the enlightened doctor, in his treatise, de contemplatione, begun in , and guido guinicelli, the poet-priest of bologna, who died in ." [footnote ] [footnote : the letter of petrus peregrinus on the magnet, a. d. , translated by bro. arnold, m. sc., with an introductory note by bro. potamian, n. y., .] { } the metaphysics of the medieval universities have come in for quite as much animadversion, not to say ridicule, as the dialectics. none of its departments is spared in the condemnation, though most fun is made of the gropings of the medieval mind after truth in the physical sciences. the cosmology, the science of matter as it appealed to the medieval mind, is usually considered to have been so entirely speculative as to deserve no further attention. we have presumably, learned so much by experimental demonstration and original observation in the physical sciences, that any thinking of the medieval mind along these lines may, in the opinion of those who know nothing of what they speak, be set aside as preposterous, or at best nugatory. it will surely be a source of surprise, then, to find that in the consideration of the composition of matter and of the problem of the forces connected with it, the minds of the medieval schoolmen were occupied with just the same questions that have been most interesting to the nineteenth century and that curiously enough the conclusions they reached, though by very different methods of investigation, were almost exactly the same as those to which modern physical scientists have attained by their refined methods of investigation. one or two examples will suffice, i think, to show very clearly that the students of the thirteenth century had presented to them practically the same problems with regard to matter, its origin and composition, as occupy the students of the present generation. for instance thomas aquinas usually known as st. thomas, in a series of lectures given at the university of paris toward the end of the third quarter of the thirteenth century, stated as the most important conclusion with regard to matter, that _"nihil omnino in nihilum redigetur_,"' "nothing at all will ever be reduced to nothingness." by this it was very evident from the context that he meant that matter would never be annihilated and could never be destroyed. it might be changed in various ways but it could never go back into the nothingness from which it had been taken by the creative act. annihilation was pronounced as not being a part of the scheme of things as far as the human mind could hope to fathom its meaning. in this sentence, then, thomas of aquin was proclaiming the { } doctrine of the indestructibility of matter. it was not until well on in the nineteenth century that the chemists and physicists of modern times realized the truth of this great principle. the chemists had seen matter change its form in many ways, had seen it disappear apparently in the smoke of fire or evaporate under the influence of heat, but investigation proved that if care were taken in the collection of the gases that came off under these circumstances, of the ashes of combustion and of the residue of evaporation, all the original material that had been contained in the supposedly disappearing substance could be recovered or at least completely accounted for. the physicists on their part had realized this same truth and finally there came the definite enunciation of the absolute indestructibility of matter. st. thomas' conclusion "nothing at all will ever be reduced to nothingness" had anticipated this doctrine by nearly seven centuries. what happened in the nineteenth century was that there came an experimental demonstration of the truth of the principle. the principle itself, however, had been reached long before by the human mind by speculative processes quite as inerrable in their way as the more modern method of investigation. when st. thomas used the aphorism "nothing at all will ever be reduced to nothingness" there was another signification that he attached to the words quite as clearly as that by which they expressed the indestructibility of matter. for him _nihil_ or nothing meant neither _matter_ nor _form_, that is, neither the material substance nor the energy which is contained in it. he meant then, that no energy would ever be destroyed as well as no matter would ever be annihilated. he was teaching the conservation of energy as well as the indestructibility of matter. here once more the experimental demonstration of the doctrine was delayed for over six centuries and a half. the truth itself, however, had been reached by this medieval master-mind and was the subject of his teaching to the university students in paris in the thirteenth century. these examples should, i think, serve to illustrate that the minds of medieval students were occupied with practically the same questions as those which are now taught to the university students of our day. there are, however, some even { } more striking anticipations of modern teaching that will serve to demonstrate this community of educational interests in spite of seven centuries of time separation. in recent years we have come to realize that matter is not the manifold material we were accustomed to think it when we accepted the hypothesis that there were some seventy odd different kinds of atoms, each one absolutely independent of any other and representing an ultimate term in science. the atomic theory from this standpoint has proved to be only a working hypothesis that was useful for a time, but that our physicists are now agreed must not be considered as something absolute. radium has been observed changing into helium and the relations of atoms to one another as they are now known, make it almost certain that all of them have an underlying sub-stratum the same in all, but differentiated by the dynamic energies with which matter in its different forms is gifted. sir oliver lodge has stated this theory of the constitution of matter very clearly in recent years, and in doing so has only been voicing the practically universal sentiment of those who have been following the latest developments in the physical sciences. strange as it may appear, this was exactly the teaching of aquinas and the schoolmen with regard to the constitution of matter. they said that the two constituting principles of matter were prime matter and form. by prime matter they meant the material sub-stratum the same in all material things. by form they meant the special dynamic energy which, entering into prime matter, causes it to act differently from other kinds and gives it all the particular qualities by which we recognize it. this theory was not original with them, having been adopted from aristotle, but it was very clearly set forth, profoundly discussed, and amply illustrated by the schoolmen. in its development this theory was made to be of the greatest help in the explanation of many other difficulties with regard to living as well as non-living things in their hands. the theory has its difficulties, but they are less than those of any other theory of the constitution of matter, and it has been accepted by more philosophic thinkers since the thirteenth century than any other doctrine of similar nature. it may be said that it was reached only by deduction and not by experimental observation. such an expression, { } however, instead of being really an objection is rather a demonstration of the fact that great truths may be reached by deduction yet only demonstrated by inductive methods many centuries later. of course it may well be said even after all these communities of interest between the medieval and the modern teaching of the general principles of science has been pointed out, that the universities of the middle ages did not present the subjects under discussion in a practical way, and their teaching was not likely to lead to directly beneficial results in applied science. it might well he responded to this, that it is not the function of a university to teach applications of science but only the great principles, the broad generalizations that underlie scientific thinking, leaving details to be filled in in whatever form of practical work the man may take up. very few of those, however, who talk about the purely speculative character of medieval teaching have manifestly ever made it their business to know anything about the actual facts of old-time university teaching by definite knowledge, but have rather allowed themselves to be guided by speculation and by inadequate second-hand authorities, whose dicta they have never taken the trouble to substantiate by a glance at contemporary authorities on medieval matters. it will be interesting to quote for the information of such men, the opinion of the greatest of medieval scientists with regard to the reason why men do not obtain real knowledge more rapidly than would seem ought to be the case, from the amount of work which they have devoted to obtaining it. roger bacon, summing up for pope clement the body of doctrine that he was teaching at the university of oxford in the thirteenth century, starts out with the principle that there are four grounds of human ignorance. "these are first, trust in inadequate authority; second, the force of custom which leads men to accept too unquestioningly what has been accepted before their time; third, the placing of confidence in the opinion of the inexperienced; and fourth, the hiding of one's own ignorance with the parade of a superficial wisdom." surely no one will ever be able to improve on these four grounds for human ignorance, and they continue to be as { } important in the twentieth century as they were in the thirteenth. they could only have emanated from an eminently practical mind, accustomed to test by observation and by careful searching of authorities, every proposition that came to him. professor henry morley, professor of english literature at university college, london, says of these grounds for ignorance of roger bacon, in his english writers, volume iii, page : "no part of that ground has yet been cut away from beneath the feet of students, although six centuries ago the oxford friar clearly pointed out its character. we still make sheep walks of second, third, and fourth and fiftieth-hand references to authority; still we are the slaves of habit; still we are found following too frequently the untaught crowd; still we flinch from the righteous and wholesome phrase, 'i do not know'; and acquiesce actively in the opinion of others that we know what we appear to know. substitute honest research, original and independent thought, strict truth in the comparison of only what we really know with what is really known by others, and the strong redoubt of ignorance has fallen." the number of things which roger bacon succeeded in discovering by the application of the principle of testing everything by personal observation, is almost incredible to a modern student of science and of education who has known nothing before of the progress in science made by this wonderful man. he has been sometimes declared to be the discoverer of gunpowder, but this is a mistake since it was known many years before by the arabs and by them introduced into europe. he did study explosives very deeply, however, and besides learning many things about them realized how much might be accomplished by their use in the after-time. he declares in his opus magnum: "that one may cause to burst forth from bronze, thunderbolts more formidable than those produced by nature. a small quantity of prepared matter occasions a terrible explosion accompanied by a brilliant light. one may multiply this phenomenon so far as to destroy a city or an army." considering how little was known about gunpowder at this time, this was of itself a marvelous anticipation of what might be accomplished by it. [illustration] rathhaus (tangermÃ�nde) bacon prophesied, however, much more than merely { } destructive effects from the use of high explosives, and indeed it is almost amusing to see how closely he anticipated some of the most modern usages of high explosives for motor purposes. he seems to have concluded that some time the apparently uncontrollable forces of explosion would come under the control of man and be harnessed by him for his own purposes. he realized that one of the great applications of such a force would be for transportation. accordingly he said: "art can construct instruments of navigation such that the largest vessels governed by a single man will traverse rivers and seas more rapidly than if they were filled with oarsmen. one may also make carriages which without the aid of any animal will run with remarkable swiftness." [footnote ] when we recall that the very latest thing in transportation are motor-boats and automobiles driven by gasoline, a high explosive, roger bacon's prophesy becomes one of these weird anticipations of human progress which seem almost more than human. [footnote : these quotations are taken from ozanam's dante and catholic philosophy, published by the cathedral library association, new york, . ] it was not with regard to explosives alone, however, that roger bacon was to make great advances and still more marvelous anticipations in physical science. he was not, as is sometimes claimed for him, either the inventor of the telescope or of the theory of lenses. he did more, however, than perhaps anyone else to make the principles of lenses clear and to establish them on a mathematical basis. his traditional connection with the telescope can probably be traced to the fact that he was very much interested in astronomy and the relations of the heavens to the earth. he pointed out very clearly the errors which had crept into the julian calendar, calculated exactly how much of a correction was needed in order to restore the year to its proper place, and suggested the method by which future errors of this kind could be avoided. his ideas were too far beyond his century to be applied in a practical way, but they were not to be without their effect and it is said that they formed the basis of the subsequent correction of the calendar in the time of pope gregory xiii three centuries later. { } it is rather surprising to find how much besides the theory of lenses friar bacon had succeeded in finding out in the department of optics. he taught, for instance, the principle of the aberration of light, and, still more marvelous to consider, taught that light did not travel instantaneously but had a definite rate of motion, though this was extremely rapid. it is rather difficult to understand how he reached this conclusion since light travels so fast that as far as regards any observation that can be made upon earth, the diffusion is practically instantaneous. it was not for over three centuries later that römer, the german astronomer, demonstrated the motion of light and its rate, by his observations upon the moons of jupiter at different phases of the earth's orbit, which showed that the light of these moons took a definite and quite appreciable time to reach the earth after their eclipse by the planet was over. we are not surprised to find that bacon should praise those of his contemporaries who devoted themselves to mathematics and to experimental observations in science. of one of his correspondents who even from distant italy sent him his observations in order that he might have the great franciscan's precious comments on them. bacon has given quite a panegyric. the reasons for his praise, however, are so different from those which are ordinarily proclaimed to have been the sources of laudation in distant medieval scientific circles, that we prefer to quote bacon's own words from the opus tertium. bacon is talking of petrus peregrinus and says: "i know of only one person who deserves praise for his work in experimental philosophy, for he does not care for the discourses of men and their wordy warfare, but quietly and diligently pursues the works of wisdom. therefore, what others grope after blindly, as bats in the evening twilight, this man contemplates in all their brilliancy because he is a master of experiment. hence, he knows all natural science whether pertaining to medicine and alchemy, or to matters celestial and terrestrial. "he has worked diligently in the smelting of ores as also in the working of minerals; he is thoroughly acquainted with all sorts of arms and implements used in military service and in hunting, besides which he is skilled in agriculture and in the measurement of lands. { } it is impossible to write a useful or correct treatise in experimental philosophy without mentioning this man's name. moreover, he pursues knowledge for its own sake; for if he wished to obtain royal favor, he could easily find sovereigns who would honor and enrich him." [illustration] cathedral (york) [illustration] cathedral (hereford) lest it should be thought that these expressions of laudatory appreciation of the great thirteenth century scientist are dictated more by the desire to magnify his work and to bring out the influence in science of the churchmen of the period, it seems well to quote an expression of opinion from the modern historian of the inductive sciences, whose praise is scarcely if any less outspoken than that of others whom we have quoted and who might be supposed to be somewhat partial in their judgment. this opinion will fortify the doubters who must have authority and at the same time sums up very excellently the position which roger bacon occupies in the history of science. dr. whewell says that roger bacon's opus majus is "the encyclopedia and novam organon of the thirteenth century, a work equally wonderful with regard to its general scheme and to the special treatises with which the outlines of the plans are filled up. the professed object of the work is to urge the necessity of a reform in the mode of philosophizing, to set forth the reasons why knowledge had not made a greater progress, to draw back attention to the sources of knowledge which had been unwisely neglected, to discover other sources which were yet almost untouched, and to animate men in the undertaking by a prospect of the vast advantages which it offered. in the development of this plan all the leading portions of science are expanded in the most complete shape which they had at that time assumed; and improvements of a very wide and striking kind are proposed in some of the principal branches of study. even if the work had no leading purposes it would have been highly valuable as a treasure of the most solid knowledge and soundest speculations of the time; even if it had contained no such details it would have been a work most remarkable for its general views and scope." it is only what might have been expected, however, from { } roger bacon's training that he should have made great progress in the physical sciences. at the university of paris his favorite teacher was albertus magnus, who was himself deeply interested in all the physical sciences, though he was more concerned with the study of chemical problems than of the practical questions which were to occupy his greatest pupil. there is no doubt at all that albertus magnus accomplished a great amount of experimental work in chemistry and had made a large series of actual observations. he was a theologian as well as a philosopher and a scientist. some idea of the immense industry of the man can be obtained from the fact that his complete works as published consist of some twenty large folio volumes, each one of which contains on the average at least , words. among these works are many treatises relating to chemistry. the titles of some of them will serve to show how explicit was albert in his consideration of various chemical subjects. he has treatises concerning metals and minerals; concerning alchemy; a treatise on the secret of chemistry; a concordance, that is a collection of observations from many sources with regard to the philosopher's stone; a brief compend on the origin of the metals; a treatise on compounds; most of these are to be found in his works under the general heading "theatrum chemicum." it is not surprising for those who know of albert's work, to find that his pupil roger bacon defined the limits of chemistry very accurately and showed that he understood exactly what the subject and methods of investigation must be, in order that advance should be made in it. of chemistry he speaks in his "opus tertium" in the following words: "there is a science which treats of the generation of things from their elements and of all inanimate things, as of the elements and liquids, simple and compound, common stones, gems and marble, gold and other metals, sulphur, salts, pigments, lapis lazuli, minium and other colors, oils, bitumen, and infinite more of which we find nothing in the books of aristotle; nor are the natural philosophers nor any of the latins acquainted with these things." in physics albertus magnus was, if possible, more advanced { } and progressive even than in chemistry. his knowledge in the physical sciences was not merely speculative, but partook to a great degree of the nature of what we now call applied science. humboldt, the distinguished german natural philosopher of the beginning of the nineteenth century, who was undoubtedly the most important leader in scientific thought in his time and whose own work was great enough to have an enduring influence in spite of the immense progress of the nineteenth century, has summed up albert's work and given the headings under which his scientific research must be considered. he says: "albertus magnus was equally active and influential in promoting the study of natural science and of the aristotelian philosophy. his works contain some exceedingly acute remarks on the organic structure and physiology of plants. one of his works bearing the title of 'liber cosmographicus de natura locorum,' is a species of physical geography. i have found in it considerations on the dependence of temperature concurrently on latitude and elevation, and on the effect of different angles of incidence of the sun's rays in heating the ground, _which have excited my surprise_." to take up some of humboldt's headings in their order and illustrate them by quotations from albert himself and from condensed accounts as they appear in his biographer sighart and in christian schools and scholars [footnote ], will serve to show at once the extent of albert's knowledge and the presumptuous ignorance of those who make little of the science of the medieval period. when we have catalogued, for instance, the many facts with regard to astronomy and the physics of light that are supposed to have come to human ken much later, yet may be seen to have been clearly within the range of albert's knowledge, and evidently formed the subject of his teaching at various times at both paris and cologne, for they are found in his authentic works, we can scarcely help but be amused at the pretentious misconception that has relegated their author to a place in education so trivial as is that which is represented in many minds by the term scholastic. [footnote : christian schools and scholars. drane.] "he decides that the milky way is nothing but a vast { } assemblage of stars, but supposes naturally enough that they occupy the orbit which receives the light of the sun. the figures visible on the moon's disc are not, he says, as hitherto has been supposed, reflections of the seas and mountains of the earth, but configurations of her own surface. he notices, in order to correct it, the assertion of aristotle that lunar rainbows appear only twice in fifty years; 'i myself,' he says have observed two in a single year.' he has something to say on the refraction of a solar ray, notices certain crystals which have a power of refraction, and remarks that none of the ancients and few moderns were acquainted with the properties of mirrors." albert's great pupil roger bacon is rightly looked upon as the true father of inductive science, an honor that history has unfortunately taken from him to confer it undeservedly on his namesake of four centuries later, but the teaching out of which roger bacon was to develop the principles of experimental science can be found in many places in his master's writings. in albert's tenth book, wherein he catalogues and describes all the trees, plants, and herbs known in his time, he observes: "all that is here set down is the result of our own experience, or has been borrowed from authors whom we know to have written what their personal experience has confirmed: for in these matters experience alone can give certainty" (_experimentum solum certificat in talibus_). "such an expression," says his biographer, "which might have proceeded from the pen of (francis) bacon, argues in itself a prodigious scientific progress, and shows that the medieval friar was on the track so successfully pursued by modern natural philosophy. he had fairly shaken off the shackles which had hitherto tied up discovery, and was the slave neither of pliny nor of aristotle." botany is supposed to be a very modern science and to most people humboldt's expression that he found in albertus magnus's writings some "exceedingly acute remarks on the organic structure and physiology of plants" will come as a supreme surprise. a few details with regard to albert's botanical knowledge, however, will serve to heighten that surprise and to show, that the foolish tirades of modern sciolists, { } who have often expressed their wonder that with all the beauties of nature around them, these scholars of the middle ages did not devote themselves to nature study, are absurd, because if the critics but knew it there was profound interest in nature and all her manifestations and a series of discoveries that anticipated not a little of what we consider most important in our modern science. the story of albert's botanical knowledge has been told in a single very full paragraph by his biographer. sighart also quotes an appreciative opinion from a modern german botanist which will serve to dispel any doubts with regard to albert's position in botany that modern students might perhaps continue to harbor, unless they had good authority to support their opinion, though of course it will be remembered that the main difference between the medieval and the modern mind is only too often said to be, that the medieval required an authority while the modern makes its opinion for itself. even the most skeptical of modern minds however, will probably be satisfied by the following paragraph. "he was acquainted with the sleep of plants, with the periodical opening and closing of blossoms, with the diminution of sap through evaporation from the cuticle of the leaves, and with the influence of the distribution of the bundles of vessels on the folial indentations. his minute observations on the forms and variety of plants intimate an exquisite sense of floral beauty. he distinguished the star from the bell-floral, tells us that a red rose will turn white when submitted to the vapor of sulphur and makes some very sagacious observations on the subject of germination. . . . the extraordinary erudition and originality of this treatise (his tenth book) has drawn from m. meyer the following comment: 'no botanist who lived before albert can be compared to him, unless theophrastus, with whom he was not acquainted; and after him none has painted nature in such living colors or studied it so profoundly until the time of conrad gesner and cesalpino.' all honor, then, to the man who made such astonishing progress in the science of nature as to find no one, i will not say to surpass, but even to equal him for the space of three centuries." { } we point out in the chapter on geography and exploration how much this wonderful thirteenth century added to the knowledge of geographical science. even before the great explorers of this time, however, had accomplished their work, this particular branch of science had made such great progress as would bring it quite within the domain of what we call the science of geography at the present time. when we remember how much has been said about the ignorance of the men of the later middle ages as regards the shape of the earth and its inhabitants, and how many foolish notions they are supposed to have accepted with regard to the limitation of possible residents of the world and the queer ideas as to the antipodes, the following passages taken from albert's biographer will serve better than anything else to show how absurdly the traditional notions with regard to this time and its knowledge, have been permitted by educators to tinge what are supposed to be serious opinions with regard to the subject matters of education in that early university period: "he treats as fabulous the commonly-received idea, in which bede had acquiesced, that the region of the earth south of the equator was uninhabitable, and considers, that from the equator to the south pole, the earth was not only habitable, but in all probability actually inhabited, except directly at the poles, where he imagines the cold to be excessive. if there be any animals there, he says, they must have very thick skins to defend them from the rigor of the climate, and they are probably of a white color. the intensity of cold, is however, tempered by the action of the sea. he describes the antipodes and the countries they comprise, and divides the climate of the earth into seven zones. he smiles with a scholar's freedom at the simplicity of those who suppose that persons living at the opposite region of the earth must fall off, an opinion that can only rise out of the grossest ignorance, 'for when we speak of the lower hemisphere, this must be understood merely as relatively to ourselves.' it is as a geographer that albert's superiority to the writers of his own time chiefly appears. bearing in mind the astonishing ignorance which then prevailed on this subject, it is truly admirable to find him correctly tracing the chief mountain chains of europe, with the rivers which take { } their source in each; remarking on portions of coast which have in later times been submerged by the ocean, and islands which have been raised by volcanic action above the level of the sea; noticing the modification of climate caused by mountains, seas and forests, and the division of the human race whose differences he ascribes to the effect upon them of the countries they inhabit! in speaking of the british isles he alludes to the commonly-received idea that another distant island called tile or thule, existed far in the western ocean, uninhabitable by reason of its frightful climate, but which, he says, has perhaps not yet been visited by man." nothing will so seriously disturb the complacency of modern minds as to the wonderful advances that have been made in the last century in all branches of physical science as to read albertus magnus' writings. nothing can be more wholesomely chastening of present day conceit than to get a proper appreciation of the extent of the knowledge of the schoolmen. albertus magnus' other great pupil besides roger bacon was st. thomas aquinas. if any suspicion were still left that thomas did not appreciate just what the significance of his teachings in physics was, when he announced that neither matter nor force could ever be reduced to nothingness, it would surely be removed by the consideration that he had been for many years in intimate relations with albert and that he had probably also been close to roger bacon. after association with such men as these, any knowledge he displays with regard to physical science can scarcely be presumed to have been stumbled upon unawares. st. thomas himself has left three treatises on chemical subjects and it is said that the first occurrence of the word amalgam can be traced to one of these treatises. everybody was as much interested then, as we are at the present time, in the transformation of metals and mercury with its silvery sheen, its facility to enter into metallic combinations of all kinds, and its elusive ways, naturally made it the center of scientific interest quite as radium is at the present moment. further material with regard to st. thomas and also to the subject of education will be found in the chapter, aquinas the scholar. after this brief review of only a few of the things that they taught in science at the thirteenth century universities, most { } people will scarcely fail to wonder how such peculiar erroneous impressions with regard to the uselessness of university teaching and training have come to be so generally accepted. the fault lies, of course, with those who thought they knew something about university teaching, and who, because they found a few things that now look ridiculous, as certain supposed facts of one generation always will to succeeding generations who know more about them, thought they could conclude from these as to the character of the whole content of medieval education. it is only another example of what artemus ward pointed out so effectively when he said that "there is nothing that makes men so ridiculous as the knowing so many things that aint so." we have been accepting without question ever so many things that simply are not so with regard to these wonderful generations, who not only organized the universities but organized the teaching in them on lines not very different from those which occupy people seven centuries later. what would be the most amusing feature, if it were not unfortunately so serious an arraignment of the literature that has grown up around these peculiar baseless notions with regard to scholastic philosophy, is the number of men of science who have permitted themselves to make fun of certain supposed lucubrations of the great medieval philosophers. it is not so very long ago that, as pointed out by harper in the metaphysics of the school, professor tate in a lecture on some recent advances in physical science repeated the old slander that even aquinas occupied the attention of his students with such inane questions as: "how many angels could dance on the point of a needle?" modern science very proudly insists that it occupies itself with observations and concerns itself little with authority. prof. tate in this unhappy quotation, shows not only that he has made no personal studies in medieval philosophy but that he has accepted a very inadequate authority for the statements which he makes with as much confidence as if they had been the result of prolonged research in this field. many other modern scientists (?) have fallen into like blunders. (for huxley's opinion see appendix.) the modern student, as well as the teacher, is prone to wonder what were the methods of study and the habits of life { } of the students of the thirteenth century, and fortunately we have a short sketch, written by robert of sorbonne, the famous founder of the sorbonne, in which he gives advice to attendants at that institution as to how they should spend their time, so that at least we are able to get a hint of the ideals that were set before the student. robert, whose long experience of university life made him thoroughly competent to advise, said: "the student who wishes to make progress ought to observe six essential rules. "first: he ought to consecrate a certain hour every day to the study of a determined subject, as st. bernard counselled his monks in his letter to the brothers of the mont dieu. "second: he ought to concentrate his attention upon what he reads and ought not to let it pass lightly. there is between reading and study, as st. bernard says, the same difference as between a host and a guest, between a passing salutation exchanged in the street and an embrace prompted by an unalterable affection. "third: he ought to extract from the daily study one thought, some truth or other, and engrave it deeply upon his memory with special care. seneca said _'cum multa percurreris in die, unum tibi elige quod illa die excoquas'_--when you have run over many things in a day select one for yourself which you should digest well on that day. "fourth: write a resume of it, for words which are not confided to writing fly as does the dust before the wind. "fifth: talk the matter over with your fellow-students, either in the regular recitation or in your familiar conversation. this exercise is even more profitable than study for it has as its result the clarifying of all doubts and the removing of all the obscurity that study may have left. nothing is perfectly known unless it has been tried by the tooth of disputation. "sixth: pray, for this is indeed one of the best ways of learning. st. bernard teaches that study ought to touch the heart and that one should profit by it always by elevating the heart to god, _without, however, interrupting the study_." sorbonne proceeds in a tone that vividly recalls the modern university professor who has seen generation after generation { } of students and has learned to realize how many of them waste their time. "certain students act like fools; they display great subtility over nonsensical subjects and exhibit themselves devoid of intelligence with regard to their most important studies. so as not to seem to have lost their time they gather together many sheets of parchment, make thick volumes of note books out of them, with many a blank interval, and cover them with elegant binding in red letters. then they return to the paternal domicile with their little sack filled up with knowledge which can be stolen from them by any thief that comes along, or may be eaten by rats or by worms or destroyed by fire or water. "in order to acquire instruction the student must abstain from pleasure and not allow himself to be hampered by material cares. there was at paris not long since two teachers who were great friends. one of them had seen much, had read much and used to remain night and day bent over his books. he scarcely took the time to say an 'our father.' nevertheless he had but four students. his colleague possessed a much less complete library, was less devoted to study and heard mass every morning before delivering his lecture. in spite of this, his classroom was full. 'how do you do it?' asked his friend. 'it is very simple,' said his friend smiling. 'god studies for me. i go to mass and when i come back i know by heart all that i have to teach.'" "meditation," so sorbonne continues, "is suitable not only for the master, but the good student ought also to go and take his promenade along the banks of the seine, not to play there, but in order to repeat his lesson and meditate upon it." these instructions for students are not very different from those that would be issued by an interested head of a university department to the freshmen of the present day. his insistence, especially on the difference between reading and study, might very well be taken to heart at the present time, when there seems to be some idea that reading of itself is sufficient to enable one to obtain an education. the lesson of learning one thing a day and learning that well, might have been selected as a motto for students for all succeeding generations with manifest advantage to the success of college study. { } in other things sorbonne departs further from our modern ideas in the matter of education, but still there are many even at the present time who will read with profound sympathy his emphatic advice to the university students that they must educate their hearts as well as their intellects, and make their education subserve the purpose of bringing them closer to god. a word about certain customs that prevailed more or less generally in the universities at this time, and that after having been much misunderstood will now be looked at more sympathetically in the light of recent educational developments will not be out of place here. one of the advantages of modern german university education has often been acclaimed to be the fact that students are tempted to make portions of their studies in various cities, since all the courses are equalized in certain ways, so that the time spent at any one of them will be counted properly for their degrees. it has long been recognized that travel makes the best possible complement to a university course, and even when the english universities in the eighteenth century sank to be little more than pleasant abiding places where young men of the upper classes "ate their terms," the fact that it was the custom "to make the grand tour" of continental travel, supplied for much that was lacking in the serious side of their education. little as this might be anticipated as a feature of the ruder times of the thirteenth century, when travel was so difficult, it must be counted as one of the great advantages for the inquiring spirits of the time. dante, besides attending the universities in italy, and he certainly was at several of them, was also at paris at one time and probably also at oxford. professor monroe in his text book in the history of education has stated this custom very distinctly. "with the founding of the universities and the establishment of the nations in practically every university, it became quite customary for students to travel from university to university, finding in each a home in their appropriate nation. many, however, willing to accept the privileges of the clergy and the students without undertaking their obligations, adopted this wandering life as a permanent one. being a privileged order, they readily found a living, or made it by begging. a monk of { } the early university period writes: 'the scholars are accustomed to wander throughout the whole world and visit all the cities, and their many studies bring them understanding. for in paris they seek a knowledge of the liberal arts; of the ancient writers at orleans; of medicine at salernum; of the black art at toledo; and in no place decent manners.'" with regard to the old monk's criticism it must be remembered that old age is always rather depreciative in criticism of the present and over-appreciative of what happened in the past _se pueris_. abuses always seem to be creeping in that are going to ruin the force of education, yet somehow the next generation succeeds in obtaining its intellectual development in rather good shape. besides as we must always remember in educational questions, evils are ever exaggerated and the memory of them is prone to live longer and to loom up larger than that of the good with which they were associated and to which indeed, as anyone of reasonable experience in educational circles knows, they may constitute by comparison only a very small amount. undoubtedly the wanderings of students brought with it many abuses, and if we were to listen to some of the stories of foreign student life in paris in our own time, we might think that much of evil and nothing of good was accomplished by such wandering, but inasmuch as we do so we invite serious error of judgment. another striking feature of university life which constituted a distinct anticipation of something very modern in our educational system, was the lending of professors of different nationalities among the universities. it is only at the beginning of the twentieth century that we have reestablished this custom. in the thirteenth century, however, albertus magnus taught for a time at cologne and then later at paris and apparently also at rome. st. thomas of aquin, after having taught for a time at paris, lectured in various italian universities and then finally at the university of rome to which he was tempted by the popes. duns scotus, besides teaching in oxford, taught also at paris. alexander of hales before him seems to have done the same thing. roger bacon, after studying at the university of paris, seems to have commenced teaching there, though most of his professional work was { } accomplished at the university of oxford. raymond lully probably had professional experiences at several spanish universities besides at paris. in a word, if a man were a distinguished genius he was almost sure to be given the opportunity to influence his generation at a number of centers of educational life, and not be confined as has been the case in the centuries since to but one or at most, and that more by accident than intent, to perhaps two. in a word there is not a distinctive feature of modern university life that was not anticipated in the thirteenth century. [illustration] flying buttress (amiens) { } iv the number of students and discipline. for most people the surprise of finding that the subjects with which the students were occupied at the universities of the thirteenth century were very much the same as those which claim the attention of modern students, will probably be somewhat mitigated by the thought that after all there were only few in attendance at the universities, and as a consequence only a small proportion of the population shared in that illumination, which has become so universal in the spread of opportunities for the higher education in these later times. while such an impression is cherished by many even of those who think that they know the history of education, and unfortunately are considered _by others_ to be authorities on the subject, it is the falsest possible idea that could be conceived of this medieval time with which we are concerned. we may say at once that it is a matter of comparatively easy collation of statistics to show, that in proportion to the population of the various countries, there were actually more students taking advantage of the opportunity to acquire university education in the thirteenth century, than there were at any time in the nineteenth century, or even in the midst of this era of widespread educational opportunities in the twentieth century. most people know the traditions which declare that there were between twenty and thirty thousand students at the university of paris toward the end of the thirteenth century. at the same time there were said to have been between fifteen and twenty thousand students at the university of bologna. correspondingly large numbers have been reported for the university of oxford and many thousands were supposed to be in attendance at the university of cambridge. it is usually considered, however, that these figures are gross exaggerations. it is easy to assert this but rather difficult to prove. as a matter of fact the nearer one comes to the actual times in the { } history of education, the more definitely do writers speak of these large numbers of students in attendance. for instance gascoigne, who says that there were thirty thousand students at the university of oxford at the end of the thirteenth century, lived himself within a hundred years of the events of which he talks, and he even goes so far as to declare that he saw the rolls of the university containing this many names. there is no doubt at all about his evidence in the matter and there is no mistake possible with regard to his figures. they were written out in latin, not expressed in arabic or roman numerals, the copying of which might so easily give opportunities for error to creep in. in spite of such evidence it is generally conceded that to accept these large numbers would be almost surely a mistake. there were without any doubt many thousands of students at the thirteenth century universities. there were certainly more students at the university of paris in the last quarter of the thirteenth century than there were at any time during the nineteenth century. this of itself is enough to startle modern complacency out of most of its ridiculous self-sufficiency. there can be scarcely a doubt that the university of bologna at the time of its largest attendance had more students than any university of modern times, proud as we may be (and deservedly) of our immense institutions of learning. with regard to the english universities the presence of very large numbers is much more doubtful. making every allowance, however, there can be no hesitation in saying that oxford had during the last quarter of the thirteenth century a larger number than ever afterwards within her walls and that cambridge, though never so numerous as her rival, had a like good fortune. professor laurie of edinburgh, a very conservative authority and one not likely to concede too much to the middle ages in anything, would allow, as we shall see, some ten thousand students to oxford. others have claimed more than half that number for cambridge as the lowest possible estimate. even if it be conceded, as has sometimes been urged, that all those in service in the universities were also counted as students, these numbers would not be reduced very materially and it must not be { } forgotten that, in those days of enthusiastic striving after education, young men were perfectly willing to take up even the onerous duties of personal services to others, in order to have the opportunity to be closely in touch with a great educational institution and to receive even a moderate amount of benefit from its educational system. in our own time there are many students who are working their way through the universities, and in the thirteenth century when the spirit of independence was much less developed, and when any stigma that attached to personal service was much less felt than it is at the present time, there were many more examples of this earnest striving for intellectual development. if we discuss the situation in english-speaking countries as regards the comparative attendance at the universities in the thirteenth century and in our own time, we shall be able to get a reasonably good idea of what must be thought in this matter. the authorities are neither difficult of consultation nor distant, and comparatively much more is known about the population of england at this time than about most of the continental countries. england was under a single ruler, while the geographical divisions that we now know by the name of france, spain, italy and germany were the seats of several rulers at least and sometimes of many, a circumstance which does not favor our obtaining an adequate idea of the populations. that but two universities provided all the opportunities for whatever higher education there was in england at this time, would of itself seem to stamp the era as backward in educational matters. a little consideration of the comparative number of students with reference to the population of the country who were thus given the opportunity for higher education--and took advantage of it--at that time and the present, will show the unreasonableness of such an opinion. it is not so easy as might be imagined to determine just what was the population even of england in the thirteenth century. during elizabeth's reign there were, according to the census, an estimate made about the time of the great armada, altogether some four millions of people. froude, accepts this estimate as representing very well the actual number of the population. certainly there were not more { } than five millions at the end of the sixteenth century. lingard, who for this purpose must be considered as a thoroughly conservative authority, estimates that there were not much more than two millions of people in england at the end of the twelfth century. this is probably not an underestimate. at the end of the thirteenth century there were not many more than two millions and a half of people in the country. at the very outside there were, let us say, three millions. out of this meagre population, ten thousand students were, on the most conservative estimate, taking advantage of the opportunities for the higher education that were provided for them at the universities. at the present moment, though we pride ourselves on the numbers in attendance at our universities, and though the world's population is so much more numerous and the means of transportation so much more easy, we have very few universities as large as these of the thirteenth century. no american university at the present moment has as large a number of students as had oxford at the end of the thirteenth century, and of course none of them compares at all with paris or bologna in this respect. even the european universities, as we have suggested, fall behind their former glory from this standpoint. in the attendance to the number of population the comparison is even more startling for those who have not thought at all of the middle ages as a time of wonderful educational facilities and opportunities. in the greater city of new york as we begin the twentieth century there are perhaps fifteen thousand students in attendance at educational institutions which have university privileges. i may say that this is a very liberal allowance. at universities in the ordinary sense of the word there are not more than ten thousand students and the remainder is added in order surely to include all those who may be considered as doing undergraduate work in colleges and schools of various kinds. of these fifteen thousand at least one-fourth come from outside of the greater city, and there are some who think that even one-third would not be too large a number to calculate as not being drawn directly from our own population. connecticut and new jersey furnish large numbers of students and then, besides, the post-graduate schools { } of the universities have very large numbers in attendance even from distant states and foreign countries. it will be within the bounds of truth, then, to say, that there are between ten and twelve thousand students, out of our population of more than four millions in greater new york taking advantage of the opportunities for the higher education provided by our universities and colleges. at the end of the thirteenth century in england there were at least ten thousand students out of a population of not more and very probably less than three millions, who were glad to avail themselves of similar opportunities. this seems to be perfectly fair comparison and we have tried to be as conservative as possible in every way in order to bring out the truth in the matter. it can scarcely fail to be a matter of supreme surprise to find that a century so distant as the thirteenth, should thus equal our own vaunted twentieth century in the matter of opportunities for the higher education afforded and taken advantage of. it has always been presumed that the middle ages, while a little better than the dark ages, were typical periods in which there was little, if any desire for higher education and even fewer opportunities. it was thought that there was constant repression of the desire for knowledge which springs so eternally in the human heart and that the church, or at least the ecclesiastical authorities of the time, set themselves firmly against widespread education, because it would set people to thinking for themselves. as a matter of fact, however, every cathedral and every monastery became a center of educational influence, and even the poorest, who showed special signs of talent, obtained the opportunity to secure knowledge to the degree that they wished. it is beyond doubt or cavil, that at no time in the world's history have so many opportunities for the higher education been open to all classes as during the thirteenth century. in order to show how thoroughly conservative are the numbers in attendance at the universities that i have taken, i shall quote two good recent authorities, one of them professor laurie, the professor of the institutes and history of education in the university of edinburgh, and the other thomas davidson, a well-known american authority on educational { } subjects. each of their works from which i shall quote has been published or revised within the last few years. professor laurie in "the rise and early constitution of the university with a survey of the medieval education," which formed one of the international educational series, edited by commissioner harris and published by appleton, said: "when one hears of the large number of students who attended the earliest universities--ten thousand and even twenty thousand at bologna, an equal, and at one time a greater, number at paris, and thirty thousand at oxford--one cannot help thinking that the numbers have been exaggerated. there is certainly evidence that the oxford attendance was never so great as has been alleged (see anstey's 'mon acad.'); but when we consider that attendants, servitors, college cooks, etc., were regarded as members of the university community, and that the universities provided for a time the sole recognized training grounds for those wishing to enter the ecclesiastical or legal or teaching professions, i see no reason to doubt the substantial accuracy of the tradition as to attendance--especially when we remember that at paris and oxford a large number were mere boys of from twelve to fifteen years of age." as to the inclusion of servitors, we have already said that many, probably, indeed, most of them, were actual students working their way through the university in these enthusiastic days. professor laurie's authority for the assertion that a large number of the students at paris and oxford were mere boys, is a regulation known to have existed at one of these universities requiring that students should not be less than twelve years of age. anyone who has studied medieval university life, however, will have been impressed with the idea, that the students were on the average older at the medieval universities rather than younger than they are at the present time. the rough hazing methods employed, almost equal to those of our own day! would seem to indicate this. besides, as professor laurie confesses in the next paragraph, many of the students were actually much older than at present. our university courses are arranged for young men between and , but that is, to fall back on herbert spencer, presumably because the period of infancy is { } lengthening with the evolution of the race. there are many who consider that at the present time students are too long delayed in the opportunity to get at the professional studies, and that it is partly the consequence of this that the practical branches are so much more taken up under the elective system. as we said in the chapter on universities and preparatory schools, in italy and in other southern countries, it is not a surprising thing to have a young man graduate at the age of or with his degree of a. b., after a thoroughly creditable scholastic career. this means that he began his university work proper under years of age; so that we must judge the medieval universities to some extent at least with this thought in mind. mr. thomas davidson in his "history of education," [footnote ] in the chapter on the medieval university has a paragraph in which he discusses the attendance, especially during the thirteenth century, and admits that the numbers, while perhaps not so large as have been reported, were very large in comparison to modern institutions of the same kind, and frankly concedes that education rose during these centuries which are often supposed to have been so unfavorable to educational development, to an amazing height scarcely ever surpassed. he says: [footnote : a history of education, by thomas davidson, author of aristotle and ancient educational ideas. new york: scribners, .] "the number of students reported as having attended some of the universities in those early days almost passes belief; _e. g._ oxford is said to have had thirty thousand about the year , and half that number even as early as . the numbers attending the university of paris were still greater. these numbers become less surprising when we remember with what poor accommodations--a bare room and an armful of straw--the students of those days were content, and what numbers of them even a single teacher like abelard could, long before draw into lonely retreats. that in the twelfth and following centuries there was no lack of enthusiasm for study, notwithstanding the troubled condition of the times, is very clear. the instruction given at the universities, moreover, reacted upon the lower schools, raising their standard and supplying them with competent teachers. thus, in the thirteenth and { } fourteenth centuries, education rose in many european states to a height which it had not attained since the days of seneca and quintilian." {opp } [illustration] christ driving out money changers (giotto) [illustration] head from annunciation (giotto) [illustration] bride marriage at cana (giotto) [illustration] saint's head (mosaic, st. mark's venice) a very serious objection that would seem to have so much weight as to preclude all possibility of accepting as true the large numbers mentioned, is the fact that it is very hard to understand how such an immense number of students could have been supported in any town of the middle ages. this objection has carried so much weight to some minds as to make them give up the thought of large numbers at the medieval universities. professor laurie has answered it very effectively, however, and in his plausible explanation gives a number of points which emphasize the intense ardor of these students of the middle ages in their search for knowledge, and shows how ready they were to bear serious trials and inconveniences, not to say absolute sufferings and hardships, in order that they might have opportunities for the higher education. the objection then redounds rather to the glory of the medieval universities than lessens their prestige, either as regards numbers or the enthusiasm of their students. "the chief objection to accepting the tradition (of large numbers at the universities) lies in the difficulty of seeing how in those days, so large a number of the young men of europe could afford the expense of residence away from their homes. this difficulty, however, is partly removed when we know that many of the students were well to do, that a considerable number were matured men, already monks and canons, and that the endowments of cathedral schools also were frequently used to enable promising scholars to attend foreign universities. monasteries also regularly sent boys of thirteen and fourteen to university seats. a papal instruction of required every benedictine and augustinian community to send boys to the universities in the proportion of one in twenty of their residents. then, state authorities ordered free passages for all who were wending their way through the country to and from the seat of learning. in the houses of country priests--not to speak of the monastery hospitals--traveling scholars were always accommodated gratuitously, and even local subscriptions were frequently made to help them on their way. { } poor traveling scholars were, in fact, a medieval institution, and it was considered no disgrace for a student to beg and receive alms for his support." after reading these authoritative opinions, it would be rather difficult to understand the false impressions which have obtained so commonly for the last three centuries with regard to education in the middle ages, if we did not realize that history, especially for english-speaking people, has for several centuries been written from a very narrow standpoint and with a very definite purpose. about a century ago the comte de maistre said in his soirées de st. petersburg, that history for the three hundred years before his time "had been a conspiracy against the truth." curiously enough the editors of the cambridge modern history in their first volume on the renaissance, re-echoed this sentiment of the french historical writer and philosopher. they even use the very words "history has been a conspiracy against the truth" and proclaim that if we are to get at truth in this generation, we must go behind all the classical historians, and look up contemporary documents and evidence and authorities once more for ourselves. it is the maintenance of a tradition that nothing good could possibly have come out of the nazareth of the times before the reformation, that has led to this serious misapprehension of the true position of those extremely important centuries in modern education--the thirteenth and the fourteenth. to those who know even a little of what was accomplished in these centuries, it is supremely amusing to read the childish treatment accorded them and the trivial remarks that even accredited historians of education make with regard to them. occasionally, however, the feeling of the reader who knows something of the subject is not one of amusement, but far from it. there are times when one cannot help but feel that it is not ignorance, but a deliberate purpose to minimize the importance of these times in culture and education, that is at the basis of some of the utterly mistaken remarks that are made. we shall take occasion only to give one example of this, but that will afford ample evidence of the intolerant spirit that characterizes the work of some even of the supposedly most enlightened historians of education. the quotation will be from compayré's { } "history of pedagogy" which is, i understand, in use in nearly every normal school in this country and is among the books required in many normal school examinations. m. compayré in an infamous paragraph which bears the title "the intellectual feebleness of the middle age," furnishes an excellent example of how utterly misunderstood, if not deliberately misrepresented, has been the whole spirit and content and the real progressiveness of education in this wonderful period. after some belittling expressions as to the influence of christianity on education--expressions utterly unjustified by the facts--he has this to say with regard to the thirteenth century, which is all the more surprising because it is the only place where he calls any attention to it. he says: "in , of all the monks in the convent of st. gall, there was not one who could read and write. it was so difficult to find notaries public, that acts had to be passed verbally. the barons took pride in their ignorance. even after the efforts of the twelfth century, instruction remained a luxury for the common people; it was the privilege of the ecclesiastics and even they did not carry it very far. the benedictines confess that the mathematics were studied only for the purpose of calculating the date of easter." this whole paragraph of m. compayré (the rest must be read to be appreciated), whose history of education was considered to be of such value that it was deemed worthy of translation by the president of a state normal school and that it has been adopted as a work of reference, in some cases of required study, in many of the normal schools throughout the country, is a most wonderful concoction of ingredients, all of which are meant to dissolve every possible idea that people might have of the existence of any tincture of education during the middle ages. there is only one fact which deeply concerns us because it refers to the thirteenth century. m. compayré says that in of all the monks of the convent of saint gall there was not one who could read and write. this single fact is meant to sum up the education of the century for the reader. especially it is meant to show the student of pedagogy how deeply sunk in ignorance were the monks and all the ecclesiastics of this period. { } before attempting to say anything further it may be as well to call attention to the fact that in the original french edition the writer did not say that there was not a single monk. he said, "there was but one monk, who could read and write." possibly it seemed to the translator to make the story more complete to leave out this one poor monk and perhaps one monk more or less, especially a medieval monk, may not count for very much to modern students of education. there are those of us, however, who consider it too bad to obliterate even a single monk in this crude way and we ask that he shall be put back. there _was one_ who could read and write and carry on the affairs of the monastery. let us have him at least, by all means. in the year when m. compayré says that there was but a single monk at the monastery of st. gall who could read and write, he, a professor himself at a french normal school, must have known very well that there were over twenty thousand students at the university of paris, almost as many at the university of bologna, and over five thousand, some authorities say many more than this (professor laurie would admit more than ten thousand), at the university of oxford, though all christian europe at this time did not have a population of more than , , people. he must have known, too, or be hopelessly ignorant in educational matters, that many of the students at these universities belonged to the franciscans and dominicans, and that indeed many of the greatest teachers at the universities were members of these monastic orders. of this he says nothing, however. all that he says is "education was the privilege of the ecclesiastics and they did not carry it very far." this is one way of writing a history of education. it is a very effective way of poisoning the wells of information and securing the persistence of the tradition that there was no education until after the beginning of the sixteenth century. meantime one can scarcely help but admire the ingenuity of deliberate purpose that uses the condition of the monastery of st. gall to confirm his statement. st. gall had been founded by irish monks probably about the beginning of the eighth century. it had been for at least three centuries a center of education, civilization and culture, as well as of religion, for the { } barbarians who had settled in the swiss country after the trans-migration of nations. the irish had originally obtained their culture from christian missionaries, and now as christian missionaries they brought it back to europe and accomplished their work with wonderful effectiveness. st. gall was for centuries a lasting monument to their efforts. after the tenth century, however, the monastery began to degenerate. it was almost directly in the path of armies which so frequently went down to italy because of the german interest in the italian peninsula and the claims of the german emperor. after a time according to tradition, the emperor insisted that certain of the veterans of his army should be received and cared for in their old age at st. gall. gradually this feature of the institution became more and more prominent until in the thirteenth century it had become little more than a home for old soldiers. in order to live on the benefices of the monastery these men had to submit to ecclesiastical regulations and wear the habit. they were, it is true, a sort of monk, that is, they were willing, for the sake of the peace and ease which it brought, to accept the living thus provided for them and obey to some degree at least the rules of the monastery. it is not surprising that among these there should have been only one who could read and write. the soldiers of the time despised the men of letters and prided themselves on not being able to write. that a historian of pedagogy, however, should take this one fact in order to give students an idea of the depth of ignorance of the middle ages, is an exhibition of some qualities in our modern educated men, that one does not like to think of as compatible with the capacity to read and write. it would indeed be better not to be able to read and write than thus to read and write one's own prejudices into history, and above all the history of education. compayré's discussion of the "causes of the ignorance" of the middle ages in the next paragraph, is one of the most curious bits of special pleading by a man who holds a brief for one side of the question, that i think has ever been seen in what was to be considered serious history. he first makes it clear how much opposed the christian church was to education, then he admits that she did some things which cannot be denied, but minimizes their significance. then he concludes that it was not { } the fault of the church, but in this there is a precious bit of damning by faint praise. it would be impossible for any ordinary person who had only compayré for authority to feel anything after reading the paragraph, but that christianity was a serious detriment and surely not a help to the cause of progress in education. i quote part of the paragraph: "what were the permanent causes of that situation which lasted for ten centuries? the catholic church has sometimes been held responsible for this. doubtless the christian doctors did not always profess a very warm sympathy for intellectual culture. saint augustine has said: it is the ignorant who gain possession of heaven (indocti coelum rapiunt.) saint gregory the great, a pope of the sixth century, declared that he would blush to have the holy word conform to the rules of grammar. too many christians, in a word, confounded ignorance with holiness. doubtless, towards the seventh century, the darkness still hung thick over the christian church. barbarians invaded the episcopate, and carried with them their rude manners. doubtless, also, during the feudal period the priest often became a soldier, and remained ignorant. it would, however, be unjust to bring a constructive charge against the church of the middle age, and to represent it as systematically hostile to instruction. directly to the contrary, it is the clergy who, in the midst of the general barbarism, preserved some vestiges of the ancient culture. the only schools of that period are the episcopal and claustral schools, the first annexed to the bishops' palaces, the second to the monasteries. the religious orders voluntarily associated manual labor with mental labor. as far back as , st. benedict founded the convent of monte cassino, and drew up statutes which made reading and intellectual labor a part of the daily life of the monks." when this damning by faint praise is taken in connection with the paragraph in which only a single monk at the monastery of st. gall is declared to have been able to read and write, the utterly false impression that is sure to result, can be readily understood even by those who are not sympathetic students of the middle ages. this is how our histories of education have been written as a rule, and as a consequence the most precious period in modern education, its great origin, has been ignored even by professional scholars, to the great detriment not only of historical knowledge but also of any proper appreciation of the evolution of education. portraits bennozo gozzoli [illustration] petrarca omnium virtutum monarca [illustration] giotto, pictor eximius [illustration] dante theologus nullius dogmatis expers { } it will be said by those who do not appreciate the conditions that existed in the middle ages, that these numbers at the universities seeking the higher education, mean very little for the culture of the people, since practically all of those in attendance at the universities belonged to the clerical order. there is no doubt that most students were clerics in the thirteenth century. this did not mean, however, that they had taken major orders or had in any way bound themselves irrevocably to continue in the clerical vocation. the most surprising thing about the spread of culture and the desire for the higher education during the thirteenth century, is that they developed in spite of the fact that the rulers of the time were all during the century, embroiled in war either with their neighbors or with the nobility. anyone who wanted to live a quiet, intellectual life turned naturally to the clerical state, which enabled him to escape military duties and gave him opportunities for study, as well as protection from many exactions that might otherwise be levied upon him. the church not only encouraged education, but supplied the peaceful asylums in which it might be cultivated to the heart's content of the student. while this clerical state was a necessity during the whole time of residence at the university, it was not necessarily maintained afterward. many of the clerics did not even have minor orders--orders which it is well understood carry with them no absolute obligation of continuing in the clerical state. sextons and their assistants were clerics. when the word canon originally came into use it meant nothing more than that the man was entered on the rolls of a church and received some form of wages therefrom. students at the universities were by ecclesiastical courtesy then, clerics (from which comes the word clerk, one who can read and write) though not in orders, and it was because of this that the university was able to maintain the rights of students. it was well understood that after graduation men might take up the secular life and indeed most of them did. in succeeding chapters we shall see examples of this and discuss the question further. professors at the { } universities had to maintain their clerical condition so that even professors of law and of medicine were not allowed to marry. this law continued long beyond the thirteenth century, however. professors of medicine were the first to be freed from the obligation of celibacy, but not until the middle of the fifteenth century at paris, while other professors were bound thus for a full century later. certain minor teaching positions at oxford are still under this law, which evidently has seemed to have some advantage or it would not have been maintained. it might perhaps be thought that only the wealthier class, the sons of the nobility and of the wealthy merchants of the cities had opportunities at the universities. as a matter of fact, however, the vast majority of the students was drawn from the great middle class. the nobility were nearly always too occupied with their pleasures and their martial duties to have time for the higher education. the tradition that a nobleman should be an educated gentleman had not yet come in. indeed many of the nobility during the thirteenth century rather prided themselves on the fact that they not only had no higher education, but that they did not know even how to read and write. when we reflect, then, on the large numbers who went to the universities, it adds to our surprise to realize that they were drawn from the burgher class. it is evident that many of the sons even of the poor were afforded opportunities in different ways at the universities of the time. tradition shows that from the earliest time there were foundations on which poor students could live, and various arrangements were made by which, aside from these, they might make their living while continuing their studies. working one's way through the university was more common in the thirteenth century than it is at the present day, though we are proud of the large numbers who now succeed in the double task of supporting and educating themselves, with excellent success in both enterprises. there are many stories of poor students who found themselves about to be obliged to give up their studies, encountering patrons of various kinds who enabled them to go on with their education. there is a very pretty set of legends with regard to st. edmund of canterbury in this matter. he bears this name { } because he was afterward the sainted primate of england. for many years he taught at the university of oxford. the story is told of a clerical friend sending him up a student to oxford and asking that his bills be sent to him. st. edmund's answer was that he would not be robbed of an opportunity of doing good like this, and he took upon himself the burden of caring for the student. at the time there were many others dependent on his bounty and his reputation was such that he was enabled to help a great many through the benefactions of friends, who found no higher pleasure in life than being able to come generously to edmund's assistance in his charities. those who know the difficulty of managing very large bodies of students will wonder inevitably, how the medieval universities, with their less formal and less complete organizations, succeeded in maintaining discipline for all these thousands of students. most people will remember at once all the stories of roughness, of horse play, of drinking and gaming or worse that they have heard of the medieval students and will be apt to conclude that they are not to be wondered at after all, since it must have been practically impossible for the faculties of universities to keep order among such vast numbers. as a matter of fact, however, the story of the origin and maintenance of discipline in these universities is one of the most interesting features of university life. the process of discipline became in itself a very precious part of education, as it should be of course in any well regulated institution of learning. the very fact, moreover, that in spite of these large numbers and other factors that we shall call attention to in a moment, comparatively so few disgraceful stories of university life have come down to us, and the other and still more important fact that the universities could be kept so constantly at the attainment of their great purpose for such numbers, is itself a magnificent tribute to those who succeeded in doing it, and to the system which was gradually evolved, not by the faculty alone but by teachers and students for university government. with regard to the discipline of the medieval universities not much is known and considerable of what has been written on this obscure subject wears an unfavorable tinge, because it is unfortunately true that "the good men do is oft interred with { } their bones" while the evil has an immortality all its own. the student escapades of the universities, the quarrels between town and gown, the stories of the evils apparently inevitable, where many young men are congregated--the hazing, the rough horse play, the carousing, the immoralities--have all come down to us, while it is easy to miss the supreme significance of the enthusiasm for learning that in these difficult times gathered so many students together from distant parts of the world, when traveling was so difficult and dangerous, and kept them at the universities for long years in spite of the hardships and inconveniences of the life. with regard to our modern universities the same thing is true, and the outside world knows much more of the escapades of the few, the little scandals of college life, that scarcely make a ripple but are so easily exaggerated, and so frequently repeated and lose nothing by repetition, the waste of time in athletics, in gambling, in social things, than of the earnest work and the successful intellectual progress and interests of the many. this should be quite enough to make the modern university man very slow to accept the supposed pictures of medieval student life, which are founded mainly on the worse side of it. goodness is proverbially uninteresting, a happy people has no history and the ordinary life of the university student needs a patient sympathetic chronicler; and such the medieval universities have not found as yet. but they do not need many allowances, if it will only be remembered under what discouragements they labored and how much they accomplished. the reputation of the medieval universities has suffered from this very human tendency to be interested in what is evil and to neglect the good. even as it is, however, a good deal with regard to the discipline of the universities in the early times is known and does not lose in interest from the fact, that the main factor in it was a committee of the students themselves working in conjunction with the faculty, and thus anticipating what is most modern in the development of the disciplinary regime of our up-to-date universities. at first apparently, in the schools from which the universities originated there was no thought of the necessity for discipline. the desire for education was considered to be sufficient to keep men occupied in { } such a way that further discipline would not be necessary. it can readily be understood that the crowds that flocked to hear abelard in paris, and who were sufficiently interested to follow him out to the desert of the paraclete when he was no longer allowed to continue his lectures in connection with the school at paris, would have quite enough of ruling from the internal forum of their supreme interest, not to need any discipline in the external forum. in the course of time, however, with the coming of even greater numbers to the university of paris, and especially when the attendance ran up into many thousands, some form of school discipline became an absolute necessity. this developed of itself and in a very practical way. the masters seem to have had very little to do with it at the beginning since they occupied themselves entirely with their teaching and preparation for lectures. what was to become later one of the principal instruments of discipline was at first scarcely more than a social organization among the students. those who came from different countries were naturally attracted to one another, and were more ready to help each other. when students first came they were welcomed by their compatriots who took care to keep them from being imposed upon, enabled them to secure suitable quarters and introduced them to university customs generally, so that they might be able to take advantage, as soon as possible, of the educational opportunities. the friendships thus fostered gradually grew into formal organizations, the so-called "nations." these began to take form just before the beginning of the thirteenth century. they made it their duty to find lodgings for their student compatriots, and evidently also to supply food on some cooperative plan for at least the poorer students. whenever students of a particular nationality were injured in any way, their "nation" as a formal organization took up their cause and maintained their rights, even to the extent of an appeal to formal process of law before the magistrates, if necessary. the nations were organized before the faculties in the universities were formally recognized as independent divisions of the institution, and they acted as intermediaries between the university head and the students, making themselves responsible for discipline to no slight { } degree. at the beginning of the thirteenth century in paris all the students belonged to one or other of four nations, the picard, the norman, the french, which embraced italians, spaniards, greeks and orientals, and the english which embraced the english, irish, germans, poles (heterogeneous collection we would consider it in these modern days) and in addition all other students from the north of europe. professor laurie, of the university of edinburgh, in his rise and early constitution of universities in the international educational series [footnote ] says: [footnote : the rise and early constitution of universities, with a survey of medieval education, by s. s. laurie, ll.d., professor of the institutes and history of education in the university of edinburgh. new york, d. appleton & company, .] "the subdivisions of the nations were determined by the localities from which the students and masters came. each subdivision elected its own dean and kept its own matriculation-book and money-chest. the whole "nation" was represented, it is true, by the elected procurators; but the deans of the subdivisions were regarded as important officials, and were frequently, if not always, assessors of the procurators. the procurators, four in number, were elected, not by the students as in bologna and padua, but by the students and masters. each nation with its procurator and deans was an independent body, passing its own statutes and rules, and exercising supervision over the lodging-houses of the students. they had each a seal as distinguished from the university seal, and each procurator stood to his "nation" in the same relation as the rector did to the whole university. the rector, again, was elected by the procurators, who sat as his assessors, and together they constituted the governing body; but this for purposes of discipline, protection and defense of privileges chiefly, the _consortium magistrorum_ regulating the schools. but so independent were the nations that the question whether each had power to make statutes that overrode those of the _universitas_, was still a question so late as the beginning of the seventeenth century." it is typical of the times that the governing system should thus have grown up of itself and from amongst the students, rather than that it should have been organized by the teachers { } and imposed upon the university. the nations represented the rise of that democratic spirit, which was to make itself felt in the claims for the recognition of rights for all the people in most of the countries during the thirteenth century, and undoubtedly the character of the government of the student body at the universities fostered this spirit and is therefore to a noteworthy degree, responsible for the advances in the direction of liberty which are chronicled during this great century. this was a form of unconscious education but none the less significant for that, and eminently practical in its results. at this time in europe there was no place where the members of the community who flocked in largest numbers to the universities, the sons of the middle classes, could have any opportunities to share in government or learn the precious lessons of such participation, except at the universities. there gradually came an effort on the part of the faculties to lessen many of the rights of the nations of the universities, but the very struggle to maintain these on the part of the student body, was of itself a precious training against the usurpation of privileges that was to be of great service later in the larger arena of national politics, and the effects of which can be noted in every country in europe, nowhere more than in england, where the development of law and liberty was to give rise to a supreme heritage of democratic jurisprudence for the english speaking peoples of all succeeding generations. { } v post-graduate work at the universities. in modern times it has often been said that no university can be considered to be doing its proper work unless, besides teaching, it is also adding to the existing body of knowledge by original research. because of unfortunate educational traditions, probably the last thing in the world that would enter into the minds of most people to conceive as likely to be found in the history of the universities of the thirteenth century, would be original research in any form. in spite of this almost universal false impression, original work of the most valuable kind, for much of which workers would be considered as amply deserving of their doctorates in the various faculties of the post-graduate departments of the most up-to-date of modern universities, was constantly being accomplished during this wonderful century. it is, as a matter of fact, with this phase of university activity that the modern educator is sure to have more sympathy than with any other, once the significant details of the work become clear. all surprise that surpassing original work was accomplished will cease when it is recalled that, besides creating the universities themselves, this century gave us the great cathedrals--a well-spring of originality, and a literature in every civilized country of europe that has been an inspiration to many subsequent generations. at last men had the time to devote to the things of the mind. during what are called the dark ages, a term that must ever be used with the realization that there are many bright points of light in them, men had been occupied with wars and civic and political dissensions of all kinds, and had been gradually climbing back to the heights of interest in intellectual matters which had been theirs before the invasion of the barbarians and the migration of nations. with the rebirth of intellectual interests there came an intense curiosity to know everything and to investigate every manifestation. { } everything that men touched was novel, and the wonderful advances they made can only be realized from actual consultation of their works, while the reader puts himself as far as possible at the same mental point of view from which they surveyed the world and their relations to it. the modern university prides itself on the number of volumes written by its professors and makes it a special feature of its announcements to call attention to its at least supposed additions to knowledge in this mode. it must have been immensely more difficult to preserve the writings of the professors of the medieval universities for they had to be copied out laboriously by hand, yet we have an enormous number of large volumes of their works, on nearly every intellectual topic, that have been carefully preserved. there are some twenty closely printed large folio volumes of the writings of albertus magnus that have come down to us. for two centuries, until the time of printing, ardent students must have been satisfied to spend much time in preserving these. while mainly devoted to theology, they treat of nearly everything else, and at least one of the folio volumes is taken up almost exclusively with physical science. st. thomas aquinas has as many volumes to his credit and his work is even of more importance. duns scotus died at a very early age, scarcely more than forty, yet his writings are voluminously extensive and have been carefully preserved, for few men had as enthusiastic students as he. alas! that his name should be preserved for most people only in the familiar satiric appellation 'dunce.' the modern educator will most rejoice at the fact that the students of the time must have indeed been devoted to their masters to set themselves to the task of copying out their work so faithfully for, as cardinal newman has pointed out, it is the personal influence of the master, rather than the greatness of the institution, that makes education effective. first with regard to philosophy, the mistress of all studies, whose throne has been shaken but not shattered in these ultimate times. after all it must not be forgotten that this was the great century of the development of scholastic philosophy. while this scholastic philosophy is supposed by many students of modern philosophy to be a thing of the past, it still continues { } to be the basis of the philosophical teaching in the catholic seminaries and universities throughout the world. catholic philosophers are well known as conservative thinkers and writers, and yet are perfectly free to confess that they consider themselves the nearer to truth the nearer they are to the great scholastic thinkers of the thirteenth century. even in the circle of students of philosophy who are outside the influence of scholasticism, there is no doubt that in recent years an opinion much more favorable to the schoolmen has gradually arisen. this has been due to a study of scholastic sources. only those despise and talk slightingly of scholasticism who either do not know it at all or know it only at second hand. with regard to the system of thought, as such, ever is it true, that the more close the acquaintanceship the more respect there is for it. with regard to theology the case is even stronger than with regard to philosophy. practically all of the great authorities in theology belong to the thirteenth century. it is true that men like saint anselm lived before this time and were leaders in the great movement that culminated in our century. saint anselm's book, _cur deus homo_, is indeed one of the best examples of the combination of scholastic philosophy and theology that could well be cited. it is a triumph of logical reasoning, applied to religious belief. besides, it is a great classic and any one who can read it unmoved by admiration for the thinker who, so many centuries ago, could so trenchantly lay down his thesis and develop it, must be lacking in some of the qualities of human admiration. the writers of the thirteenth century in theology are beyond even anselm in their marvelous powers of systematizing thought. one need only mention such names as albertus magnus, thomas aquinas, bonaventure. duns scotus, and raymond lully to make those who are at all acquainted with the history of the time realize, that this is not an idle expression of the enthusiasm of a special votary of the thirteenth century. as we shall see in discussing the career of saint thomas aquinas, the catholic church still continues to teach scholastic theology on exactly the same lines as were laid down by this great doctor of the church in his teaching at the university of paris. amid the crumbling of many christian systems of { } thought, as upheld by the various protestant sects, there has been a very general realization that the catholic church has built up the only edifice of christian apologetics, which will stand the storms of time and the development of human knowledge. confessedly this edifice is founded on thirteenth century scholasticism. pope leo xiii., than whom, even in the estimation of those who are least sympathetic toward his high office, there was no man of more supremely practical intelligence in our generation, insisted that st. thomas aquinas must in general principle at least, be the groundwork of the teaching of philosophy and theology as they are to form the minds of future catholic apologists. the scholastic theology and philosophy of the thirteenth century have come to us in absolute purity. the huge tomes which represent the indefatigable labors of these ardent scholars were well preserved by the subsequent generation which thought so much of them, and in spite of the absence of printing have come down to us in perfectly clear texts. it is easy to neglect them and to say that a study of them is not worth while. they represent, however, the post-graduate work and the research in the department of philosophy and theology of these days, and any university of modern time would consider itself honored by having their authors among its professors and alumni. any one who does not think so need only turn to the volumes themselves and read them with understanding and sympathy, and there will be another convert to the ranks of that growing multitude of scholars, who have learned to appreciate the marvelous works of our university colleagues of the thirteenth century. with regard to law, not much need be said here, since it is well understood that the foundations of our modern jurisprudence (see chapters on legal origins), as well as the methods of teaching law, were laid in the thirteenth century and the universities were the most active factors, direct and indirect, in this work. the university of bologna developed from a law school. toward the end of the twelfth century irnerius revived the study of the old roman law and put the curriculum of modern civil law on a firm basis. a little later gratian made his famous collection of decretals, which are the basis of canon { } law. great popes, during the thirteenth century, beginning with innocent iii., and continuing through such worthy emulators as gregory ix. and boniface viii., made it the special glory of their pontificates to collect the decrees of their predecessors and arrange and publish them, so that they might be readily available for consultation. french law assumed its modern form, and the basis of french jurisprudence was laid, under louis ix., who called to his assistance, in this matter, the professors of law at the university of paris, with many of whom he was on the most intimate terms. his cousin, ferdinand of castile, laid the foundation of the spanish law about the same time under almost similar circumstances, and with corresponding help. the study of law in the english universities helped to the formulation of the principles of the english common law in such simple connected form as made them readily accessible for consultation. just before the beginning of the last quarter of the thirteenth century, bracton, of whose work much more will be said in a subsequent chapter, drew up the digest of the english common law, which has been the basis of english jurisprudence ever since. it took just about a century for these countries, previously without proper codification of the principles of their laws, to complete the fundamental work to such a degree, that it is still the firm substructure on which rests all our modern laws. legal origins, in our modern sense, came not long before the thirteenth century; at its end the work was finished, to all intents and purposes. of the influence of the universities and of the university law departments, in all this there can be no doubt. the incentive, undoubtedly, came from their teachings. the men who did so much for legal origins of such far-reaching importance, were mainly students of the universities of the time, whose enthusiasm for work had not subsided with the obtaining of their degrees. it is in medicine, however, much more than in law or theology, that the eminently practical character of university teaching during the thirteenth century can be seen, at least in the form in which it will appeal to a scientific generation. we are so accustomed to think that anything like real progress in medicine, and especially in surgery, has only come in very { } recent years, that it is a source of great surprise to find how much these earnest students of a long distant century anticipated the answers to problems, the solutions of which are usually supposed to be among the most modern advances. professor allbutt, the regius professor of physic in the university of cambridge, a position, the occupant of which is always a leader in english medical thought, the present professor being one of the world's best authorities in the history of medicine, recently pointed out some of these marvels of old-time medicine and surgery. in an address on the historical relations of medicine and surgery to the end of the sixteenth century, delivered at the congress of arts and sciences at the st. louis exposition in , he (prof. allbutt) spoke with regard to one of the great university medical teachers of the thirteenth century as follows: "both for his own great merits, as an original and independent observer, and as the master of lanfranc, william salicet (guglielmo salicetti of piacenza, in latin g. placentinus de saliceto--now cadeo), was eminent among the great italian physicians of the latter half of the thirteenth century. now these great italians were as distinguished in surgery as in medicine, and william was one of the protestants of the period against the division of surgery from inner medicine; a division which he regarded as a separation of medicine from intimate touch with nature. like lanfranc and the other great surgeons of the italian tradition, and unlike franco and ambroise paré, he had the advantage of the liberal university education of italy; but, like paré and wurtz, he had large practical experience in hospital and on the battlefield. he practised first at bologna, afterward in verona. william fully recognised that surgery cannot be learned from books only. his surgery contains many case histories, for he rightly opined that good notes of cases are the soundest foundation of good practice; and in this opinion and method lanfranc followed him. william discovered that dropsy may be due to a '_durities renum_'; he substituted the knife for the arabist abuse of the cautery; he investigated the causes of the failure of healing by first intention; he described the danger of wounds of the neck; he sutured divided nerves; he forwarded the diagnosis of { } suppurative disease of the hip, and he referred chancre and phagedaena to their real causes." this paragraph sets forth some almost incredible anticipations of what are usually considered among the most modern phases of medicine and surgery. perhaps the most surprising thing is the simple statement that salicet recognized that surgery cannot be learned from books alone. his case histories are instructive even to the modern surgeon who reads them. his insistence on his students making careful notes of their cases as the soundest foundation of progress in surgery, is a direct contradiction of nearly everything that has been said in recent years about medieval medicine and especially the teaching of medicine. (see appendix.) william's great pupil, lanfranc, followed him in this, and lanfranc encouraged the practise at the university of paris. there is a note-book of a student at the university of paris, made toward the end of the thirteenth century, carefully preserved in the museum of the university of berlin. this notebook was kept during lanfranc's teaching and contains some sketches of dissections, as well as some illustrations of operative procedures, as studied with that celebrated surgeon. the tradition of case histories continued at the university of paris down to the beginning of modern surgery. some of the doctrines in medicine that william of salicet stated so clearly, sound surprisingly modern. the connection, for instance, between dropsy and _durities renum_ (hardening of the kidneys) shows how wonderfully observant the old master was. at the present time we know very little more about the dropsical condition associated with chronic bright's disease than the fact that it constantly occurs where there is a sclerosis or contraction of the kidney. bright in his study of albuminuria and contracted kidney practically taught us no more than this, except that he added the further symptom of the presence of albumin in the urine. it must have been only as the result of many carefully studied cases, followed by autopsies, that any such doctrine could have come into existence. there is a dropsy that occurs with heart disease; there is also a dropsy in connection with certain affections of the liver, and yet the most frequent cause is just this hardening of the kidneys { } spoken of by this middle-of-the-thirteenth century italian professor of medicine, who, if we would believe so many of the historians of medicine, was not supposed to occupy himself at all with ante and post-mortem studies of patients, but with the old-time medical authorities. almost more surprising than the question of dropsy is the investigation as to the causes of the failure of healing by first intention. the modern surgeon is very apt to think that he is the only one who ever occupied himself with the thought, that wounds might be made to heal by first intention and without the occurrence of suppuration or granulation. certainly no one would suspect any interest in the matter as far back as the thirteenth century. william of salicet, however, and lanfranc, both of them occupied themselves much with this question and evidently looked at it from a very practical standpoint. many careful observations must have been made and many sources of observational error eliminated to enable these men to realize the possibilities of primary union, especially, knowing as they did, nothing at all about the external causes of suppuration and considering, as did surgeons for nearly seven centuries afterward, that it was because of something within the patient's tissues that the cases of suppuration had their rise. unfortunately, the pioneer work done by william and his great disciple did not have that effect upon succeeding generations which it should have had. there was a question in men's minds as to whether nature worked better by primary union or by means of the suppurative process. in the next century surgeons took the wrong horn of the dilemma and even so distinguished a surgeon as guy de chauliac, who has been called, not without good cause, the father of surgery, came to the conclusion that suppuration was practically a necessary process in the healing of large wounds at least, and that it must be encouraged rather than discouraged. this doctrine did not have its first set-back until the famous incident in ambroise paré's career, when one morning after a battle, coming to his patients expecting to find many of them very severely ill, he found them on the contrary in better condition than the others for whom he had no forebodings. in accord with old custom { } he poured boiling oil into the wounds of all patients, but the great surgeon's supply of oil had failed the day before and he used plain water to cleanse the wounds of a number, fearing the worst for them, however, because of the poison that must necessarily stay in their wounds and then had the agreeable disappointment of finding these patients in much better condition than those whom he had treated with all the rules of his art, as they then were. even this incident, however, did not serve to correct entirely the old idea as to the value of suppuration and down to lister's time, that is almost the last quarter of the nineteenth century, there is still question of the value of suppuration in expediting the healing of wounds, and we hear of laudable pus and of the proper inflammatory reaction that is expected to bring about wound repair. the danger of wounds of the neck is, of course, not a modern doctrine, and yet very few people would think for a moment that it could be traced back to the middle of the thirteenth century and to a practical teacher of surgery in a medieval italian university. here once more there is evidence of the work of a careful observer who has seen patients expire in a few minutes as the result of some serious incident during the course of operations upon the neck. he did not realize that the danger was due, in many cases, to the sucking in of air into the large veins, but even at the present time this question is not wholly settled and the problem as to the danger of the presence of air is still the subject of investigation. as to the suture of divided nerves, it would ordinarily and as a matter of course be claimed by most modern historians of surgery and by practically all surgeons, as an affair entirely of the last half century. william of salicet, however, neglected none of the ordinary surgical procedures that could be undertaken under the discouraging surgical circumstances in which he lived. the limitations of anesthesia, though there was much more of this aid than there has commonly been any idea of, and the frequent occurrence of suppuration must have been constant sources of disheartenment. his insistence on the use of the knife rather than on the cautery shows how much he appreciated the value of proper healing. it is from such a man that we might expect the advance by careful { } investigation as to just what tissues had been injured, with the idea of bringing them together in such juxtaposition as would prevent loss of function and encourage rapid and perfect union. {opp } [illustration] screen (hereford) [illustration] doorway of sacristy (bourges) perhaps to the ordinary individual william's reference of certain known venereal affections to their proper cause, will be the most astonishing in this marvelous list of anticipations of what is supposed to be very modern. the whole subject of venereal disease in anything like a scientific treatment of it is supposed to date from the early part of the sixteenth century. there is even question in certain minds as to whether the venereal diseases did not come into existence, or at least were not introduced from america or from some other distant country that the europeans had been exploring about this time. william's studies in this subject, however, serve to show that nothing escaped his watchful eye and that he was in the best sense of the word a careful observer and must have been an eminently suggestive and helpful teacher. what has thus been learned about him will serve of itself and without more ado, to stamp all that has been said about the unpractical character of the medical teaching of the medieval universities as utterly unfounded. because men have not taken the trouble to look up the teaching of these times, and because their works were until recent years buried in old folios, difficult to obtain and still more difficult to read when obtained, it has been easy to ignore their merit and even to impugn the value of their teaching completely. william of salicet was destined, moreover, to be surpassed in some ways by his most distinguished pupil, lanfranc, who taught at the university of paris at the end of the thirteenth century. of lanfranc, in the address already quoted from, professor allbutt has one very striking paragraph that shows how progressive was the work of this great french surgeon, and how fruitful had been the suggestive teaching of his great master. he says: "lanfranc's 'chirurgia magna' was a great work, written by a reverent but independent follower of salicet. he distinguished between venous and arterial hemorrhage, and used styptics (rabbit's fur, aloes, and white of egg was a popular styptic in elder surgery), digital compression for an hour, or in severe cases ligature. his chapter on injuries of the head { } is one of the classics of medieval surgery. clerk (cleric) as he was, lanfranc nevertheless saw but the more clearly the danger of separating surgery from medicine." certain assertions in this paragraph deserve, as in the case of lanfranc's master, to be discussed, because of their anticipations of what is sometimes thought to be very modern in surgery. the older surgeons are supposed to have feared hemorrhage very much. it is often asserted that they knew little or nothing about the ligature and that their control of hemorrhage was very inadequate. as a matter of fact, however, it was not primary hemorrhage that the old surgeons feared, but secondary hemorrhage. suppuration often led to the opening of an important artery, and this accident, as can well be understood, was very much dreaded. surgeons would lose their patients before they could come to their relief. how thoroughly lanfranc knew how to control primary hemorrhage can be appreciated from the quotation just made from dr. allbutt's address. the ligature is sometimes said to have been an invention of ambroise paré, but, as a matter of fact, it had been in use for at least three centuries before his time, and perhaps even longer. usually it is considered that the difficult chapter of head injuries, with all the problems that it involves in diagnosis and treatment, is a product of the nineteenth century. hence do we read, with all the more interest, allbutt's declaration that lanfranc wrote what is practically a classical monograph, on the subject. it is not so surprising, then, to find that the great french surgeon was far ahead of his generation in other matters, or that he should even have realized the danger of separating surgery from medicine. both the regius professors of medicine at the two great english universities, cambridge and oxford, have, since the beginning of the twentieth century, made public expression of their opinion that the physician should see more of the work of the surgeon, and should not depend on the autopsy room for his knowledge of the results of internal disease. professor osler, particularly, has emphasized his colleague, professor allbutt's opinion in this matter. that a surgical professor at the university of paris, in the thirteenth century, should have anticipated these two leaders { } of medical thought in the twentieth century, would not be so surprising, only that unfortunately the history of medieval teaching has, because of prejudice and a lamentable tradition, not been read aright. occasionally one finds a startling bit of anticipation of what is most modern, in medicine as well as in surgery. for instance, toward the end of the thirteenth century, a distinguished english professor of medicine, known as gilbert, the englishman, was teaching at montpelier, and among other things, was insisting that the rooms of patients suffering from smallpox should be hung entirely with red curtains, and that the doors and the windows should be covered with heavy red hangings. he claimed that this made the disease run a lighter course, with lessened mortality, and with very much less disfigurement. smallpox was an extremely common disease in the thirteenth century, and he probably had many chances for observation. it is interesting to realize that one of the most important observations made at the end of the nineteenth century by dr. finsen, the danish investigator whose studies in light and its employment in therapeutics, drew to him the attention of the world, and eventually the nobel prize of $ , for the greatest advance in medicine was, that the admission of only red light to the room of smallpox patients modified the disease very materially, shortened its course, often prevented the secondary fever, and almost did away completely with the subsequent disfigurement. it is evident that these men were searching and investigating for themselves, and not following blindly in the footsteps of any master. it has often been said that during the middle ages it was a heresy to depart, ever so little, from the teaching of galen. usually it is customary to add that the first writer to break away from galen, effectually, was vesalius, in his de fabrica corporis humani, published toward the end of the second quarter of the sixteenth century. it may be said, in passing, that, as a matter of fact, vesalius, though he accomplished much by original investigation, did not break so effectually with galen as would have been for the best in his own work, and, especially, for its influence on his successors. he certainly did not set an example of independent research { } and personal observation, any more fully, than did the medical teachers of the thirteenth century already mentioned, and some others, like mondaville and arnold of villanova, whose names well deserve to be associated with them. one reason why it is such a surprise to find how thoroughly practical was the teaching of the thirteenth century university medical schools, is because it has somehow come to be a very general impression that medicine was taught mainly by disputations, and by the consultation of authorities, and that it was always more important to have a passage of galen to support a medical notion, than, to have an original observation. this false impression is due to the fact that the writers of the history of medical education have, until recent years, drawn largely on their imaginations, and have not consulted the old-time medical books. in spite of the fact that printing was not discovered for more than two centuries later, there are many treatises on medicine that have come down to us from this early time, and the historians of medicine now have the opportunity, and are taking the trouble, to read them with a consequent alteration of old-time views, as to the lack of encouragement for original observation, in the later middle ages. these old tomes are not easy reading, but nothing daunts a german investigator bound to get to the bottom of his subject, and such men as pagel and puschmann have done much to rediscover for us medieval medicine. the french medical historians have not been behind their german colleagues and magnificent work has been accomplished, especially by the republication of old texts. william of salicet's surgery was republished by pifteau at toulouse in . mondaville's surgery was republished under the auspices of the society for the publication of old french texts in and . these republications have made the works of the old-time surgeons readily available for study by all interested in our great predecessors in medicine, all over the world. before this, it has always been necessary to get to some of the libraries in which the old texts were preserved, and this, of course, made it extremely difficult for the ordinary teacher of the history of medicine to know anything about them. besides, old texts are such difficult reading that few, except the most earnest of students, { } have patience for them, and they are so time-taking as to be practically impossible for modern, hurried students. unfortunately, writers of the history of medicine filled up this gap in their knowledge, only too frequently, either out of their imaginations, or out of their inadequate authorities, with the consequence of inveterating the old-time false impression with regard to the absence of anything of medical or surgical interest, even in the later middle ages. another and much more serious reason for the false impression with regard to the supposed blankness of the middle age in medical progress, was the notion, quite generally accepted, and even yet not entirely rejected, by many, that the church was opposed to scientific advance in the centuries before the reformation so-called, and that even the sciences allied to medicine, fell under her ban. for instance, there is not a history of medicine, so far as i know, published in the english language, which does not assert that pope boniface viii., by a bull promulgated at the end of the thirteenth century, forbade the practise of dissection. to most people, it will, at once, seem a natural conclusion, that if the feeling against the study of the human body by dissection had reached such a pass as to call forth a papal decree in the matter, at the end of the century, all during the previous hundred years, there must have been enough ecclesiastical hampering of anatomical work to prevent anything like true progress, and to preclude the idea of any genuinely progressive teaching of anatomy. there is not the slightest basis for this bit of false history except an unfortunate, it is to be hoped not intentional, misapprehension on the part of historical writers as to the meaning of a papal decree issued by boniface viii. in the year . he forbade, under pain of excommunication, the boiling of bodies and their dismemberment in order that thus piecemeal they might be transported to long distances for burial purposes. it is now well known that the bull was aimed at certain practises which had crept in, especially among the crusaders in the east. when a member of the nobility fell a victim to wounds or to disease, his companions not infrequently dismembered the body, boiled it so as to prevent putrefaction, or at least delay decay, and then transported it long distances to his home, in { } order that he might have christian burial in some favorite graveyard, and that his friends might have the consolation of knowing where his remains rested. the body of the emperor frederick barbarosa, who died in the east, is said to have been thus treated. boniface was one of the most broadly educated men of his time, who had been a great professor of canon and civil law at paris when younger, and realized the dangers involved in such a proceeding from a sanitary standpoint, and he forbade it, requiring that the bodies should be buried where the persons had died. he evidently considered that the ancient custom of consecrating a portion of earth for the purpose of burial in order that the full christian rites might be performed, was quite sufficient for noble as for common soldier. for this very commendable sanitary regulation boniface has been set down by historians of medicine as striking a death blow at the development of anatomy for the next two centuries. as a matter of fact, however, anatomy continued to be studied in the universities after this bull as it had been before, and it is evident that never by any misapprehension as to its meaning was the practise of dissection lessened. curiously enough the history of human dissection can only be traced with absolute certainty from the time immediately after this bull. it is during the next twenty-five years at the university of bologna, which was always closely in touch with the ecclesiastical authorities in italy and especially with the pope, that the foundations of dissection, as the most important practical department of medical teaching, were laid by mondino, whose book on dissection continued to be the text book used in most of the medical schools for the next two centuries. guy de chauliac who studied there during the first half of the fourteenth century says he saw many dissections made there. it was at montpellier, about the middle of the century, when the popes were at avignon not far away, that guy de chauliac himself made attendance at dissections obligatory for every student, and obtained permission to use the bodies of criminals for dissection purposes. at the time chauliac occupied the post of chamberlain to the popes. all during the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries constant progress was making in anatomy, especially in italy, and some of it was accomplished at rome { } by distinguished teachers of anatomy who had been summoned by the popes to their capital in order to add distinction to the teaching staff at the famous papal school of science, the sapienza, to which were attached during the next two centuries many of the distinguished scientific professors of the time. this story with regard to the papal prohibition of dissection has no foundation in the history of the times. it has had not a little to do, however, with making these times very much misunderstood and one still continues to see printed references to the misfortune, which is more usually called a crime, that prevented the development of a great humanitarian science because of ecclesiastical prejudice. this story with regard to anatomy, however, is not a whit worse than that which is told of chemistry in almost the same terms. at the beginning of the fourteenth century pope john xxii. is said to have issued a bull forbidding chemistry under pain of excommunication, which according to some writers in the matter is said to have included the death penalty. it has been felt in the same way as with regard to anatomy, that this was only the culmination of a feeling in ecclesiastical circles against chemistry which must have hampered its progress all during the thirteenth century. an examination of the so-called bull with regard to chemistry, it is really only a decree, shows even less reason for the slander of pope john xxii. than of boniface viii. john had been scarcely a year on the papal throne when he issued this decree forbidding "alchemies" and inflicting a punishment upon those who practised them. the first sentence of the title of the document is: "alchemies are here prohibited and those who practise them or procure their being done are punished." this is evidently all of the decree that those who quoted it as a prohibition of chemistry seem ever to have read. under the name "alchemies," pope john, as is clear from the rest of the document, meant a particular kind of much-advertised chemical manipulations. he forbade the supposed manufacture of gold and silver. the first sentence of his decree shows how thoroughly he recognized the falsity of the pretensions of the alchemists in this matter. "poor themselves," he says, "the alchemists promise riches which are not forthcoming." he then forbids them further to impose upon the poor people { } whose confidence they abuse and whose good money they take to return them only base-metal or none at all. the only punishment inflicted for the doing of these "alchemies" on those who might transgress the decree was not death or imprisonment, but that the pretended makers of gold and silver should be required to turn into the public treasury as much gold and silver as had been paid them for their alchemies, the money thus paid in to go to the poor. as in the case of the bull with regard to anatomy, it is very clear that by no possible misunderstanding at the time was the development of the science of chemistry hindered by this papal document. chemistry had to a certain extent been cultivated at the university of paris, mainly by ecclesiastics. both aquinas and his master albertus wrote treatises on chemical subjects. roger bacon devoted much time to it as is well known, and for the next three centuries the history of chemistry has a number of names of men who were not only unhampered by the ecclesiastical authorities, but who were themselves usually either ecclesiastics, or high in favor with the churchmen of their time and place. this is true of hollandus, of arnold of villanova, of basil valentine, and finally of the many abbots and bishops to whom paracelsus in his time acknowledged his obligations for aid in his chemical studies. almost needless to say it has been impossible, in a brief sketch of this kind limited to a single chapter, to give anything like an adequate idea of what the enthusiastic graduate students and professors of the thirteenth century succeeded in accomplishing. it is probably this department of university life, however, that has been least understood, or rather we should say most persistently misunderstood. the education of the time is usually supposed to be eminently unpractical, and great advances in the departments of knowledge that had important bearings on human life and its relations were not therefore thought possible. it is just here, however, that sympathetic interpretation and the pointing out of the coordination of intellectual work often considered to be quite distinct from university influences were needed. it is hoped then that this short sketch will prove sufficient to call the attention of modern educators to a field that has been neglected, or at least has { } received very little cultivation compared to its importance, but which must be sedulously worked, if our generation is to understand with any degree of thoroughness the spirit manifested and the results attained by the medieval universities. [illustration] double flying buttress (rheims) { } vi the book of the arts and popular education. the most important portion of the history of the thirteenth century and beyond all doubt the most significant chapter in the book of its arts, is to be found in the great gothic cathedrals, so many of which were erected at this time and whose greatest perfection of finish in design and in detail came just at the beginning of this wonderful period. we are not concerned here with the gradual development of gothic out of the older romanesque architectural forms, nor with the oriental elements that may have helped this great evolution. all that especially concerns us is the fact that the generations of the thirteenth century took the gothic ideas in architecture and applied them so marvelously, that thereafter it could be felt that no problem of structural work had been left unsolved and no feature of ornament or decoration left untried or at least unsuggested. the great center of gothic influence was the north of france, but it spread from here to every country in europe, and owing to the intimate relations existing between england and france because of the presence of the normans in both countries, developed almost as rapidly and with as much beauty, and effectiveness as in the mother country. it is in fact in england just before the thirteenth century, that the spirit which gave rise to the cathedrals can be best observed at work and its purposes most thoroughly appreciated. the great cathedral at lincoln had some of its most important features before the beginning of the thirteenth century and this was doubtless due to the famous st. hugh of lincoln, who was a frenchman by birth and whose experience in normandy in early life enabled him successfully to set about the creation of a gothic cathedral in the country that had become his by adoption. {opp } [illustration] angel choir (lincoln) { } hugh himself was so great of soul, so deeply interested in his people and their welfare, so ready to make every sacrifice for them even to the extent of incurring the enmity of his king (even froude usually so unsympathetic to medieval men and things has included him among his short studies of great subjects), that one cannot help but think that when he devoted himself to the erection of the magnificent cathedral, he realized very well that it would become a center of influence, not only religious but eminently educational, in its effects upon the people of his diocese. the work was begun then with a consciousness of the results to be attained and the influence of the cathedral must not be looked upon as accidental. he must have appreciated that the creating of a work of beauty in which the people themselves shared, which they looked on as their own property, to which they came nearly every second day during the year for religious services, would be a telling book out of which they would receive more education than could come to them in any other way. of course we cannot hope in a short chapter or two to convey any adequate impression of the work that was done in and for the cathedrals, nor the even more important reactionary influence they had in educating the people. ferguson says: [footnote ] [footnote : ferguson--history of architecture. n. y., dodd, mead & co.] "the subject of the cathedrals, their architecture and decoration is, in fact, practicably inexhaustible. . . . priests and laymen worked with masons, painters, and sculptors, and all were bent on producing the best possible building, and improving every part and every detail, till the amount of thought and contrivance accumulated in any single structure is almost incomprehensible. if any one man were to devote a lifetime to the study of one of our great cathedrals--assuming it to be complete in all its medieval arrangements--it is questionable whether he would master all its details, and fathom all the reasonings and experiments which led to the glorious result before him. and when we consider that not in the great cities alone, but in every convent and in every parish, thoughtful professional men were trying to excel what had been done and was doing, by their predecessors and their fellows, we shall { } understand what an amount of thought is built into the walls of our churches, castles, colleges, and dwelling houses. if any one thinks he can master and reproduce all this, he can hardly fail to be mistaken. my own impression is that not one tenth part of it has been reproduced in all the works written on the subject up to this day, and much of it is probably lost and never again to be recovered for the instruction and delight of future ages." this profound significance and charming quality of the cathedrals is usually unrecognized by those who see them only once or twice, and who, though they are very much interested in them for the moment, have no idea of the wealth of artistic suggestion and of thoughtful design so solicitously yet happily put into them by their builders. people who have seen them many times, however, who have lived in close touch with them, who have been away from them for a time and have come back to them, find the wondrous charm that is in these buildings. architects and workmen put their very souls into them and they will always be of interest. it is for this reason, that the casual visitor at all times and in all moods finds them ever a source of constantly renewed pleasure, no matter how many times they may be seen. elizabeth robbins pennell has expressed this power of cathedrals to please at all times, even after they have been often seen and are very well known, in a recent number of the _century_, in describing the great cathedral of notre dame, "often as i have seen notre dame," she says, "the marvel of it never grows less. i go to paris with no thought of time for it, busy about many other things and then on my way over one of the bridges across the river perhaps, i see it again on its island, the beautiful towers high above the houses and palaces and the view now so familiar strikes me afresh with all the wonder of my first impression." this is we think the experience of everyone who has the opportunity to see much of notre dame. the present writer during the course of his medical studies spent many months in daily view of the cathedral and did a good deal of work at the old morgue, situated behind the cathedral. even at the end of his stay he was constantly finding new beauties in { } the grand old structure and learning to appreciate it more and more as the changing seasons of a paris fall and winter and spring, threw varying lights and shadows over it. it was like a work of nature, never growing old, but constantly displaying some new phase of beauty to the passers-by. mrs. pennell resents only the restorations that have been made. generations down even to our time have considered that they could rebuild as beautifully as the thirteenth century constructors; some of them even have thought that they could do better, doubtless, yet their work has in the opinion of good critics served only to spoil or at least to detract from the finer beauty of the original plan. no wonder that r. m. stevenson, who knew and loved the old cathedral so well, said: "notre dame is the only un-greek thing that unites majesty, elegance, and awfulness." inasmuch as it does so it is a typical product of this wonderful thirteenth century, the only serious rival the greeks have ever had. but of course it does not stand alone. there are other cathedrals built at the same time at least as handsome and as full of suggestions. indeed in the opinion of many critics it is inferior in certain respects to some three or four of the greatest gothic cathedrals. it cannot be possible that these generations builded so much better than they knew, that it is only by a sort of happy accident that their edifices still continue to be the subject of such profound admiration, and such endless sources of pleasure after seven centuries of experience. if so we would certainly be glad to have some such happy accident occur in our generation, for we are building nothing at the present time with regard to which we have any such high hopes. of course the generations of cathedral builders knew and appreciated their own work. the triumph of the thirteenth century is therefore all the more marked and must be considered as directly due to the environment and the education of its people. we have then in the study of their cathedrals the keynote for the modern appreciation of the character and the development of their builders. it will be readily understood, how inevitably fragmentary must be our consideration of the cathedrals, yet there is the consolation that they are the best known feature of thirteenth { } century achievement and that consequently all that will be necessary will be to point out the significance of their construction as the basis of the great movement of education and uplift in the century. perhaps first a word is needed with regard to the varieties of gothic in the different countries of europe and what they meant in the period. probably, the most interesting feature of the history of gothic architecture, at this period, is to be found in the circumstance that, while all of the countries erected gothic structures along the general lines which had been laid down by its great inventors in the north and center of france, none of the architects and builders of the century, in other countries, slavishly followed the french models. english gothic is quite distinct from its french ancestor, and while it has defects it has beauties, that are all its own, and a simplicity and grandeur, well suited to the more rugged character of the people among whom it developed. italian gothic has less merits, perhaps, than any of the other forms of the art that developed in the different nations. in italy, with its bright sunlight, there was less crying need for the window space, for the provision of which, in the darker northern countries, gothic was invented, but, even here the possibilities of decorated architecture along certain lines were exhausted more fully than anywhere else, as might have been expected from the esthetic spirit of the italians. german gothic has less refinement than any of the other national forms, yet it is not lacking in a certain straightforward strength and simplicity of appearance, which recommends it. the germans often violated the french canons of architecture, yet did not spoil the ultimate effect. st. stephen's in vienna has many defects, yet as a good architectural authority has declared it is the work of a poet, and looks it. a recent paragraph with regard to spanish gothic in an article on spain, by havelock ellis, illustrates the national qualities of this style very well. as much less is generally known about the special development of gothic architecture in the spanish peninsula, it has seemed worth while to quote it at some length: "moreover, there is no type of architecture which so { } admirably embodies the romantic spirit as spanish gothic. such a statement implies no heresy against the supremacy of french gothic. but the very qualities of harmony and balance of finely tempered reason, which make french gothic so exquisitely satisfying, softened the combination of mysteriously grandiose splendor with detailed realism, in which lies the essence of gothic as the manifestation of the romantic spirit. spanish gothic at once by its massiveness and extravagance and by its realistic naturalness, far more potently embodies the spirit of medieval life. it is less esthetically beautiful but it is more romantic. in leon cathedral, spain possesses one of the very noblest and purest examples of french gothic--a church which may almost be said to be the supreme type of the gothic ideal, of a delicate house of glass finely poised between buttresses; but there is nothing spanish about it. for the typical gothic of spain we must go to toledo and burgos, to tarragona and barcelona. here we find the elements of stupendous size, of mysterious gloom, of grotesque and yet realistic energy, which are the dominant characters, alike of spanish architecture and of medieval romance." those who think that the gothic architecture came to a perfection all its own by a sort of wonderful manifestation of genius in a single generation, and then stayed there, are sadly mistaken. there was a constant development to be noted all during the thirteenth century. this development was always in the line of true improvement, while just after the century closed degeneration began, decoration became too important a consideration, parts were over-loaded with ornament, and the decadence of taste in gothic architecture cannot escape the eye even of the most untutored. all during the thirteenth century the tendency was always to greater lightness and elegance. one is apt to think of these immense structures as manifestations of the power of man to overcome great engineering difficulties and to solve immense structural problems, rather than as representing opportunities for the expression of what was most beautiful and poetic in the intellectual aspirations of the generations. but this is what they were, and their architects were poets, for in the best sense of the { } etymology of the word they were creators. that their raw material was stone and mortar rather than words was only an accident of their environment. each of the architects succeeded in expressing himself with wonderful individuality in his own work in each cathedral. the improvements introduced by the thirteenth century people into the architecture that came to them, were all of a very practical kind, and were never suggested for the sake of merely adding to opportunities for ornamentation. in this matter, skillful combinations of line and form were thought out and executed with wonderful success. at the beginning of the century, delicate shafts of marble, highly polished, were employed rather freely, but as these seldom carried weight, and were mainly ornamental in character, they were gradually eliminated, yet, without sacrificing any of the beauty of structure since combinations of light and shade were secured by the composition of various forms, and the use of delicately rounded mouldings alternated with hollows, so as to produce forcible effects in high light and deep shadow. in a word, these architects and builders, of the thirteenth century, set themselves the problem of building effectively, making every portion count in the building itself, and yet, securing ornamental effects out of actual structure such as no other set of architects have ever been able to surpass, and, probably, only the greek architects of the periclean period ever equaled. needless to say, this is the very acme of success in architectural work, and it is for this reason that the generations of the after time have all gone back so lovingly to study the work of this period. it might be thought, that while gothic architecture was a great invention in its time and extremely suitable for ecclesiastical or even educational edifices of various kinds, its time of usefulness has passed and that men's widening experience in structural work, ever since, has carried him far away from it. as a matter of fact, most of our ecclesiastical buildings are still built on purely gothic lines, and a definite effort is made, as a rule, to have the completed religious edifice combine a number of the best features of thirteenth century gothic. with what { } success this has been accomplished can best be appreciated from the fact, that none of the modern structures attract anything like the attention of the old, and the cathedrals of this early time still continue to be the best asset of the towns in which they are situated, because of the number of visitors they attract. far from considering gothic architecture outlived, architects still apply themselves to it with devotion because of the practical suggestions which it contains, and there are those of wide experience, who still continue to think it the most wonderful example of architectural development that has ever come, and even do not hesitate to foretell a great future for it. reinach, in his story of art throughout the ages, [footnote ] has been so enthusiastic in this matter that a paragraph of his opinion must find a place here. reinach, it may be said, is an excellent authority, a member of the institute of france, who has made special studies in comparative architecture, and has written works that carry more weight than almost any others of our generation: [footnote : scribners, new york, .] "if the aim of architecture, considered as an art, should be to free itself as much as possible from subjection to its materials, it may be said that no buildings have more successfully realized this ideal than the gothic churches. and there is more to be said in this connection. its light and airy system of construction, the freedom and slenderness of its supporting skeleton, afford, as it were, a presage of an art that began to develop in the nineteenth century, that of metallic architecture. with the help of metal, and of cement reinforced by metal bars, the moderns might equal the most daring feats of the gothic architects. it would even be easy for them to surpass them, without endangering the solidity of the structure, as did the audacities of gothic art. in the conflicts that obtain between the two elements of construction, solidity and open space, everything seems to show that the principle of free spaces will prevail, that the palaces and houses of the future will be flooded with air and light, that the formula popularized by gothic architecture has a great future before it, and that following the revival of the graeco-roman style from { } the sixteenth century, to our own day, we shall see a yet more enduring renaissance of the gothic style applied to novel materials." it would be a mistake, however, to think that the gothic cathedrals were impressive only because of their grandeur and immense size. it would be still more a mistake to consider them only as examples of a great development in architecture. they are much more than this; they are the compendious expression of the art impulses of a glorious century. every single detail of the gothic cathedrals is not only worthy of study but deserving of admiration, if not for itself, then always for the inadequate means by which it was secured, and most of these details have been found worthy of imitation by subsequent generations. it is only by considering the separate details of the art work of these cathedrals that the full lesson of what these wonderful people accomplished can be learned. there have been many centuries since, in which they would be entirely unappreciated. fortunately, our own time has come back to a recognition of the greatness of the art impulse that was at work, perfecting even what might be considered trivial portions of the cathedrals, and the brightest hope for the future of our own accomplishment is founded on this belated appreciation of old-time work. it has been said that the medieval workman was a lively symbol of the creator himself, in the way in which he did his work. it mattered not how obscure the portion of the cathedral at which he was set, he decorated it as beautifully as he knew how, without a thought that his work would be appreciated only by the very few that might see it. trivial details were finished with the perfection of important parts. microscopic studies in recent years have revealed beautiful designs on pollen grains and diatoms which are far beneath the possibilities of human vision, and have only been discovered by lens combinations of very high powers of the compound microscope. always these beauties have been there though hidden away from any eye. it was as if the creator's hand could not touch anything without leaving it beautiful as well as useful. {opp } [illustration] cathedral (amiens) { } to as great extent as it is possible perhaps for man to secure such a desideratum, the thirteenth century workman succeeded in this same purpose. it is for this reason more than even for the magnificent grandeur of the design and the skilful execution with inadequate means, that makes the gothic cathedral such a source of admiration and wonder. to take first the example of sculpture. it is usually considered that the thirteenth century represented a time entirely too early in the history of plastic art for there to have been any fine examples of the sculptor's chisel left us from it. any such impression, however, will soon be corrected if one but examines carefully the specimens of this form of art in certain cathedrals. as we have said, probably no more charmingly dignified presentation of the human form divine in stone has ever been made than the figure of christ above the main door of the cathedral of amiens, which the amiennois so lovingly call their "beautiful god." there are some other examples of statuary in the same cathedral that are wonderful specimens of the sculptor's art, lending itself for decorative purposes to architecture. this is true for a number of the cathedrals. the statues in themselves are not so beautiful, but as portions of a definite piece of structural work such as a doorway or a facade, they are wonderful models of how all the different arts became subservient to the general effect to be produced. it was at rheims, however, that sculpture reached its acme of accomplishment, and architects have been always unstinted in their praise of this feature of what may be called the capitol church of france. those who have any doubts as to the place of gothic art itself in art history and who need an authority always to bolster up the opinion that they may hold, will find ample support in the enthusiastic opinion of an authority whom we have quoted already. the most interesting and significant feature of his ardent expression of enthusiasm is his comparison of romanesque with gothic art in this respect. the amount of ground covered from one artistic mode to the other is greater than any other advance in art that has ever been made. after all, the real value of the work of the period must be judged, rather by the amount of progress that has { } been made than by the stage of advance actually reached, since it is development rather than accomplishment that counts in the evolution of the race. on the other hand it will be found that reinach's opinion of the actual attainments of gothic art are far beyond anything that used to be thought on the subject a half century ago, and much higher than any but a few of the modern art critics hold in the matter. he says: "in contrast to this romanesque art, as yet in bondage to convention, ignorant or disdainful of nature, the mature gothic art of the thirteenth century appeared as a brilliant revival or realism. the great sculptors who adorned the cathedrals of paris, amiens, rheims, and chartres with their works, were realists in the highest sense of the word. they sought in nature not only their knowledge of human forms, and of the draperies that cover them, but also that of the principles of decoration. save in the gargoyles of cathedrals and in certain minor sculptures, we no longer find in the thirteenth century those unreal figures of animals, nor those ornaments, complicated as nightmares, which load the capitals of romanesque churches; the flora of the country, studied with loving attention, is the sole, or almost the sole source from which decorators take their motives. it is in this charming profusion of flowers and foliage that the genius of gothic architecture is most freely displayed. one of the most admirable of its creations is the famous capital of the vintage in notre dame at rheims, carved about the year . since the first century of the roman empire art had never imitated nature so perfectly, nor has it ever since done so with a like grace and sentiment." reinach defends gothic art from another and more serious objection which is constantly urged against it by those who know only certain examples of it, but have not had the advantage of the wide study of the whole field of artistic endeavor in the thirteenth century, which this distinguished member of the institute of france has succeeded in obtaining. it is curious what unfounded opinions have come to be prevalent in art circles because, only too often, writers with regard to the cathedrals have spent their time mainly in the large cities, or along the principal arteries of travel, and have not realized { } that some of the smaller towns contained work better fitted to illustrate gothic art principles than those on which they depended for their information. if only particular phases of the art of any one time, no matter how important, were to be considered in forming a judgment of it, that judgment would almost surely be unfavorable in many ways because of the lack of completeness of view. this is what has happened unfortunately with regard to gothic art, but a better spirit is coming in this matter, with the more careful study of periods of art and the return of reverence for the grand old middle ages. {opp } [illustration] cathedral (rheims) reinach says: "there are certain prejudices against this admirable, though incomplete, art which it is difficult to combat. it is often said, for instance, that all gothic figures are stiff and emaciated. to convince ourselves of the contrary we need only study the marvelous sculpture of the meeting between abraham and melchisedech, in rheims cathedral; or again in the same cathedral, the visitation, the seated prophet, and the standing angel, or the exquisite magdalen of bordeaux cathedral. what can we see in these that is stiff, sickly, and puny? the art that has most affinity with perfect gothic is neither romanesque nor byzantine, but the greek art of from to b. c. by a strange coincidence, the gothic artists even reproduce the somewhat stereotyped smile of their forerunners." usually it is said that the renaissance brought the supreme qualities of greek plastic art back to life, but here is a thoroughly competent critic who finds them exhibited long before the fifteenth century, as a manifestation of what the self-sufficient generations of the renaissance would have called gothic, meaning thereby, barbarous art. what has been said of sculpture, however, can be repeated with even more force perhaps with regard to every detail of construction and decoration. builders and architects did make mistakes at times, but, even their mistakes always reveal an artist's soul struggling for expression through inadequate media. many things had to be done experimentally, most things were being done for the first time. everything had an originality of its own that made its execution something more than merely a secure accomplishment after previous careful { } tests. in spite of this state of affairs, which might be expected sadly to interfere with artistic execution, the cathedrals, in the main, are full of admirable details not only worthy of imitation, but that our designers are actually imitating or at least finding eminently suggestive at the present time. to begin with a well known example of decorative effect which is found in the earliest of the english cathedrals, that of lincoln. the nave and choir of this was finished just at the beginning of the thirteenth century. the choir is so beautiful in its conception, so wonderful in its construction, so charming in its finish, so satisfactory in all its detail, though there is very little of what would be called striving after effect in it, that it is still called the angel choir. the name was originally given it because it was considered to be so beautiful even during the thirteenth century, that visitors could scarcely believe that it was constructed by human hands and so the legend became current that it was the work of angels. if the critics of the thirteenth century, who had the opportunity to see work of nearly the same kind being constructed in many parts of england, judged thus highly of it, it is not surprising that modern visitors should be unstinted in their praise. it is interesting to note as representative of the feeling of a cultured modern scientific mind that dr. osler said not long ago, in one of his medical addresses, that probably nothing more beautiful had ever come from the hands of man than this angel choir at lincoln. as to who were the designers, who conceived it, or the workmen who executed it, we have no records. it is not unlikely that the famous hugh of lincoln, the great bishop to whom the cathedral owes its foundation and much of its splendor, was responsible to no little extent for this beautiful feature of his cathedral church. the workmen who made it were artist-artisans in the best sense of the word and it is not surprising that other beautiful architectural features should have flourished in a country where such workmen could be found. almost as impressive as the angel choir was the stained glass work at lincoln. the rose windows are among the most beautiful ever made and one of them is indeed considered a gem of its kind. the beautiful colors and wonderful { } effectiveness of the stained glass of these old time cathedrals cannot be appreciated unless the windows themselves are actually seen. at lincoln there is a very impressive contrast that one can scarcely help calling to attention and that has been very frequently the subject of comment by visitors. during the parliamentary time, unfortunately, the stained glass at lincoln fell under the ban of the puritans. the lower windows were almost completely destroyed by the soldiers of cromwell's army. only the rose windows owing to their height were preserved from the destroyer. there was an old sexton at the cathedral, however, for whom the stained glass had become as the apple of his eye. as boy and man he had lived in its beautiful colors as they broke the light of the rising and the setting sun and they were too precious to be neglected even when lying upon the pavement of the cathedral in fragments. he gathered the shattered pieces into bags and hid them away in a dark corner of the crypt, saving them at least from the desecration of being trampled to dust. long afterwards, indeed almost in our own time, they were found here and were seen to be so beautiful that regardless of the fact that they could not be fitted together in anything like their former places, they were pieced into windows and made to serve their original purpose once more. it so happened that new stained glass windows for the cathedral of lincoln were ordered during the nineteenth century. these were made at an unfortunate time in stained glass making and are as nearly absolutely unattractive, to say nothing worse, as it is possible to make stained glass. the contrast with the antique windows, fragmentary as they are, made up of the broken pieces of thirteenth century glass is most striking. the old time colors are so rich that when the sun shines directly on them they look like jewels. no one pays the slightest attention, unless perhaps the doubtful compliment of a smile be given, to the modern windows which were, however, very costly and the best that could be obtained at that time. more of the stained glass of the thirteenth century is preserved at york where, because of the friendship of general ireton, the town and the cathedral were spared the worst ravages of the parliamentarians. as a consequence york still { } possesses some of the best of its old time windows. it is probable that there is nothing more beautiful or wonderful in its effectiveness than the glass in the five sisters window at york. this is only an ordinary lancet window of five compartments--hence the name--in the west front of the cathedral. there are no figures on the window, it is only a mass of beautiful greyish green tints which marvelously subdues the western setting sun at the vesper hour and produces the most beautiful effects in the interior of the cathedral. here if anywhere one can realize the meaning of the expression dim religious light. in recent years, however, it has become the custom for so many people to rave over the five sisters that we are spared the necessity of more than mentioning it. its tints far from being injured by time have probably been enriched. there can be no doubt at all, however, of the artistic tastes and esthetic genius of the man who designed it. the other windows of the cathedral were not unworthy of this triumph of art. how truly the cathedral was a technical school can be appreciated from the fact that it was able to inspire such workmen to produce these wondrous effects. experts in stained glass work have often called attention to the fact that the windows constructed in the thirteenth century were not only of greater artistic value but were also more solidly put together. many of the windows made in the century still maintain their places, in spite of the passage of time, though later windows are sometimes dropping to pieces. it might be thought that this was due to the fact that later stained glass workers were more delicate in the construction of their windows in order not to injure the effect of the stained glass. to some extent this is true, but the stained glass workers of the thirteenth century preserve the effectiveness of their artistic pictures in glass, though making the frame work very substantial. this is only another example of their ability to combine the useful with the beautiful so characteristic of the century, stamping practically every phase of its accomplishment and making their work more admirable because its usefulness does not suffer on account of any strained efforts after supposed beauties. though it is somewhat out of place here we cannot refrain { } from pointing out the educational value of this stained glass work. some of the stories on these windows gave details of many passages from the bible, that must have impressed them upon the people much more than any sermon or reading of the text could possibly have accomplished. they were literally sermons in glass that he who walked by had to read whether he would or not. when we remember that the common people in the middle ages had no papers to distract them, and no books to turn to for information, such illustrations as were provided by the stained glass windows, by the painting and the statuary decorations of the cathedrals, must have been studied with fondest devotion even apart from religious sentiment and out of mere inquisitiveness. the famous "prodigal" window at chartres is a good example of this. every detail of the story is here pictorially displayed in colors, from the time when the young man demands his patrimony through all the various temptations he met with in being helped to spend it, there being a naive richness of detail in the matter of the temptations that is quite medieval, from the boon companions who first led him astray to the depths of degradation which he finally reached before he returned to his father,--even the picture of the fatted calf is not lacking. on others of these windows there are the stories of the patron saints of certain crafts. the life of st. crispin the shoemaker is given in rather full detail. the same is true of st. romain the hunter who was the patron of the furriers. the most ordinary experiences of life are pictured and the methods by which these were turned to account in making the craftsman a saint, must have been in many ways an ideally uplifting example for fellow craftsmen whenever they viewed the window. this sort of teaching could not be without its effect upon the poor. it taught them that there was something else in life besides money getting and that happiness and contentment might be theirs in a chosen occupation and the reward of heaven at the end of it all, for at the top of these windows the hand of the almighty is introduced reaching down from heaven to reward his faithful servants. it is just by such presentation of ideals even to the poor, that { } the thirteenth century differs from the modern time in which even the teaching in the schools seems only to emphasize the fact that men must get money, honestly if they can, but must get money, if they would have what is called success in life. another very interesting feature of these windows is the fact that they were usually the gifts of the various guilds and so represented much more of interest, for the members. it is true that in france, particularly, the monarchs frequently presented stained glass windows and in st. louis time this was so common that scarcely a french cathedral was without one or more testimonials of this kind to his generosity; but most of the windows were given by various societies among the people themselves. how much the construction of such a window when it was well done, would make for the education in taste of those who contributed to the expense of its erection, can scarcely be over-estimated. there was besides a friendly rivalry in this matter in the thirteenth century, which served to bring out the talents of local artists and by the inevitably suggested comparisons eventually served to educate the taste of the people. it must not be thought, however, that it was only in stained glass and painting and sculpture--the major arts--that these workmen attained their triumphs. practically every detail of cathedral construction is a monument to the artistic genius of the century, to the wonderful inspiration afforded the workmen and to the education provided by the guilds which really maintained, as we shall see, a kind of technical school with the approbation and the fostering care of the ecclesiastics connected with the cathedrals. an excellent example of a very different class of work may be noted in the hinges of the cloister door of the cathedral at york. personally i have seen three art designers sketching these at the same time only one of whom was an englishman, another coming from the continent and the third from america. the hinge still swings the heavy oak door of the thirteenth century. the arborization of the metal as it spreads out from the main shaft of the hinge is beautifully decorative in effect. {opp } [illustration] cloister of st. paul's (without the walls, rome) a little study of the hinge seems to show that these branching portions were so arranged as to make the mechanical { } moment of the swinging door less of a dead weight than it would have been if the hinge were a solid bar of iron. besides the spreading of the branches over a wide surface serves to hold the woodwork of the door thoroughly in place. while the hinge was beautiful, then it was eminently useful from a good many standpoints, and trivial though it might be considered to be, it was in reality a type of all the work accomplished in connection with these thirteenth century cathedrals. according to the old latin proverb "_omne tulit punctum qui miscuit utile dulci_," he scores every point who mingles the useful with the beautiful, and certainly the thirteenth century workman succeeded in accomplishing the desideratum to an eminent degree. this mingling of the useful and the beautiful is of itself a supreme difference between the thirteenth century generations and our own. mr. yeats, the well known irish poet, in bidding farewell to america some years ago said to a party of friends, that no country could consider itself to be making real progress in culture until the very utensils in the kitchen were beautiful as well as useful. anything that is merely useful is hideous, and anyone who can handle such things with impunity has not true culture. in the thirteenth century they never by any chance made anything that was merely useful, especially not if it was to be associated with their beloved cathedral. an excellent example of this can be found in their chalices and other ceremonial utensils which were meant for divine service. as we have said elsewhere the craftsman, the journal of the arts and crafts movement in this country not long since compared a chalice of the thirteenth century with the prize cups which are offered for yacht races and other competitions in this country. we may say at once that the form which the chalice received during the thirteenth century is that which constitutes to a great extent the model for this sacred vessel ever since and the comparison with the modern design is therefore all the more interesting. in spite of the fact that money is no object as a rule in the construction of many of the modern prize cups, they compare unfavorably according to the writer in the craftsman with the old time chalices. there is a tendency to over ornamentation which { } spoils the effectiveness of the lines of the metal work in many cases and there is also only too often, an attempt to introduce forms of plastic art which do not lend themselves well to this class of work. it is in design particularly that the older workman excels his modern colleague though usually there are suggestions from several sources for present day work. in a word the thirteenth century chalice was much more admirable than the modern piece of metal work, because the lines were simpler, the combination of beauty with utility more readily recognizable and the obtrusiveness of the ornamentation much less marked. this same thing is true for other even coarser forms of metal work in connection with the cathedrals, and anyone who has seen some of the beautiful iron screens built for cathedral choirs in the olden times will realize that even the worker in iron must have been an artist as well as a blacksmith. the effect produced, especially in the dim light of the cathedral, is often that of delicate lace work. to appreciate the strength of the screen one must actually test it with the hands. this of itself represents a very charming adaptation of what might be expected to be rough work meant for protective purposes into a suitable ornament. some of the gates of the old churchyards are very beautiful in their designs and have often been imitated in quite recent years, for the gates of country places, for our modern millionaires. the reverend augustus jessopp who has written much with regard to the times before the reformation, says that he has found in his investigations, that not infrequently such gates were made by the village blacksmiths. most of the old parish records are lost because of the suppression of the parishes as well as the monasteries in henry the eighth's time. some of the original documents are, however, preserved and among them are receipts from the village blacksmith, for what we now admire as specimens of artistic ironwork and corresponding receipts from the village carpenter, for woodwork that we now consider of equally high order. there were carved bench ends and choir stalls which seem to have been produced in this way. just how these generations of the thirteenth century, in little towns of less than ten thousand inhabitants, { } succeeded in raising up artisans in numbers, capable of doing such fine work, and yet content to make their living at such ordinary occupations, is indeed hard to understand. it must not be forgotten, moreover, that though there was not much furniture during the thirteenth century what little there was, was as a rule very carefully and artistically made. thirteenth century benches and tables are famous. cathedrals and castles worked together in inspiring and giving occupation to these wonderful workmen. it was not only the workmen engaged in the construction of the edifices proper who made the beautiful things and created marvelously artistic treasures during this century. all the adornments of the cathedrals and especially everything associated in any intimate way with the religious service was sure to be executed with the most delicate taste. the vestments of the time are some of the most beautiful that have ever been made. the historians of needlework tell us that this period represents the most flourishing era of artistic accomplishment with the needle of all modern history. one example of this has secured a large share of notoriety in quite recent years. an american millionaire bought the famous piece of needlework known as the cope of ascoli. this is an example of the large garment worn over the shoulders in religious processions and at benediction. the price paid for the garment is said to have been $ , . this was not considered extortionate or enforced, as the cope was declared by experts to be one of the finest pieces of needlework in the world. the jewels which originally adorned it had been removed so that the money was paid for the needlework itself. after a time it became clear that the cope had been stolen before being sold, and accordingly it was returned to the italian government who presented the american millionaire with a medal for his honesty. we have spoken of the cathedrals as great stone books, in which he who ran, might read, even though he were not able to read in the technical sense of the term. this has been an old-time expression with regard to the cathedrals, but not even its inventor perhaps, and certainly not most of those who have repeated it have realized how literally true was the saying. i { } have elsewhere quoted from reinach's story of art throughout the ages as an authority on the subject. his re-statement of the intellectual significance for the people of the cathedrals of their towns, in which it must be remembered that they had a personal interest because in a sense they were really theirs, and they felt their ownership quite as much as a modern member of a parish feels with regard to his church, emphasizes and illuminates this subject to a wonderful degree. the realization that the information of the time was deliberately woven into these great stone structures, mainly of course for decorative purposes, but partly also with the idea of educating the people, is a startling confirmation of the idea that education was the most important and significant work of this great century. "the gothic cathedral is a perfect encyclopedia of human knowledge. it contains scenes from the scriptures and the legends of saints; motives from the animal and vegetable kingdom; representations of the seasons of agricultural labor, of' the arts and sciences and crafts, and finally moral allegories, as, for instance, ingenious personifications of the virtues and the vices. in the thirteenth century a learned dominican, vincent of beauvais, was employed by st. louis to write a great work which was to be an epitome of all the knowledge of his times. this compilation, called the mirror of the world, is divided into four parts: the mirror of nature, the mirror of science, the moral mirror, and the historical mirror. a contemporary archaeologist, m. e. male, has shown that the works of art of our great cathedrals are a translation into stone of the mirror of vincent of beauvais, setting aside the episodes from greek and roman history, which would have been out of place. it was not that the imagers had read vincent's work; but that, like him, they sought to epitomise all the knowledge of their contemporaries. the first aim of their art is not to please, but to teach; they offer an encyclopedia for the use of those who cannot read, translated by sculptor or glass-painter into a clear and precise language, under the lofty direction of the church which left nothing to chance. it was present always and everywhere, advising and superintending the artist, leaving him to his own devices only when he { } modelled the fantastic animals of the gargoyles, or borrowed decorative motives from the vegetable kingdom." [footnote ] [footnote : reinach--the story of art throughout the ages. scribner's, .] [illustration] cathedral (bourges) [illustration: ] cathedral (chartres) as to how much the cathedrals held of meaning for those who built them and worshiped in them, only a careful study of the symbolism of the time will enable the present-day admirer to understand. modern generations have lost most of their appreciation of the significance of symbolism. the occupation of mind with the trivial things that are usually read in our day, leaves little or no room for the study of the profounder thought an artist may care to put into his work, and so the modern artist tells his story as far as possible without any of this deeper significance, since it would only be lost. in the thirteenth century, however, everything artistic had a secondary meaning. literature was full of allegories, even the arthur legends were considered to be the expression of the battle of a soul with worldly influences as well as a poetic presentation of the story of the old time british king. the gothic cathedrals were a mass of symbolism. this will perhaps be best understood from the following explanation of cathedral symbolism, which we take from the translation of durandus's work on the meaning of the divine offices, a further account of which will be found in the chapter on the prose of the century. "far away and long ere we can catch the first view of the city itself, the three spires of its cathedral, rising high above its din and turmoil, preach to us of the most high and undivided trinity. as we approach, the transepts, striking out crosswise, tell of the atonement. the communion of saints is set forth by the chapels clustering around choir and nave: the mystical weathercock bids us to watch and pray and endure hardness; the hideous forms that are seen hurrying from the eaves speak the misery of those who are cast out of the church; spire, pinnacle, and finial, the upward curl of the sculptured foliage, the upward spring of the flying buttress, the sharp rise of the window arch, the high thrown pitch of the roof, all these, overpowering the horizontal tendency of string course and parapet, teach us, that vanquishing earthly desires, we also should ascend in heart and mind. lessons of holy { } wisdom are written in the delicate tracery of the windows; the unity of many members is shadowed forth by the multiplex arcade; the duty of letting our light shine before men, by the pierced and flowered parapet that crowns the whole. "we enter. the triple breadth of nave and aisles, the triple height of pier arch, triforium, and clerestory, the triple length of choir, transepts, and nave, again set forth the holy trinity. and what besides is there that does not tell of our blessed saviour? that does not point out "him first" in the two-fold western door; "him last" in the distant altar; "him midst," in the great rood; "him without end," in the monogram carved on boss and corbel, in the holy lamb, in the lion of the tribe of judah, in the mystic fish? close by us is the font; for by regeneration we enter the church; it is deep and capacious; for we are buried in baptism with christ; it is of stone, for he is the rock; and its spiry cover teaches us, if we be indeed risen from its waters with him, to seek those things which are above. before us in long-drawn vista are the massy piers, which are the apostles and prophets--they are each of many members, for many are the graces in every saint, there is beautifully delicate foliage round the head of all; for all were plentiful in good works. beneath our feet are the badges of worldly pomp and glory, the graves of kings and nobles and knights; all in the presence of god as dross and worthlessness. over us swells the vast valley of the high pitched roof; from the crossing and interlacing of its curious rafters hang fadeless flowers and fruits which are not of earth; from its hammer-beams project wreaths and stars such as adorn heavenly beings; in its center stands the lamb as it has been slain; from around him the celestial host, cherubim and seraphim, thrones, principalities, and powers, look down peacefully on the worshipers below. harpers there are among them harping with their harps; for one is the song of the church in earth and in heaven. through the walls wind the narrow cloister galleries; emblems of the path by which holy hermits and anchorets whose conflicts were known only to their god, have reached their home. and we are compassed about with a mighty cloud of witnesses; the rich deep glass of the windows teems { } with saintly forms, each in its own fair niche, all invested with the same holy repose; there is the glorious company of the apostles; the goodly fellowship of the prophets; the noble army of martyrs; the shining band of confessors; the jubilant chorus of the virgins; there are kings, who have long since changed an earthly for an heavenly crown; and bishops who have given in a glad account to the shepherd and bishop of souls. but on none of these things do we rest; piers, arch behind arch, windows, light behind light, arcades, shaft behind shaft, the roof, bay behind bay, the saints around us, the heavenly hierarchy above with dignity of preeminence still increasing eastward, each and all, lead on eye and soul and thought to the image of the crucified saviour as displayed on the great east window. gazing steadfastly on that we pass up the nave, that is through the church militant, till we reach the rood screen, the barrier between it and the church triumphant, and therein shadowing forth the death of the faithful. high above it hangs on his triumphant cross the image of him who by his death hath overcome death; on it are portrayed saints and martyrs, his warriors who, fighting under their lord have entered into rest and inherit a tearless eternity. they are to be our examples, and the seven lamps above them typify those graces of the spirit, by whom alone we can tread in their steps. the screen itself glows with gold and crimson; with gold, for they have on their heads golden crowns; with crimson, for they passed the red sea of martyrdom, to obtain them. and through the delicate network, and the unfolding holy doors, we catch faint glimpses of the chancel beyond. there are the massy stalls; for in heaven is everlasting rest; there are the sedilia, emblems of the seats of' the elders round the throne; there is the piscina; for they have washed their robes and made them white; and there heart and soul and life of all, the altar with its unquenched lights, and golden carvings, and mystic steps, and sparkling jewels; even christ himself, by whose only merits we find admission to our heavenly inheritance. verily, as we think on the oneness of its design, we may say: jerusalem edificatur ut civitas cujus participatio ejus in idipsum." { } it is because of all this wealth of meaning embodied in them, that the cathedrals of this old time continue to be so interesting and so unfailingly attractive even to our distant and so differently constituted generation. [footnote ] [footnote : those who care to realize to some degree all the wonderful symbolic meaning of the ornamentation of some of these cathedrals, should read m. huysman's book la cathedrale, which has, we believe, been translated into english. needless to say it has been often in our hands in compiling this chapter, and the death of its author as this chapter is going through the press poignantly recalls all the beauty of his work.] we cannot close this chapter on the book of the arts leaving the impression that only the church architecture of the time deserves to be considered in the category of, great art influences. there were many municipal buildings, some stately castles, and a large number of impressively magnificent abbeys and monasteries, besides educational and charitable institutions built at this same time. the town halls of some of the great hansa towns, that is, the german free cities that were members of the hanseatic league, present some very striking examples of the civil architecture of the period. it has the same characteristics that we have discussed in treating of the cathedrals. while wonderfully impressive, it was eminently suitable for the purpose for which it was intended and the decorations always forming integral parts of the structure, sounded the note of the combination of beauty with utility which is so characteristic of every phase of the art accomplishment of the century. some of the castles would deserve special description by themselves but unfortunately space forbids more than a passing mention. certain castellated fortresses still standing in england and ireland come from the time of king john, and are excellent examples of the stability and forceful character of this form of architecture in the thirteenth century. it is interesting to find that when we come to build in the twentieth century in america, the armories which are to be used for the training of our militia and the storage of arms and ammunition, many of the ideas used in their construction are borrowed from this olden time. {opp } [illustration] durham castle and cathedral [illustration] king john's castle (limerick) there is a famous castle in limerick, ireland, built in john's time which constituted an { } excellent example of this and which has doubtlessly often been studied and more or less imitated. one portion of kenilworth castle in england dates from the thirteenth century and has been often the subject of careful study by modern architects. the same thing might be said of many others. with regard to the english abbeys too much cannot be said in praise of their architecture and it has been the model for large educational and municipal buildings ever since. st. mary's abbey at york, though only a few scattered fragments of its beauties are to be seen and very little, of its walls still stand, is almost as interesting as yorkminster, the great cathedral itself. there were many such abbeys as this built in england during the thirteenth century--more than a dozen of them at least and probably a full score. all of them are as distinguished in the history of architecture as the english cathedrals. it will be remembered that what is now called westminster abbey was not a cathedral church, but only a monastery church attached to the abbey of westminster and this, the only well preserved example of its class furnishes an excellent idea of what these religious institutions signify in the thirteenth century. they meant as much for the art impulse as the cathedrals themselves. one feature of these monastic establishments deserves special mention. the cloisters were usually constructed so beautifully as to make them veritable gems of the art of the period. these cloisters were the porticos usually surrounding a garden of the monastery within which the monks could walk, shaded from the sun, and protected from the rain and the snow. they might very easily have been hideously useful porches, especially as they were quite concealed from the outer world as a rule, and those not belonging to the order were not admitted to them except on very special occasions. the name cloister signifies an enclosed place and lay persons were not ordinarily admitted to them. those who know anything about them will recall what beautiful constructive work was put into them. certain examples as that of st. john lateran in rome and the cloister of st. paul's without the walls some five miles from rome, constructed during the { } thirteenth century and under the influence of the same great art movement as gave the cathedrals, are the most beautiful specimens that now remain. the only thing that they can be compared with is the famous angel choir at lincoln which indeed they recall in many ways. the pictures of these two cloisters which we present will give some idea of their beauty. to be thoroughly appreciated, however, they must be seen, for there is a delicacy of finish about every detail that makes them an unending source of admiration and brings people back again and again to see them, yet always to find something new and apparently unnoticed before. it might be thought that the studied variety in the columns so that no two are of exactly the same form, would produce a bizarre effect. the lack of symmetry that might result, from this same feature could be expected to spoil their essential beauty. neither of these effects has been produced, however. the cloisters were, moreover, not purple patches on monasteries, but ever worthy portions of very beautiful buildings. all of these buildings were furnished as regards their metal work, their wood work, and the portions that lent themselves to decoration, in the same spirit as the cathedrals themselves. the magnificent tables and benches of the thirteenth century are still considered to be the best models of simplicity of line with beauty of form and eminent durability in the history of furniture making. the fashion for colonial furniture in our own time has brought us nearer to such thirteenth century furniture making than has been true at any other time in history. here once more there was one of these delightful combinations of beauty and utility which is so characteristic of the century. even the kitchen utensils were beautiful as well as useful and the irish poet might have been satisfied to his heart's content. {opp } [illustration] palazzo vecchio (arnulfo, florence) campanile (giotto) [illustration] giotto's tower (florence) certain other architectural forms were wonderfully developed during the thirteenth century and the opening years of the fourteenth century while men trained during the former period were still at work. giotto's tower, for instance, must be considered a thirteenth century product since its architect was well past thirty-five years of age before the thirteenth { } century closed and all his artistic character had been formed under its precious inspiration. it is a curious reflection on modern architecture, that some of the modern high business buildings are saved from being hideous just in as much as they approach the character of some of these tower-like structures of the thirteenth century. the first of new york's skyscrapers which is said to have escaped the stigma of being utterly ugly, as most of them are, because of their appeal to mere utility, was the new york times building which is just giotto's tower on a large scale set down on broadway at the beginning of the twentieth century. seen from a mile away the effect is exactly that of the great florentine architect's beautiful structure and this was of course the deliberate intention of the modern architect. anyone who would think, however, that our modern business building with its plain walls recalls in any adequate sense its great pattern, should read what mr. ruskin has said with regard to the wealth of meaning that is to be found in giotto's tower. into such structures just as into the cathedrals, the architects and builders of the time succeeded in putting a whole burden of suggestion, which to the generations of the time in which they were built, accustomed to the symbolism of every art feature in life around them, had a precious wealth of significance that we can only appreciate after deep study and long contemplation. we have felt that only the quotation from mr. ruskin himself can fully illustrate what we wish to convey in this matter. "of these representations of human art under heavenly guidance, the series of basreliefs which stud the base of this tower of giotto's must be held certainly the chief in europe. at first you may be surprised at the smallness of their scale in proportion to their masonry; but this smallness of scale enabled the master workmen of the tower to execute them with their own hands; and for the rest, in the very finest architecture, the decoration of most precious kind is usually thought of as a jewel, and set with space round it--as the jewels of a crown, or the clasp of a girdle." { } vii arts and crafts--great technical schools the most interesting social movement in our time is undoubtedly that of the arts and crafts. its central idea is to lift the workmen up above the mere machine that he is likely to become, as the result of the monotonous occupation at some trade, that requires him only to do a constantly repeated series of acts, or direct, one little portion of machinery and so kills the soul in him. of course, the other idea that a generation of workmen shall be created, who will be able to make beautiful things, for the use of the household as well as the adornment of the house is another principal purpose. too many people have mistaken this entirely secondary aim of the movement for its primary end. it is because of the effect upon the workman himself of the effort to use his intellect in the designing, his taste in the arrangement, and his artisan skill for the execution of beautiful things, that the arts and crafts movement has its appeal to the generality of mankind. the success of the movement promises, to do more, to solve social problems than all the socialistic agitation that is at present causing so much dismay in some quarters and raising so many hopes that are destined to be disappointed in the hearts of the laboring classes. the solution of the problem of social unrest is to be found, not in creating new wants for people and giving them additional wages that will still further stimulate their desire to have many things that will continue to be in spite of increased wages beyond their means, but rather to give them such an interest in their life work that their principal source of pleasure is to be found in their occupation. unfortunately work has come to be looked upon as a drudgery and as men must spend the greater portion of their lives, at least the vast majority of them must, in doing something that will enable them to make a living, it is clear that unhappiness { } and discontent will still continue. blessed is the man who has found his work, blessed is the man to whom his work appeals with so much interest that he goes from it with a longing to be able to finish what he has been at, and comes back to it with a prospect that now he shall be able to accomplish what time and perhaps fatigue would not allow him to proceed with the day before. this is the best feature of the promises held out by the arts and crafts movement, that men shall be interested in the work they do. this may seem to some people an unrealizable idea and a poetic aspiration rather than a possible actuality. a little study of what was accomplished in this line during the thirteenth century, will surely prove even to the most skeptical how much of success is capable of being realized in this matter. the men who worked around the cathedrals were given opportunities to express themselves and the best that was in them as no class of workmen before or since have ever had the opportunity. every single portion of the cathedral was to be made as beautiful as the mind of man could conceive, his taste could plan and his hands could achieve. as a consequence the carpenter had the chance to express himself in the woodwork, the village blacksmith the opportunity to display his skill in such small ironwork as the hinges or the latch for the door and every workman felt called upon to do the best that was in him. it is easy to understand under these circumstances with what interest the men must have applied themselves to their tasks. they were, as a rule, the designers as well as the executors of the work assigned them. they planned and executed in the rough and tried, then modified and adapted, until finally as we know of most of the cathedrals, their finished product was as nearly perfect in most particulars as it is ordinarily given to man to achieve. their aim above all was to make such a combination of utility with beauty of line yet simplicity of finish, as would make their work worthy counterparts of all the other portions of the cathedral. the sense of competition must have stirred men to the very depths of their souls and yet it was not the heartless rivalry that crushes when it succeeds, but the inspiring emulation that makes one do as well as or better than others, though not necessarily in such a way as to { } belittle others' efforts by contrast or humble them by triumph. {opp } [illustration] fountain (perugia) [town pump] [illustration] lavatoio (todi) [public wash-house] in these old medieval days england used to be called merrie england and it is easy to understand that workmen would be profoundly merry at heart, when they had the consciousness of accomplishing such good work. men must have almost tardily quitted their labor in the evening while they hoped and strove to accomplish something that would be worthy of the magnificent building in which so many of their fellow workmen were achieving triumphs of handicraftsmanship. each went home to rest for the night, but also to dream over what he might be able to do and awoke in the morning with the thought that possibly to-day would see some noteworthy result. this represents the ideal of the workman's life. he has an interest quite apart from the mere making of money. the picture of the modern workman by contrast looks vain and sordid. the vast majority of our workmen labor merely because they must make enough money to-day, in order that they may be able to buy food enough so as to get strength to work to-morrow. of interest there is very little. day after day there is the task of providing for self and others. only this and nothing more. is it any wonder that there should be social unrest and discontentment? how can workmen be merry unless with the artificial stimulus of strong drink, when there is nothing for them to look forward to except days and weeks and years of labor succeeding one another remorselessly, and with no surcease until nature puts in her effective demand for rest, or the inevitable end comes. it would be idle to say that these men who knew how to make the beautiful things for these cathedrals were not conscious of the perfection of the work that they were accomplishing. the very fact that each in his own line was achieving such beautiful results must have stamped him as thoroughly capable of appreciating the work of others. the source of pleasure that there must have been therefore, in some twenty towns in england alone, to see their cathedral approaching completion, must have been of itself a joy far beyond anything we can imagine as possible for the workmen of the present day. the interest in it was supreme and was only heightened by the fact that it was being done by relatives and friends and brother workmen, even { } though they might be rivals, and that whatever was done was redounding first to the glory of the lord to whom they turned with so much confidence in these ages of faith, and secondly, and there was scarcely less satisfaction in the thought, to the reputation of their native town and their fellow-townsmen. this is the feature of the life of the lower classes in the thirteenth century which most deserves to be studied in our time. we hear much of people being kept in ignorance and in servitude. men who talk this way know nothing at all of the lives of the towns of the middle ages and are able to appreciate not even in the slightest degree the wonderful system of education, that made life so much fuller of possibilities for intellectual development for all classes and for happiness in life, than any other period of which we know. this phase of the thirteenth century is at once the most interesting, the most significant for future generations, and the most important in its lessons for all time. we have been following up thus far the exemplification in the thirteenth century of john ruskin's saying, that if you wish to get at the real significance of the achievements of a period in history, you must read the book of its deeds, the book of its arts and the book of its words. we have been turning over a few of the pages of the book of the deeds of the thirteenth century in studying the history of the establishment of the universities and of the method and content of university teaching. after all the only deeds that ought to count in the history of mankind are those that are done for men--that have accomplished something for the uplift of mankind. history is unfortunately occupied with deeds of many other kinds, and it is perhaps the saddest blot on our modern education, that it is mainly the history of deeds that have been destructive of man, of human happiness and in only too many cases of human rights and human liberties, that are supposed to be most worthy of the study of the rising generation. history as written for schools is to a great extent a satire on efforts for social progress. we shall continue the study of the book of the deeds of the thirteenth century and its most interesting and important chapter, that of the education of the masses. we shall find in what was accomplished in educating the people of the { } thirteenth century, the model of the form of education which in spite of our self-complacency does not exist, but must come in our time, if our education is to fulfill its real purpose. perhaps the most interesting phase of this question of the education of the masses will be the fact that in studying this book of the deeds, we shall have also to study once more the book of the arts of the thirteenth century. all their best accomplishment was linked with achievement and progress in art. yet it was from the masses that the large number of artist-artisans of workmen with the true artistic spirit came, who in this time in nearly every part of europe, created masterpieces of art in every department which have since been the admiration of the world. we may say at once that the opportunity for the education of the masses was furnished in connection with the cathedrals. in the light of what we read in these great stone books, it is a constant source of surprise that the church should be said to have been opposed to education. reinach in his story of art throughout the ages says: "the church was not only rich and powerful in the middle ages; it dominated and directed all the manifestations of human activity. there was practically no art but the art it encouraged, the art it needed to construct and adorn its buildings, carve its ivories and its reliquaries, and paint its glass and its missals. foremost among the arts it fostered was architecture, which never played so important a part in any other society. even now, when we enter a romanesque or gothic church, we are impressed by the might of that vast force of which it is the manifestation, a force which shaped the destinies of europe for a thousand years." it was as the result of this demand for art that the technical schools naturally developed around the cathedrals. to take the example of england alone, during the thirteenth century some twenty cathedrals were erected in various parts of the country. most of these were built in what we would now call small towns, indeed some of them would be considered scarcely more than villages. there were no large cities, in praise be it spoken, during the thirteenth century, and it must not be forgotten that the whole population of england at the beginning { } of the century was scarcely more than two millions of people and did not reach three millions even at the end of it. every rood of ground did not perhaps maintain its man, but every part of england had its quota of population so that there could not be many crowded centers. even london probably at no time during the century had more than twenty-five thousand inhabitants and oxford during the palmiest days of the university was perhaps the most populous place in the land. there was a rivalry in the building of cathedrals, and as the main portion of the buildings were erected in the short space of a single century, a feeling of intense competition was rife so that there was very little possibility of procuring workmen from other towns. each town had to create not only its cathedral but the workmen who would finish it in all its details. when we consider that a cathedral like salisbury was practically completed in the short space of about twenty-five years, it becomes extremely difficult to understand just how this little town succeeded in apparently accomplishing the impossible. it has often been said that artists cannot be obtained merely because of a demand for them and that they are the slow creation of rather capricious nature. it is only another way of saying that the artist is born, not made. nature then must have been in a particularly fruitful mood and tense during the thirteenth century, for there is no doubt at all of the wonderful artistic beauty of the details of these gothic cathedrals. while nature's beneficence meant much, however, the training of the century probably meant even more and the special form of popular education which developed well deserves the attention of all other generations. it may be said at once that education in our sense of teaching everybody to read and write there was none. there were more students at the universities to the number of the population than in the twentieth century as we have seen, but people who were not to devote themselves in after life to book learning, were not burdened with acquisitions of doubtful benefit, which might provide stores of useless information for them, or enable them to while away hours of precious time reading trash, or make them conceited with the thought that because they had absorbed some of the opinions of others on things in general, { } they had a right to judge of most things under the sun and a few other things besides. the circulation of our newspapers and the records of the books in demand at our libraries, show how much a knowledge of reading means for most of our population. popular education of this kind may, and does benefit a few, but it works harm to a great many. of education in the sense of training the faculties so that the individual might express whatever was in him and especially that he might bring out what was best in him, there was much. take again the example of england. there was considerably less in population than there is in greater new york at the present time, yet there was some twenty places altogether in which they were building cathedrals during this century, that would be monuments of artistic impulse and accomplishment for all future time. any city in this country would be proud to have any one of these english cathedrals of the thirteenth century as the expression of its taste and power to execute. we have tried to imitate them more or less in many places. in order to accomplish our purpose in this matter, though, we deliberately did everything on a much smaller and less ambitious scale than the people of the small english towns of seven centuries ago, and our results do not bear comparison for a moment with theirs, we had to appeal to other parts of the country and even to europe for architects and designers, and even had to secure the finished products of art from distant places. this too, in spite of the fact that we are seven centuries later and that our education is supposed to be developed to a high extent. if there were twenty places of instruction in greater new york where architects and artist workers in iron and glass, and metal of all kinds, and wood and stone, were being trained to become such finished artisans as were to be found in twenty different little towns of england in the thirteenth century, we should be sure that our manual training schools and our architectural departments of universities and schools of design were wonderfully successful. when we find this to be true of the england of the thirteenth century we can conclude that somehow better opportunities for art education must have been supplied in those times than in our own, and though we do not find the mention or { } records of formal schools, we must look patiently for the methods of instruction that enabled these generations to accomplish so much. needless to say such attainments do not come spontaneously in a large number of people, but must be carefully fostered and are the result of that greatest factor in education, environment. it will not be hard to find where the ambitious youth of england even of the workman class found opportunities for technical education of the highest character in these little towns. this was never merely theoretic, though, it was sufficiently grounded in principle to enable men to solve problems in architecture and engineering, in decoration and artistic arrangement, such as are still sources of anxiety for modern students of these questions. to take but a single example, it will be readily appreciated that the consideration of the guilds of builders of the cathedrals as constituting a great technical school, is marvelously emphasized by certain recent observations with regard to architects' and builders' methods in the cathedrals. there is a passage in evelyn's diary in which he describes certain corrections that were introduced into old st. paul's cathedral, london (the gothic edifice predecessor of the present classical structure), in order to remove appearances of dissymmetry and certain seeming mistakes of construction. this passage was always so misunderstood that editors usually considered it to be defective in some way and as the classical critics always fall back on an imperfect text for insoluble difficulties, so somehow evelyn was considered as either not having understood what he intended to say, or else the printer failed to put in all the words that he wrote. it was the modern readers, however, not evelyn nor his printer who were mistaken. mr. goodyear of the brooklyn institute of arts and sciences has proved by a series of photographs and carefully made observations, that many of the old gothic cathedrals have incorporated into them by their builders, optical corrections which correspond to those made by the greeks in their building in the classical period, which have been the subject of so much admiration to the moderns. the medieval architects and builders knew nothing of these classical architectural refinements. they learned for themselves by actual experience the necessity for making such optical { } corrections and then introduced them so carefully, that it is not until the last decade or so that their presence has been realized. it is only by an educational tradition of the greatest value that the use of such a refinement could become as general as professor goodyear has found it to be. besides the practical work then, and the actual exercise of craftsmanship and of design which the apprentices obtained from the guild, there was evidently a body of very definite technical information conveyed to them, or at least to certain chosen spirits among them, which carried on precious traditions from place to place. this same state of affairs must of course have existed with regard to stained glass work, the making of bells and especially the finer work in the precious metals. practical metallurgy must have been studied quite as faithfully as in any modern technical school, at least so far as its practical purposes and application were concerned. here we have the secret of the technical schools revealed. it is extremely interesting to study the details of the very practical organization by which this great educational movement in the arts and crafts was brought about. it was due entirely to the trades' and merchants' guilds of the time. in the cathedral towns the trades' guilds preponderated in influence. there gathered around each of these cathedrals during the years when work was most active, numbers of workmen engaged at various occupations requiring mechanical skill and long practice at their trade. these workmen were all affiliated with one another and they were gradually organized into trades' unions that had a certain independent existence. there was the guild of the stone workers; the guild of the metal workers--in some places divided into a guild of iron workers and a guild of gold workers, or workers in precious metals; there was the guild of the wood workers and then of the various other forms of occupation connected with the supplying of finished or unfinished materials for the cathedral. in association with these were established guilds of tailors, bakers, butchers, all affiliated in a merchants' guild which maintained the rights of its members as well as the artisans' guilds. some idea of the number and variety of these can be obtained from the list given in the chapter on the origin of the drama. {opp } [illustration] reliquary (limoges museo, florence) [illustration] crucifix (duomo, siena) { } these were the workmen who not only accomplished such brilliant results in art work, but also succeeded in training other workmen so admirably for every line of artistic endeavor. it is somewhat difficult to understand just how a village carpenter did wood-carving of so exquisite a design and such artistic finish of detail that it has remained a subject of admiration for centuries. it is quite as difficult to understand how one of the village blacksmiths of the time made a handsome gate, that has been the constant admiration of posterity ever since, or designed huge hinges for doors that artists delight to copy, or locks and latches and bolts that are transported to our museums to be looked at with interest, not only because they are antiques, but for the wonderful combination of the beautiful and the useful which they illustrate. we are assured, however, by the rev. augustus jessopp, that he has seen in the archives of the old english parishes, some of the receipts for the bills of these village workmen as we would term them, for the making of these beautiful specimens of arts and crafts. the surprise grows greater when we realize that these beautiful objects were made not alone in one place or even in a few places, but in nearly every town of any size in england and france and italy and germany and spain at various times during the thirteenth century, and that at any time a town of considerably less than ten thousand inhabitants seemed to be able to obtain among its own inhabitants, men who could make such works of art not as copies nor in servile imitation of others, but with original ideas of their own, and make them in such perfection that in many cases they have remained the models for future workmen for many centuries. even the bells for the cathedrals seem to have been cast in practically all cases in the little town in which they were to be used. it may be added that these bells of the thirteenth century represent the highest advances in bell making that have ever been attained and that their form and composition have simply been imitated over and over again since that time. even the finer precious metal work such as chalices and the various sacred vessels and objects used in the church services, were not obtained from a distance but were made at home. an article that appeared a few years ago in the craftsman { } (syracuse, n. y.), a magazine published in the interests of the arts and crafts movement, called attention to how much more beautifully the thirteenth century workman in the precious metals accomplished his artistic purpose than does the corresponding workman of the present day. a definite comparison, was made between some typical chalices of the thirteenth century and some prize cups which were made without regard to cost, as rewards for yachting and other competitions in the twentieth century. the artist workman of the olden time knew how to combine the beautiful with the useful, to use decoration just enough not to offend good taste, to make the lines of his work eminently artistic and in general to turn out a fine work of art. the modern prize cup is usually made by one of the large firms engaged in such work who employ special designers for the purpose, such designs ordinarily passing through the trained hands of a series of critics before being accepted, and only after this are turned over to the modern skilled workmen to be executed in metal. all this ought to assure the more artistic results; that they do not according to the writer in the craftsman, demonstrates how much such success is a matter of men and of individual taste rather than of method. we have already called attention to the fact that in needlework and in other arts connected with the provision of church ornaments and garments, the success of the thirteenth century workers was quite as great. the cope of ascoli considered by experts to be one of the most beautiful bits of needlework ever made is an example of this. many other examples are to be found in the treasuries of churches and monasteries, in spite of the ravages of time and only too often of intolerant and unfortunate destruction by so-called reformers, who could see no beauty in even the most beautiful things if they ran counter to certain of their religious prejudices. the training necessary for the production of such beautiful objects of handicraftsmanship was obtained through the guilds themselves. the boy in the small town who thought that he had a liking for a certain trade or craft was received as an apprentice in it. if during the course of a year or more he demonstrated his aptness for his chosen craft, he was allowed to { } continue his labor of assisting the workmen in various ways, and indeed very early in the history of the guilds was bound over to some particular workman, who usually supplied him with board and clothing, though with no other remuneration during his years of apprenticeship. after four or five years, always, however, with the understanding that he had shown a definite talent for his chosen trade, he was accepted among the workmen of the lowest grade, the journeymen, who usually went traveling in order to perfect their knowledge of the various methods by which their craft maintained itself and the standard of its workmanship in the different parts of the country. during these three years of "journeying" a striking development was likely to take place in the mind of the ambitious young workman. his _wanderjahre_ came just at the most susceptible period, sometime between and , they continued for three years or more, and the young workman if at all ambitious was likely to see many men and methods and know much of the cities and towns of his country before he returned to his native place. sometimes these craft-wanderings took him even into france, where he learned methods and secrets so different to those at home. after these years if he wished to settle down in his native town or in some other, having brought evidence of the accomplishment of his apprenticeship and then of his years as a journeyman, he became an applicant for full membership in the guild to which his years of training had been devoted. he was not admitted, however, until he had presented to the officials of the organization a piece of work showing his skill. this might be only a hinge, or a lock for a door, but on the other hand it might be a design for an important window or a delicate piece of wood or stone-carving. if it was considered worthy of the standard of workmanship of the guild it was declared to be a masterpiece. this is where the fine old english word masterpiece comes from. the workman was then admitted as a master workman and became a full member of the guild. this membership carried with it a number of other rights besides that of permission to work as a master-workman at full wages whenever the guild was employed. guilds had certain privileges conferred on them by the towns in which they lived, { } by the nobles for whom they worked and the ecclesiastical authorities on whose various church structures they were employed. at the beginning of the thirteenth century at least, feudal ideas prevailed to such an extent that no one was supposed to enjoy any rights or privileges except those which had been conferred on him by some authority. besides the workmen of the same guild were bound together by ties, so that any injury inflicted on one of them was considered to be done to the whole body. when human rights were much less recognized than has come to be the case since, this constituted an important source of protection against many forms of injury and infringement of rights. besides the privileges, however, the guild possessed certain other decided advantages which made membership desirable, even though it involved the fulfilment of certain duties. in the various towns in england, after the introduction during the thirteenth century of the practice of having mystery plays in the various towns, the guild claimed and obtained the privilege of giving these at various times during the year. the guild of the goldsmiths would give the performance of one portion of the old testament; the guild of the tailors another; the guild of the butchers and so on for each of the trades and crafts still another, so that during the year a whole cycle of the mysteries of the christian religion in type and in reality were exhibited to the people of each region. almost needless to say, on such festive occasions, for the plays were given on important feast days, the people from the countryside flocked in to see them and the influence was widespread. what was most important, however, was the influence on those who took part in the plays, of such intimate contact for a prolonged period with the simplicity of style, the sublimity of thought, the concentration of purpose and the effectiveness of expression of the scriptures and the scripture narratives even in their dramatized form. the fact of actually taking part in these performances meant ever so much more than merely viewing them as an outsider. it is doubtless to this intimate relationship with the great truths of christianity that the profound devotion so characteristic of the accomplishments of the arts and crafts, during the thirteenth century, must be to no little extent attributed. {opp } [illustration ] madonna, cimabue (rucellai chapel, santa maria novella, florence) { } their beautiful work could only have come from men of profoundest faith, but also it could not have come from those who were ignorant of the basis of what they accepted on faith. in other words, there was a mental training with regard to some of the sublimest truths of life and its significance, the creation of a christian philosophy of life, that made the workman see clearly the great truths of religion and so be able to illustrate them by his handiwork. education of a higher order than this has never been conceived of, and the very lack of tedious formality in it only made it all the more effectual in action. other duties were involved in membership in the guild. all the members were bound to attend church services regularly and to perform what is known as their religious duties at periodic intervals, that is, the rule of the guild required them to go to mass on sundays and holy days, to abstain from manual labor on such days unless there was absolute necessity for it, and to go to confession and communion several times a year. besides they were bound to contribute to the support of such of their fellow-members as were sick and unable to work or as had been injured. a very interesting phase of this duty toward sick members existed at least in some parts of the country. a workman was supposed to pass one night at certain intervals on his turn, in helping to nurse a fellow-workman who was seriously hurt or who was very ill. it was considered that the family were quite worn out enough with the care of the sick man during the day, and so one of his brother guildsmen came to relieve them of this duty at night. it is a custom that is still maintained in certain country places but which of course has passed out of use entirely in our unsympathetic city life. in a word, there was a thorough education not only in the life work that made for wages and family support, but also in those precious social duties that make for happiness and contentment in life. { } viii great origins in painting. [footnote ] [footnote : most of this chapter is taken from the work on italian painting (la peinture italienne depuis les origines jusqu'a la fin du xv siecle, par georges lafenestre, paris ancienne maison quantin libraries-imprimeries reunies, may & motteroz, directeurs, rue saint-benoit. nouvelle edition), which forms one of the series of text books for instruction in art at l'ecole des beaux-arts--the famous french government art school in paris. it may be said that this collection of art manuals is recognized as an authority on all matters treated of, having been crowned by the academie des beaux-arts with the prize bordin. there is no better source of information with regard to the development of the arts and none which can be more readily consulted nor with more assurance as to the facts and opinions exposed.] at the commencement of the thirteenth century the movement of emancipation in every phase of thought and life in italy went on apace with an extraordinary ardor. after a very serious struggle the italian republics were on the point of forcing the german empire to recognize them. everywhere in the first enthusiasm of their independence which had been achieved by valiant deeds and aspirations after liberty as lofty as any in modern times, the cities, though united in confederations they were acting as independent rivals, brought to all enterprises, lay or religious foundations, commercial or educational institutions, a wonderful youthful activity and enterprise. the papacy allied with them favored this movement in its political as well as its educational aspects and strengthened the art movement of the time. christianity under their guidance, by the powerful religious exaltation which it inspired in the hearts of all men, became a potent factor in all forms of art. from pope innocent iii to boniface viii probably no other series of popes have been so misunderstood and so misrepresented by subsequent generations, as certainly the popes of no other century did so much to awaken the enthusiasm of christians for all modes of religious development, and be it said though credit for this is { } only too often refused them, also for educational, charitable and social betterment. the two great church institutions of the time that were destined to act upon the people more than any others were the franciscan and dominican orders--the preachers and the friars minor, who were within a short time after their formation to have such deep and widespread influence on all strata of society. both of these orders from their very birth showed themselves not only ready but anxious to employ the arts as a means of religious education and for the encouragement of piety. their position in this matter had an enormous influence on art and on the painters of the time. the dominicans, as became their more ambitious intellectual training and their purpose as preachers of the word, demanded encyclopedic and learned compositions; the franciscans asked for loving familiar scenes such as would touch the hearts of the common people. both aided greatly in helping the artist to break away from the old fashioned formalism which was no longer sufficient to satisfy the new ardors of men's souls. in this way they prepared the italian imagination for the double revolution which was to come. it was the great body of legends which grew up about st. francis particularly, all of them bound up with supreme charity for one's neighbor, with love for all living creatures even the lowliest, with the tenderest feelings for every aspect of external nature, which appealed to the painters as a veritable light in the darkness of the times. it was especially in the churches founded by the disciples of "the poor little man of assisi," that the world saw burst forth before the end of the century, the first grand flowers of that renewal of art which was to prove the beginning of modern art history. it is hard to understand what would have happened to the painters of the time without the spirit that was brought into the world by st. francis' beautifully simple love for all and every phase of nature around him. this it was above all that encouraged the return to nature that soon supplanted oriental formalism. it was but due compensation that the greatest works of the early modern painters should have been done in st. francis' honor. besides this the most important factor in art was the revival of the thirst for knowledge, which arose among the more intellectual portions of the { } communities and developed an enthusiasm for antiquity which was only a little later to become a veritable passion. the most important phase of italian art during the thirteenth century is that which developed at florence. it is with this that the world is most familiar. it began with cimabue, who commenced painter, in the quaint old english phrase, not long before the middle of the century and whose great work occupies the second half of it. there are not wanting some interesting traditions of certain other florentine painters before his time as marchisello, of the early part of the century, lapo who painted, in , the facade of the cathedral at pistoia, and fino di tibaldi who painted a vast picture on the walls of the municipal palace about the middle of the century, but they are so much in the shadow of the later masters' work as to be scarcely known. everywhere nature began to reassert herself. the workers in mosaic even, who were occupied in the famous baptistry at florence about the middle of the century, though they followed the byzantine rules of their art, introduced certain innovations which brought the composition and the subjects closer to nature. these are enough to show that there was a school of painting and decoration at florence quite sufficient to account for cimabue's development, without the necessity of appealing to the influence over him of wandering greek artists as has sometimes been done. though he was not the absolute inventor of all the new art modes as he is sometimes supposed to be, cimabue was undoubtedly a great original genius. like so many others who have been acclaimed as the very first in a particular line of thought or effort, his was only the culminating intelligence which grasped all that had been done before, assimilated it and made it his own. as a distinct exception to the usual history of such great initiators, this father of italian painting was rich, born of a noble family, but of a character that was eager for work and with ambition to succeed in his chosen art as the mainspring of life. at his death, as the result of his influence, artists had acquired a much better social position than had been theirs before, and one that it was comparatively easy for his successors to maintain. his famous madonna which was subsequently borne in triumph from his studio to the church of { } santa maria novella, placed the seal of popular approval on the new art, and the enthusiasm it evoked raised the artist for all time from the plane of a mere worker in colors to that of a member of a liberal profession. even before this triumph his great picture had been deemed worthy of a visit by charles of anjou, the french king, who was on a visit to florence and according to tradition ever afterwards the portion of the city in which it had been painted and through which it was carried in procession, bore by reason of these happy events the name borgo allegri--ward of joy. this picture is still in its place in the rucellai chapel and is of course the subject of devoted attention on the part of visitors. lafenestre says of it, that this monument of florentine art quite justifies the enthusiasm of contemporaries if we compare it with the expressionless madonnas that preceded it. there is an air of beneficent dignity on the features quite unlike the rigidity of preceding art, and there is besides an attractive suppleness about the attitude of the body which is far better proportioned than those of its predecessors. above all there is a certain roseate freshness about the colors of the flesh which are pleasant substitutes for the pale and greenish tints of the byzantines. it did not require more than this to exalt the imaginations of the people delivered from their old-time conventional painting. it was only a ray of the dawn after a dark night, but it announced a glorious sunrise of art and the confident anticipations of the wondrous day to come, aroused the depths of feeling in the peoples' hearts. life and nature went back into art once more; no wonder their re-apparition was saluted with so much delight. two other madonnas painted by him, one at florence in the academy, the other in paris in the louvre, besides his great mosaic in the apse of the cathedral at pisa, serve to show with what prudence cimabue introduced naturalistic qualities into art, while always respecting the tradition of the older art and preserving the solemn graces and the majestic style of monumental painting. the old frescoes of the upper church at assisi which represent episodes in the life of st. francis have also been attributed to cimabue, but evidently were done by a number of artists probably under his direction. it is easy to { } see from them what an important role the florentine artist played in directing the gropings of his assistant artists. after cimabue the most important name at florentine in the thirteenth century is that of his friend, gaddo gaddi, whose years of life correspond almost exactly with those of his great contemporary. his famous coronation of the virgin at santa maria de fiore in florence shows that he was greatly influenced by the new ideas that had come into art. greater than either of these well-known predecessors however, was giotto the friend of dante, whose work is still considered worthy of study by artists because of certain qualities in which it never has been surpassed nor quite outgrown. from giotto, however, we shall turn aside for a moment to say something of the development of art in other cities of italy, for it must not be thought that florence was the only one to take up the new art methods which developed so marvelously during the thirteenth century. even before the phenomenal rise of modern art in florence, at pisa, at lucca and especially at siena, the new wind of the spirit was felt blowing and some fine inspirations were realized in spite of hampering difficulties of all kinds. the madonna of guido in the church of st. dominic at siena is the proof of his emancipation. besides him ugolino, segna and duccio make up the siena school and enable this other tuscan city to dispute even with florence the priority of the new influence in art. at lucca bonaventure berlinghieri flourished and there is a famous st. francis by him only recently found, which proves his right to a place among the great founders of modern art. giunta of pisa was one of those called to assisi to paint some of the frescoes in the upper church. he is noted as having striven to make his figures more exact and his colors more natural. he did much to help his generation away from the conventional expressions of the preceding time and he must for this reason be counted among the great original geniuses in the history of art. the greatest name in the art of the thirteenth century is of course that of giotto. what dante did for poetry and villani for history, their compatriot and friend did for painting. ambrogio de bondone familiarly called ambrogiotto (and with the abbreviating habit that the italians have always had for the names of all those of whom they thought much shortened to { } giotto, as indeed dante's name had been shortened from durante) was born just at the beginning of the last quarter of the thirteenth century. according to a well-known legend he was guarding the sheep of his father one day and passing his time sketching a lamb upon a smooth stone with a soft pebble when cimabue happened to be passing. the painter struck by the signs of genius in the work took the boy with him to florence, where he made rapid progress in art and soon surpassed even his master. the wonderful precocity of his genius may be best realized from the fact that at the age of twenty he was given the commission of finishing the decorations of the upper church at assisi, and in fulfilling it broke so completely with the byzantine formalism of the preceding millennium, that he must be considered the liberator of art and its deliverer from the chains of conventionalism into the freedom of nature. it is no wonder that critics and literary men have been so unstinted in his praise. here is an example: "in the decamerone it is said of him 'that he was so great a genius that there was nothing in nature he had not so reproduced that it was not only like the thing, but seemed to be the thing itself.' eulogies of this tenor on works of art are, it is quite true, common to all periods alike, to the most accomplished of classical antiquity as well as to the most primitive of the middle age; and they must only be accepted relatively, according to the notion entertained by each period of what constitutes truth and naturalness. and from the point of view of his age, giotto's advance towards nature, considered relatively to his predecessors, was in truth enormous. what he sought was not merely the external truth of sense, but also the inward truth of the spirit. instead of solemn images of devotion, he painted pictures in which the spectator beheld the likeness of human beings in the exercise of activity and intelligence. his merit lies, as has been well said, in 'an entirely new conception of character and facts.'" [footnote ] [footnote : history of ancient, early christian and medieval painting from the german of the late dr. alfred woltmann, professor at the imperial university of strasburg, and karl woertmann, professor at the royal academy of arts, dusselford. edited by sidney colvin, m. a., dodd, mead & co., n. y., .] { } lafenestre, in his history of italian painting for the beaux-arts of paris already referred to, says that what has survived of giotto's work justifies the enthusiasm of his contemporaries. none of his predecessors accomplished anything like the revolution that he worked. he fixed the destinies of art in italy at the moment when dante fixed those of literature. the stiff, confused figures of the mosaics and manuscripts grew supple under his fingers and the confusion disappeared. he simplified the gestures, varied the expression, rectified the proportions. perhaps the best example of his work is that of the upper church of assisi, all accomplished before he was thirty. what he had to represent were scenes of life almost contemporary yet already raised to the realm of poetry by popular admiration. he interpreted the beautiful legend of the life of the saint preserved by st. bonaventure, and like the subject of his sketches turned to nature at every step of his work. if his figures are compared with those of the artists of the preceding generations, their truth to life and natural expressions easily explain the surprise and the rapture of his contemporaries. beautiful as are the pictures of the upper church, however, ten years after their completion giotto's genius can be seen to have taken a still higher flight by the study of the pictures on the vast ceilings of the lower church. the four compartments contain the triumph of chastity, the triumph of poverty, the triumph of obedience, and the glorification of st. francis. the ideal and the real figures in these compositions are mingled and grouped with admirable clearness and inventive force. to be appreciated properly they must be seen and studied _in situ_. many an artist has made the pilgrimage to assisi and none has come away disappointed. never before had an artist dared to introduce so many and such numerous figures, yet all were done with a variety and an ease of movement that is eminently pleasing and even now are thoroughly satisfying to the artistic mind. after his work at assisi some of the best of giotto's pictures are to be found in the chapel of the arena at padua. here there was a magnificent opportunity and giotto took full advantage of it. the whole story of christ's life is told in the fourteen episodes of the life of his mother which were painted here by giotto. for their sake padua as well as { } assisi has been a favorite place of pilgrimage for artists ever since and never more so than in our own time. {opp } [illustration] st. francis' marriage with poverty (giotto, assisi) no greater tribute to the century in which he lived could possibly be given than to say that his genius was recognized at once, and he was sought from one end of italy to another by popes and kings, republics and princes, convents and municipalities, all of which competed for the privilege of having this genius work for them with ever increasing enthusiasm. it is easy to think and to say that it is no wonder that such a transcendent genius was recognized and appreciated and received his due reward. such has not usually been the case in history, however. on the contrary, the more imposing the genius of an artist, or a scientist, or any other great innovator in things human, the more surely has he been the subject of neglect and even of misunderstanding and persecution. the very fact that giotto lifted art out of the routine of formalism in which it was sunk might seem to be enough to assure failure of appreciation. men do not suddenly turn round to like even great innovations, when they have long been satisfied with something less and when their principles of criticism have been formed by their experience with the old. we need not go farther back than our own supposedly illuminated nineteenth century to find some striking examples of this. turner, the great english landscapist, failed of appreciation for long years and had to wait till the end of his life to obtain even a small meed of reward. the famous barbizon school of french painters is a still more striking example. they went back to nature from the classic formalism of the early nineteenth century painters just as giotto went back to nature from byzantine conventionalism. the immediate rewards in the two cases were very different and the attitude of contemporaries strikingly contrasted. poor millet did his magnificent work in spite of the fact that his family nearly starved. only that madame millet was satisfied to take more than a fair share of hardships for herself and the family in order that her husband might have the opportunity to develop his genius after his own way, we might not have had the magnificent pictures which millet sold for a few paltry francs that barely kept { } the wolf from the door, and for which the next generation has been paying almost fabulous sums. all through the thirteenth century this characteristic will be found that genius did not as a rule lack appreciation. the greater the revolution a genuinely progressive thinker and worker tried to accomplish in human progress, the more sure was he to obtain not only a ready audience, but an enthusiastic and encouraging following. this is the greatest compliment that could be paid to the enlightenment of the age. men's minds were open and they were ready and willing to see things differently from what they had been accustomed to before. this constitutes after all the best possible guarantee of progress. it is, however, very probably the last thing that we would think of attributing to these generations of the thirteenth century, who are usually said very frankly to have been wrapped up in their own notions, to have been only too ready to accept things on authority rather than by their own powers of observation and judgment, and to have been clingers to the past rather than lookers to the present and the future. giotto's life shows better than any other how much this prejudiced view of the thirteenth century and perforce of the middle age needs to be corrected. during forty years giotto responded to every demand, and made himself suffice for every call, worked in nearly every important city of italy, enkindling everywhere he went the new light of art. before the end of the century he completed a cartoon for the famous picture of the boat of peter which was to adorn the facade of st. peter's. he was in rome in , the first jubilee year, arranging the decorations at st. john lateran. the next year he was at florence, working in the palace of the podesta. and so it went for full two score years. he was at pisa, at lucca, at arezzo, at padua, at milan, then he went south to urbino, to rome and then even to naples. unfortunately the strain of all this work proved too much for him and he was carried away at the comparatively early age of sixty in the midst of his artistic vigor and glory. {opp } [illustration] espousal of st. catherine (gaddi, xiii. century pupil, perugia) the art of the middle ages and especially at the time of the beginnings of modern art in the thirteenth century, is commonly supposed to be inextricably bound up with certain { } influences which place it beyond the pale of imitation for modern life. it has frequently been said, that this art besides being too deeply mystical and pietistic, is so remote from ordinary human feelings as to preclude a proper understanding of it by the men of our time and certainly prevent any deep sympathy. the pagan element in art which entered at the time of the renaissance and which emphasized the joy of life itself and the pleasure of mere living for its own sake, is supposed to have modified this sadder aspect of things in the earlier art, so that now no one would care to go back to the pre-renaissance day. there has been so much writing of this kind that has carried weight, that it is no wonder that the impression has been deeply made. it is founded almost entirely on a misunderstanding, however. reinach whom we have quoted before completely overturns this false notion in some paragraphs which bring out better than any others that we know something of the true significance of the thirteenth century art in this particular. those who think that gothic art was mainly gloomy in character, or if not absolutely sad at heart that it always expressed the sadder portion of religious feelings, who consider that the ascetic side of life was always in the ascendant and the brighter side of things seldom chosen, for pictorial purposes, should recall that the gothic cathedrals themselves are the most cheery and lightsome buildings, that indeed they owe their character as creations of a new idea in architecture to the determined purpose of their builders to get admission for all possible light in the dreary northern climates. the contradiction of the idea that gothic art in its essence was gloomy will at once be manifest from this. quite apart from this, however, if gothic art be studied for itself and in its subjects, that of the thirteenth century particularly will be found far distant from, anything that would justify the criticism of over sadness. reinach (in his story of art throughout the middle ages) has stated this so clearly that we prefer simply to quote the passage which is at once authoritative and informing: "it has also been said that gothic art bears the impress of ardent piety and emotional mysticism, that it dwells on the suffering of jesus, of the virgin, and of the martyrs with harrowing persistency. those who believe this have never studied { } gothic art. it is so far from the truth that, as a fact, the gothic art of the best period, the thirteenth century, never represented any sufferings save those of the damned. the virgins are smiling and gracious, never grief stricken. there is not a single gothic rendering of the virgin weeping at the foot of the cross. the words and music of the stabat mater, which are sometimes instanced as the highest expression of the religion of the middle ages, date from the end of the thirteenth century at the very earliest, and did not become popular till the fifteenth century. jesus himself is not represented as suffering, but with a serene and majestic expression. the famous statue known as the beau dieu d'amiens may be instanced as typical." [illustration] group from visitation (rheims) { } ix libraries and bookmen. as the thirteenth century begins some years before the art of printing was introduced, it would seem idle to talk of libraries and especially of circulating libraries during this period and quite as futile to talk of bookmen and book collectors. any such false impression, however, is founded entirely upon a lack of knowledge of the true state of affairs during this wonderful period. a diocesan council held in paris in the year , with other words of advice to religious, recalled to them the duty that they had to lend such books as they might possess, with proper guarantee for their return, of course, to those who might make good use of them. the council, indeed, formally declared that the lending of books was one of the works of mercy. the cathedral chapter of notre dame at paris was one of the leaders in this matter and there are records of their having lent many books during the thirteenth century. at most of the abbeys around paris there were considerable libraries and in them also the lending custom obtained. this is especially true of the abbey of st. victor of which the rule and records are extant. of course it will be realized that the number of books was not large, but on the other hand it must not be forgotten that many of them were works of art in every particular, and some of them that have come down to us continue to be even to the present day among the most precious bibliophilic treasures of great state and city libraries. their value depends not alone on their antiquity but on their perfection as works of art. in general it may be said that the missals and office books, and the prayer books made for royal personages and the nobility at this time, are yet counted among the best examples of bookmaking the world has ever seen. it is not surprising that such should be the case since these books were mainly meant for use in the cathedrals and the chapels, and these edifices were so beautiful in every detail that the generations that erected them { } could not think of making books for use in them, that would be unworthy of the artistic environment for which they were intended. with the candlesticks, the vessels, and implements used in the ceremonial surpassing works of art, with every form of decoration so nearly perfect as to be a source of unending admiration, with the vestments and altar linens specimens of the most exquisite handiwork of their kind that had ever been made, the books associated with them had to be excellent in execution, expressive of the most refined taste and finished with an attention utterly careless of the time and labor that might be required, since the sole object was to make everything as absolutely beautiful as possible. hence there is no dearth of wonderful examples of the beautiful bookmaking of this century in all the great libraries of the world. the libraries themselves, moreover, are of surpassing interest because of their rules and management, for little as it might be expected this wonderful century anticipated in these matters most of our very modern library regulations. the bookmen of the time not only made beautiful books, but they made every provision to secure their free circulation and to make them available to as many people as was consonant with proper care of the books and the true purposes of libraries. this is a chapter of thirteenth century history more ignored perhaps than any other, but which deserves to be known and will appeal to our century more perhaps than to any intervening period. the constitutions of the abbey st. victor of paris give us an excellent idea at once of the solicitude with which the books were guarded, yet also of the careful effort that was made to render them useful to as many persons as possible. one of the most important rules at st. victor was that the librarian should know the contents of every volume in the library, in order to be able to direct those who might wish to consult the books in their selection, and while thus sparing the books unnecessary handling also save the readers precious time. we are apt to think that it is only in very modern times that this training of librarians to know their books so as to be of help to the readers was insisted on. here, however, we find it in full force seven centuries ago. it would be much more difficult in the present day to know all the books confided to his care, but some of the { } librarians at st. victor were noted for the perfection of their knowledge in this regard and were often consulted by those who were interested in various subjects. in his book on the thirteenth century [footnote ] m. a. lecoy de la marche says that in france, at least, circulating libraries were quite common. as might be expected of the people of so practical a century, it was they who first established the rule that a book might be taken out provided its value were deposited by the borrower. such lending libraries were to be found at the sorbonne, at st. germain des prés, as well as at notre dame. there was also a famous library at this time at corbie but practically every one of the large abbeys had a library from which books could be obtained. certain of the castles of the nobility, as for instance that of la ferte en ponthieu, had libraries, with regard to which there is a record, that the librarian had the custom of lending certain volumes, provided the person was known to him and assumed responsibility for the book. [footnote : le treizieme siecle litteraire et scientifique, lille, .] some of the regulations of the libraries of the century have an interest all their own from the exact care that was required with regard to the books. the sorbonne for instance by rule inflicted a fine upon anyone who neglected to close large volumes after he had been making use of them. many a librarian of the modern times would be glad to put into effect such a regulation as this. a severe fine was inflicted upon any library assistant who allowed a stranger to go into the library alone, and another for anyone who did not take care to close the doors. it seems not unlikely that these regulations, as m. lecoy de la marche says, were in vigor in many of the ecclesiastical and secular libraries of the time. some of the regulations of st. victor are quite as interesting and show the liberal spirit of the time as well as indicate how completely what is most modern in library management was anticipated. the librarian had the charge of all the books of the community, was required to have a detailed list of them and each year to have them in his possession at least three times. on him was placed the obligation to see that the books were not destroyed in any way, either by parasites of any kind or by { } dampness. the librarian was required to arrange the books in such a manner as to make the finding of them prompt and easy. no book was allowed to be borrowed unless some pledge for its safe return were left with the librarian. this was emphasized particularly for strangers who must give a pledge equal to the value of the book. in all cases, however, the name of the borrower had to be taken, also the title of the book borrowed, and the kind of pledge left. the larger and more precious books could not be borrowed without the special permission of the superior. the origin of the various libraries in paris is very interesting as proof that the mode of accumulating books was nearly the same as that which enriches university and other such libraries at the present time. the library of la st. chapelle was founded by louis ix, and being continuously enriched by the deposit therein of the archives of the kingdom soon became of first importance. many precious volumes that were given as presents to st. louis found their way into this library and made it during his lifetime the most valuable collection of books in paris. louis, moreover, devoted much time and money to adding to the library. he made it a point whenever on his journeys he stopped, at abbeys or other ecclesiastical institutions, to find out what books were in their library that were not at la saint chapelle and had copies of these made. his intimate friendship with robert of sorbonne, with st. thomas of aquin, with saint bonaventure, and above all with vincent of beauvais, the famous encyclopedist of the century, widened his interest in books and must have made him an excellent judge of what he ought to procure to complete the library. it was, as we shall see, louis' munificent patronage that enabled vincent to accumulate that precious store of medieval knowledge, which was to prove a mine of information for so many subsequent generations. from the earliest times certain books, mainly on medicine, were collected at the hotel dieu, the great hospital of paris, and this collection was added to from time to time by the bequests of physicians in attendance there. this was doubtless the first regular hospital library, though probably medical books had also been collected at salernum. the principal colleges of the universities also made collections of books, some of them { } very valuable, though as a rule, it would seem as if no attempt was made to procure any other books than those which were absolutely needed for consultation by the students. the best working library at paris was undoubtedly that of the sorbonne, of which indeed its books were for a long time its only treasures. for at first the sorbonne was nothing but a teaching institution which only required rooms for its lectures, and usually obtained these either from the university authorities or from the canons of the cathedral and possessed no property except its library. from the very beginning the professors bequeathed whatever books they had collected to its library and this became a custom. it is easy to understand that within a very short time the library became one of the very best in europe. while most of the other libraries were devoted mainly to sacred literature, the sorbonne came to possess a large number of works of profane literature. interesting details with regard to this library of the sorbonne and its precious treasures have been given by m. leopold delisle, in the second volume of le cabinet des manuserits, describing the mss. of the bibliothèque nationale at paris. according to m. lecoy de la marche, this gives an excellent idea of the persevering efforts which must have been required, to bring together so many bibliographic treasures at a time when books were such a rarity, and consequently enables us better almost than anything else, to appreciate the enthusiasm of the scholars of these early times and their wonderful efforts to make the acquisition of knowledge easier, not only for their own but for succeeding generations. when we recall that the library of the sorbonne was, during the thirteenth century, open not only to the professors and students of the sorbonne itself, but also to those interested in books and in literature who might come from elsewhere, provided they were properly accredited, we can realize to the full the thorough liberality of spirit of these early scholars. usually we are prone to consider that this liberality of spirit, even in educational matters, came much later into the world. in spite of the regulations demanding the greatest care, it is easy to understand that after a time even books written on vellum or parchment would become disfigured and worn under the ardent fingers of enthusiastic students, when comparatively so { } few copies were available for general use. in order to replace these worn-out copies every abbey had its own scriptorium or writing room, where especially the younger monks who were gifted with plain handwriting were required to devote certain hours every day to the copying of manuscripts. manuscripts were borrowed from neighboring libraries and copied, or as in our modern day exchanges of duplicate copies were made, so as to avoid the risk that precious manuscripts might be subject to on the journeys from one abbey to another. how much the duty of transcription was valued may be appreciated from the fact, that in some abbeys every novice was expected to bring on the day of his profession as a religious, a volume of considerable size which had been carefully copied by his own hands. besides these methods of increasing the number of books in the library, a special sum of money was set aside in most of the abbeys for the procuring of additional volumes for the library by purchase. usually this took the form of an ecclesiastical regulation requiring that a certain percentage of the revenues should be spent on the libraries. scholars closely associated with monasteries frequently bequeathed their books and besides left money or incomes to be especially devoted to the improvement of the library. it is easy to understand that with all these sources of enrichment many abbeys possessed noteworthy libraries. to quote only those of france, important collections of books were to be found at cluny, luxeuil, fleury, saint-martial, moissac, mortemer, savigny, fourcarmont, saint père de chartres, saint denis, saint-maur-des-fossés, saint corneille de compiègne, corbie, saint-amand, saint-martin de tournai, where vincent de beauvais said that he found the greatest collections of manuscripts that existed in his time, and then especially the great parisian abbeys already referred to, saint-germain-des-prés, saint victor, saint-martin-des-champs, the precious treasures of which are well known to all those who are familiar with the bibliothèque nationale of paris, of whose manuscript department their relics constitute the most valuable nucleus. some of the bequests of books that were made to libraries at this time are interesting, because they show the spirit of the { } testators and at the same time furnish valuable hints as to the consideration in which books were held and the reverent care of their possessors for them. peter of nemours, the bishop of paris, when setting out on the crusades with louis ix. bequeathed to the famous abbey of st. victor, his bible in volumes, which was considered one of the finest copies of the scriptures at that time in existence. to the abbey of olivet he gave his psalter with glosses, besides the epistles of st. paul and his book of sentences, by which is evidently intended the well-known work with that title by the famous peter lombard. finally he gave to the cathedral of paris all the rest of his books. besides these he had very little to leave. it is typical of the reputation of paris in that century and the devotion of her churchmen to learning and culture, that practically all of the revenues that he considered due him for his personal services had been invested in books, which he then disposed of in such a way as would secure their doing the greatest possible good to the largest number of people. his bible was evidently given to the abbey of st. victor because it was the sort of work that should be kept for the occasional reference of the learned rather than the frequent consultation of students, who might very well find all that they desired in other and less valuable copies. his practical intention with regard to his books can be best judged from his gift to notre dame, which, as we have noted already possessed a very valuable library that was allowed to circulate among properly accredited scholars in paris. according to the will of peter ameil, archbishop of narbonne, which is dated , he gave his books for the use of the scholars whom he had supported at the university of paris and they were to be deposited in the library at notre dame, but on condition that they were not to be scattered for any reason nor any of them sold or abused. the effort of the booklover to keep his books together is characteristic of all the centuries since, only most people will be surprised to find it manifesting itself so early in bibliophilic history. the archbishop reserved from his books, however, his bible for his own church. before his death he had given the dominicans in his diocese many books from his library. this churchman of the first half of the { } thirteenth century seems evidently to deserve a prominent place among the bookmen of all times. there are records of many others who bequeathed libraries and gave books during their lifetime to various institutions, as may be found in the literary history of france, [footnote ] already mentioned, as well as in the various histories of the university of paris. many of these gifts were made on condition that they should not be sold and the constantly recurring condition made by these booklovers is that their collections should be kept together. the libraries of paris were also in the market for books, however, and there is proof that the sorbonne purchased a number of volumes because the cost price of them was noted inside the cover quite as libraries do in our own days. when we realize the forbidding cost of them, it is surprising that there should be so much to say about them and so many of them constantly changing hands. an ordinary folio volume probably cost from to francs in our values, that is between $ and $ . [footnote : histoire litteraire de la france, by the benedictines of st. maur.] while the older abbeys of the benedictines and other earlier religious orders possessed magnificent collections of books, the newer orders of the thirteenth century, the mendicants, though as their name indicates they were bound to live by alms given them by the faithful, within a short time after their foundation began to take a prominent part in the library movement. it was in the southern part of france that the dominicans were strongest and so there is record of regulations for libraries made at toulouse in the early part of the thirteenth century. in paris, in , considerable time and discussion was devoted in one of the chapters of the order to the question of how books should be kept, and how the library should be increased. with regard to the franciscans, though their poverty was, if possible, stricter, the same thing is known before the end of the century. in both orders arrangements were made for the copying of important works and it is, of course, to the zeal and enthusiasm of the younger members of these orders for this copying work, that we owe the preservation by means of a large number of manuscript copies, of the { } voluminous writings of such men as albertus magnus, st. thomas, duns scotus and others. {opp } [illustration] monument of cardinal de bray (arnolfo) while the existence of libraries of various kinds, and even circulating libraries, in the thirteenth century may seem definitely settled, it will appear to most people that to speak of book collecting at this time must be out of place. that fad is usually presumed to be of much later origin and indeed to be comparatively recent in its manifestations. we have said enough already, however, of the various collections of books in libraries especially in france to show that the book collector was abroad, but there is much more direct evidence of this available from an english writer. richard de bury's philobiblon is very well known to all who are interested in books for their own sake, but few people realize that this book practically had its origin in the thirteenth century. the writer was born about the beginning of the last quarter of that century, had completed his education before its close, and it is only reasonable to attribute to the formative influences at work in his intellectual development as a young man, the germs of thought from which were to come in later life the interesting book on bibliophily, the first of its kind, which was to be a treasure for book-lovers ever afterwards. philobiblon tells us, among other things, of richard's visits to the continent on an embassy to the holy see and on subsequent occasions to the court of france, and the delight which he experienced in handling many books which he had never seen before, in buying such of them as his purse would allow, or his enthusiasm could tempt from their owners and in conversing with those who could tell him about books and their contents. such men were the chosen comrades of his journeys, sat with him at table, as mr. henry morley tells us in his english writers (volume iv, page ), and were in almost constant fellowship with him. it was at paris particularly that richard's heart was satisfied for a time because of the great treasures he found in the magnificent libraries of that city. he was interested, of course, in the university and the opportunity for intellectual employment afforded by academic proceedings, but above all he found delight in books, which monks and monarchs and professors and churchmen of all kinds and scholars { } and students had gathered into this great intellectual capital of europe at that time. anyone who thinks the books were not valued quite as highly in the thirteenth century as at the present time should read the philobiblon. he is apt to rise from the reading of it with the thought that it is the modern generations who do not properly appreciate books. one of the early chapters of philobiblon argues that books ought always to be bought whatever they cost, provided there are means to pay for them, except in two cases, "when they are knavishly overcharged, or when a better time for buying is expected." "that sun of men, solomon," richard says, "bids us buy books readily and sell them unwillingly, for one of his proverbs runs, 'buy the truth and sell it not, also wisdom and instruction and understanding.'" richard in his own quaint way thought that most other interests in life were only temptations to-draw men away from books. in one famous paragraph he has naively personified books as complaining with regard to the lack of attention men now display for them and the unworthy objects, in richard's eyes at least, upon which they fasten their affections instead, and which take them away from the only great life interest that is really worth while--books. "yet," complain books, "in these evil times we are cast out of our place in the inner chamber, turned out of doors, and our place taken by dogs, birds, and the two-legged beast called woman. but that beast has always been our rival, and when she spies us in a corner, with no better protection than the web of a dead spider, she drags us out with a frown and violent speech, laughing us to scorn as useless, and soon counsels us to be changed into costly head-gear, fine linen, silk and scarlet double dyed, dresses and divers trimmings, linens and woolens. and so," complain the books still, "we are turned out of our homes, our coats are torn from our backs, our backs and sides ache, we lie about disabled, our natural whiteness turns to yellow--without doubt we have the jaundice. some of us are gouty, witness our twisted extremities. our bellies are griped and wrenched and are consumed by worms; on each side the dirt cleaves to us, nobody binds up our wounds, we lie ragged and weep in dark corners, or meet with job upon a dunghill, or, as seems hardly fit to be said, we are hidden in abysses of the { } sewers. we are sold also like slaves, and lie as unredeemed pledges in taverns. we are thrust into cruel butteries, to be cut up like sheep and cattle; committed to jews, saracens, heretics and pagans, whom we always dread as the plague, and by whom some of our forefathers are known to have been poisoned." richard de bury must not be thought to have been some mere wandering scholar of the beginning of the fourteenth century, however, for he was, perhaps, the most important historical personage, not even excepting royalty or nobility, of this era and one of the striking examples of how high a mere scholar might rise in this period quite apart from any achievement in arms, though this is usually supposed to be almost the only basis of distinguished reputation and the reason for advancement at this time. while he was only the son of a norman knight, aungervyle by name, born at bury st. edmund's, he became the steward of the palace and treasurer of the royal wardrobe, then lord treasurer of england and finally lord keeper of the privy seal. while on a mission to the pope he so commended himself to the holy see that it was resolved to make him the next english bishop. accordingly he was made bishop of durham shortly after and on the occasion of his installation there was a great banquet at which the young king and queen, the queen mother isabelle, the king of scotland, two archbishops, five bishops, and most of the great english lords were present. at this time the scots and the english were actually engaged in war with one another and a special truce was declared, in order to allow them to join in the celebration of the consecration of so distinguished an individual to the see of durham near the frontier. before he was consecrated bishop, richard de bury had been for some time the treasurer of the kingdom. before the end of the year in which he was consecrated he became lord chancellor, at a time when the affairs of the kingdom needed a master hand and when the french and the scots were seriously disturbing english peace and prosperity. he resigned his office of chancellor, as henry morley states, only to go abroad in the royal service as ambassador that he might exercise his own trusted sagacity in carrying out the peaceful policy he had { } advised. during this diplomatic mission to the continent he visited the courts of paris, of flanders, of hainault and of germany. he succeeded in making terms of peace between the english king and the counts of hainault and namur, the marquis of juliers and the dukes of brabant and guelders. this would seem to indicate that he must be considered as one of the most prominent men of europe at this time. his attitude toward books is then all the more noteworthy. many people were surprised that a great statesman like gladstone in the nineteenth century, should have been interested in so many phases of thought and of literature and should himself have been able to find the time to contribute important works to english letters. richard de bury was at least as important a man in his time as gladstone in ours, and occupied himself as much with books as the great english commoner. this is what will be the greatest source of surprise to those who in our time have been accustomed to think, that the great scholars deeply interested in books who were yet men of practical worth in helping their generation in its great problems, are limited to modern times and are least of all likely to be found in the heart of the middle ages. in spite of his occupations as a politician and a bookman, richard de bury was noted for his faithfulness in the fulfilment of his duties as a churchman and a bishop. it is worthy of note that many of the important clergymen of england, who were to find the highest church preferment afterwards, were among the members of his household at various times and that the post of secretary to the bishop, particularly, was filled at various times by some of the best scholars of the period, men who were devoted friends to the bishop, who dedicated their works to him and generally added to the reputation that stamped him as the greatest scholar of england and one of the leading lights of european culture of his time. this is not so surprising when we realize that to be a member of richard's household was to have access to the best library in england, and that many scholars were naturally ambitious to have such an opportunity, and as the results showed many took advantage of it. among richard of durham's chaplains were thomas bradwardine who afterwards became archbishop of canterbury, richard fitzraufe, subsequently archbishop of { } armagh, walter seagrave, afterwards bishop of chichester, and richard bentworth, who afterwards became bishop of london among the distinguished scholars who occupied the post were robert holcot, john manduit, the astronomer of the fourteenth century, richard kilmington, a distinguished english theologian, and walter burley, a great commentator on aristotle, who dedicated to the bishop, who had provided him with so many opportunities for study, his commentaries upon the politics and ethics of the ancient greek philosopher. that richard's love for books and the time he had necessarily devoted to politics did not dry up the fountains of charity in his heart, nor cause him to neglect his important duties as the pastor of the people and especially of the poor, we know very well from certain traditions with regard to his charitable donations. according to a standing rule in his household eight quarters of wheat were regularly every week made into bread and given to the poor. in his alms giving richard was as careful and as discriminating as in his collection of books, and he used a number of the regularly organized channels in his diocese to make sure that his bounty should be really helpful and should not encourage lack of thrift. this is a feature of charitable work that is supposed to be modern, but the personal service of the charitably inclined in the thirteenth century, far surpassed in securing this even the elaborate organization of charity in modern times. whenever the bishop traveled generous alms were distributed to the poor people along the way. whenever he made the journey between durham and new castle eight pounds sterling were set aside for this purpose; five pounds for each journey between durham and stockton or middleham, and five marks between durham and auckland. money had at that time at least ten times the purchasing power which it has at present, so that it will be easy to appreciate the good bishop's eminent liberality. that richard was justified in his admiration of the books of the time we know from those that remain, for it must not be thought for a moment that because the making of books was such a time-taking task in the thirteenth century, they were not therefore made beautiful. on the contrary, as we shall see { } shortly, no more beautiful books have ever been made than at this time. this of itself would show how precious in the eyes of the collectors of the time their books were, since they wanted to have them so beautifully made and were satisfied to pay the high prices that had to be demanded for such works of art. very few books of any size cost less than the equivalent of $ in our time and illuminated books cost much higher than this, yet seem never to have been a drug on the market. indeed, considering the number of them that are still in existence to this day, in spite of the accidents of fire, and water, and war, and neglect, and carelessness, and ignorance, there must have been an immense number of very handsome books made by the generations of the thirteenth century. while illumination was not an invention of the thirteenth century, as indeed were very few of the great art features of the century, during this time book decoration was carried to great perfection and reached that development which artists of the next century were to improve on in certain extrinsic features, though the intrinsic qualities were to remain those which had been determined as the essential characteristics of this branch of art in the earlier time. the thirteenth century, for instance, saw the introduction of the miniature as a principal feature and also the drawing out of initials in such a way as to make an illuminated border for the whole side of the page. after the development thus given to the art in the thirteenth century further evolution could only come in certain less important details. in this the thirteenth century generations were accomplishing what they had done in practically everything else that they touched, laying foundations broad and deep and giving the superstructure the commanding form which future generations were only able to modify to slight degree and not always with absolute good grace. humphreys in his magnificent volume on the illuminated books of the middle ages, which according to its title contains an account of the development and progress of the art of illumination as a distinct branch of pictorial ornamentation from the fourth to the seventeenth centuries, [footnote ] has some very striking words of praise for thirteenth century illuminations and the artists who made them. he says: [footnote : the illuminated books of the middle ages, by henry noel humphreys longman. green, brown and longmans, london, .] { } "different epochs of the art of illumination present widely different and distinct styles; the most showy and the best known, though the least pure and inventive in design, being that of the middle and end of the fifteenth century; whilst the period perhaps the least generally known, that of the thirteenth century, may be considered as the most interesting and original, many of the best works of that period displaying an astonishing variety and profusion of invention. the manuscript, of which two pages form the opposite plate, may be ranked among the most elaborate and profusely ornamented of the fine books of that era; every page being sufficient to make the fortune of the modern decorator by the quaint and unexpected novelties of inventions which it displays at every turn of its intricate design." the illuminations of the century then are worthy of the time and also typical of the general work of the century. it is known by experts for its originality and for the wealth of invention displayed in the designs. men did not fear that they might exhaust their inventive faculty, nor display their originality sparingly, in order that they might have enough to complete other work. as the workmen of the cathedrals, the artist illuminators devoted their very best efforts to each piece of work that came to their hands, and the results are masterpieces of art in this as in every other department of the period. the details are beautifully wrought, showing the power of the artist to accomplish such a work and yet his designs are never overloaded, at least in the best examples of the century, with details of ornamentation that obscure and minimize the effect of the original design. this fault was to be the error of his most sophisticated successors two centuries later. nor must it be thought the high opinion of the century is derived from the fact that only a very few examples of its illumination and bookmaking are now extant, and that these being the chosen specimens give the illumination of the century a higher place than it might otherwise have. many examples { } have been preserved and some of them are the most beautiful books that were made. paris was particularly the home of this form of art in the thirteenth century, and indeed the school established there influenced all the modes of illumination everywhere, so much so that dante speaks of the art with the epithet "parisian," as if it were exclusively done there. the incentive to the development of this form of art came from st. louis who, as we have said, was very much interested in books. his taste as exhibited in la sainte chapelle was such as to demand artistic excellence of high grade in this department of art, which has many more relations with the architecture of the period, and especially with the stained glass, than might possibly be thought at the present time, for most of the decoration of books partook of the character of the architectural types of the moment. among the most precious treasures from the century are three books which belonged to st. louis himself. one of these is the hours or office book; a second, is his psalter, which contains some extremely beautiful initials; a third, which is in the library of the arsenal at paris, is sometimes known as the prayer book of st. louis himself, though a better name for it would be the prayer book of queen blanche, for it was made at louis' orders for his mother, the famous blanche of castile, and is a worthy testimonial of the affectionate relations which existed between mother and son. outside of paris there are preserved many books of great value that come from this century. one of them, a bestiarum or book of beasts, is in the ashmoleam museum at oxford. this is said to be a very beautiful example of the illumination of the thirteenth century, but it is even more interesting because it shows the efforts of the artists of the time to copy nature in the pictures of animals as they are presented. there is said to be an acuity of observation and a vigor of representation displayed in the book which is highly complimentary to the powers of the thirteenth century artists. even these brief notes of the books and libraries of the thirteenth century, will serve to make clear how enthusiastic was the interest of the generations of this time in beautiful books and in collections of them that were meant for show as { } well as for practical usefulness. there is perhaps nothing more amusing in the attitude of modern generations with regard to the middle ages, than the assumption that all the methods of education and of the distribution of knowledge worth while talking about, are the inventions of comparatively modern times. the fact that libraries were also a creation of that time and that most of the regulations which are supposed to be the first fruit of quite recent science in the circulation of books had been adopted by these earlier generations, is commonly ignored utterly, though it is a precious bit of knowledge that cannot help but increase our sympathy with those bookmen of the olden times, who thought so much of their books, yet wished to share the privilege of their use with all those who would employ them properly, and who, in their great practical way succeeded in working out the scheme by which many people could have the opportunity of consulting the treasures they thought so much of, without risk of their loss or destruction, even though use might bring some deterioration of their value. [illustration] decoration (xiii. cent. psalter mss.) { } x the cid, the holy grail, the nibelungen. anyone who has studied even perfunctorily the books of the arts and of the deeds of the thirteenth century, who has realized its accomplishments in enduring artistic creations, sublime and exemplary models and inspirations for all after time, who has appreciated what it succeeded in doing for the education of the classes and of the masses, the higher education being provided for at least as large a proportion of the people as in our present century, while the creation of what were practically great technical schools that culled out of the masses the latent geniuses who could accomplish supreme artistic results in the arts and crafts and did more and better for the masses than any subsequent generation, can scarcely help but turn with interest to read the book of the words of the period and to find out what forms of literature interested this surprising people. one is almost sure to think at the first moment of consideration that the literature will not be found worthy of the other achievements of the times. in most men's minds the thirteenth century does not readily call up the idea of a series of great works in literature, whose influence has been at all as profound and enduring as that of the universities in the educational order, or of the cathedrals in the artistic order. this false impression, however, is due only to the fact that the literary creations of the thirteenth century are so diverse in subject and in origin, that they are very seldom associated with each other, unless there has been actual recognition of their contemporaneousness from deliberate calling to mind of the dates at which certain basic works in our modern literatures were composed. it is not the least surprise that comes to the student of the thirteenth century, to find that the great origins of what well deserves the name of classic modern literature, comprising a series of immortal works in prose and poetry, were initiated by the contemporaries of the makers of the { } universities and the builders of the cathedrals. if we stop to think for a moment it must be realized, that generations who succeeded in expressing themselves so effectively in other departments of esthetics could scarcely be expected to fail in literature alone, and they did not. from the cid in spain, through the arthur legends in england, the nibelungen in germany, the minnesingers and the meistersingers in the southern part of what is now the german empire, the trouvères in north france, the troubadours in south france and in italy, down to dante, who was before the century closed, there has never been such a mass of undying literature written within a little more than a single hundred years, as came during the period from shortly before down to . great as was the fifth century before christ in this matter it did not surpass the thirteenth century after christ in its influence on subsequent generations. we have already pointed out in discussing the cathedrals that one of the most characteristic features of the gothic architecture was the marvelous ease with which it lent itself to the expression of national peculiarities. norman gothic is something quite distinct from german gothic which arose in almost contiguous provinces, but so it is also from english gothic; these two were very closely related in origin and undoubtedly the english cathedrals owe much to the norman influence so prevalent in england at the end of the twelfth century, and the beginning of the thirteenth century. italian gothic has the principal characteristic peculiarities of the architectural style which passes under the name developed to a remarkable degree, and yet its finished product is far distant from any of the three other national forms that have been mentioned, yet is not lacking in a similar interest. spanish gothic has an identity of its own that has always had a special appeal for the traveler. any one who has ever visited the shores of the baltic sea and has seen what was accomplished in such places as stralsund, greifswald, lübeck, and others of the old hansa towns, will appreciate still more the power of gothic to lend itself to the feelings of the people and to the materials that they had at hand. here in the distant north they were far away from any sources of the stone that would ordinarily be deemed absolutely { } necessary for gothic construction. how effectively they used brick for ecclesiastical edifices can only be realized by those who have seen the remains of the gothic monuments of this portion of europe. the distinguishing mark of all these different styles is the eminent opportunity for the expression of nationality which, they afford. it might be expected that since they were all gothic, most of them would be little better than servile copies, or at best scarce more than good imitations of the great originals of the north of france. as a matter of fact, the assertion of national characteristics, far from destroying the effectiveness of gothic, rather added new beauties to this style of architecture. this was true even occasionally when mistakes were made by architects and designers. as ferguson has said in his history of architecture, st. stephen's at vienna is full of architectural errors and yet the attractiveness of the cathedral remains. it was a poet who designed it and something of his poetic soul gleams out of the material structure after the lapse of centuries. in nearly this same way the literatures of the different countries during the thirteenth century are eminently national and mirror with quite wonderful appropriateness the characteristics of the various people. this is true even when similar subjects, as for instance the graal stories, are treated from nearly the same standpoint by the two teutonic nations, the germans and the english. parsifal and galahad are national as well as poetic heroes with a distinction of character all their own. as we shall see, practically every nation finds in this century some fundamental expression of its national feeling that has been among its most cherished classics ever since. {opp } [illustration] santa maria sopra minerva (rome's gothic cathedral) the first of these in time is the cid, which was written in spain during the latter half of the twelfth century, but probably took its definite form just about the beginning of the thirteenth. it might well be considered that this old-fashioned spanish ballad would have very little of interest for modern readers, and yet there are very few scholars of the past century who have not been interested in this literary treasure. critics of all nations have been unstinted in their praise of it. since the schlegels recalled world attention to spanish { } literature, it has been considered almost as unpardonable for anyone who pretended to literary culture not to have read the cid, as it would be not to have read don quixote. as is true of all the national epics founded upon a series of ballads which had been collecting in the mouth of the people for several centuries before a great poetic genius came to give them their supreme expression, there has been some doubt expressed as to the single authorship of cid. we shall find the same problem to be considered when we come to discuss the nibelungen lied. a half a century ago or more the fashion of the critics for insisting on the divided authorship of such poems was much more prevalent than it is at present. at that time a great many scholars, following the initiative of wolf and the german separatist critics, declared even that the homeric poems were due to more than one mind. there are still some who cling to this idea with regard to many of these primal national epics, but at the present time most literary men are quite content to accept the idea of a single authorship. with regard to the cid in this matter mr. fitzmaurice kelly, in his short history of spanish literature in the literatures of the world series, says very simply: "there is a unity of conception and of language which forbids our accepting the poema (del cid) as the work of several hands; and the division of the poem into several cantares is managed with a discretion which argues a single artistic intelligence. the first part closes with the marriage of the hero's daughters; the second with the shame of the infantes de carrion, and the proud announcement that the kings of spain are sprung from the cid's loins. in both the singer rises to the level of his subject, but his chiefest gust is in the recital of some brilliant deed of arms." the spanish ballad epic is a characteristic example of the epics formed by the earliest poetic genius of a country, on the basis of the patriotic stories of national origin that had been accumulating for centuries. of course the cid had to be the christian hero who did most in his time against the moslem in spain. so interesting has his story been made, and so glorious have been his deeds as recorded by the poets, that there has been even some doubt of his existence expressed, but that he { } was a genuine historical character seems to be clear. many people will recall the canons' argument in the forty-ninth chapter of don quixote in which cervantes, evidently speaking for himself, says: "that there was a cid no one will deny and likewise a bernardo del carpio, but that they performed all the exploits ascribed to them, i believe there is good reason to doubt." the cid derives his name from the arabic seid which means lord and owes his usual epithet. el campeador (champion), to the fact that he was the actual champion of the christians against the moors at the end of the eleventh century. how gloriously his warlike exploits have been described may be best appreciated from the following description of his charge at alcocer: "with bucklers braced before their breasts, with lances pointing low. with stooping crests and heads bent down above the saddle-bow. all firm of hand and high of heart they roll upon the foe. and he that in good hour was born, his clarion voice rings out, and clear above the clang of arms is heard his battle-shout, 'among them, gentlemen! strike home for the love of charity! the champion of bivar is here--ruy diaz--i am he!' then bearing where bermuez still maintains unequal fight. three hundred lances down they come, their pennons flickering white; down go three hundred moors to earth, a man to every blow; and, when they wheel, three hundred more, as charging back they go. it was a sight to see the lances rise and fall that day; the shivered shields and riven mail, to see how thick they lay; the pennons that went in snow-white come out a gory red; the horses running riderless, the riders lying dead; while moors call on muhamed, and 'st. james!' the christians cry." while the martial interest of such early poems would be generally conceded, it would usually be considered that they would be little likely to have significant domestic, and even { } what might be called romantic, interests. the cid's marriage is the result of not what would exactly be called a romance nowadays, though in ruder times there may have been a certain sense of sentimental reparation in it at least. he had killed in fair fight the father of a young woman, who being thus left without a protector appealed to the king to appoint one for her. in the troublous middle ages an heiress was as likely to be snapped up by some unsuitable suitor, more literally but with quite as much haste, as in a more cultured epoch. the king knew no one whom he could trust so well with the guardianship of the rich and fair young orphan than the cid, of whose bravery and honor he had had many proofs. accordingly he suggested him as a protector and the cid himself generously realizing how much the fair jimena had lost by the death of her father consented, and in a famous passage of the poem, a little shocking to modern ideas, it must be confessed, frankly states his feelings in the matter: "and now before the altar the bride and bridegroom stand, and when to fair jimena the cid stretched forth his hand, he spake in great confusion: 'thy father have i slain not treacherously, but face to face, my just revenge to gain for cruel wrong; a man i slew, a man i give to thee; in place of thy dead father, a husband find in me.' and all who heard well liked the man, approving what he said; thus rodrigo the castilian his stately bride did wed." there are tender domestic scenes between the cid and his wife and his daughters, which serve to show how sincere was his affection and with what sympathetic humanity a great poet knew how to depict the tender natural relations which have an interest for all times. some of these domestic scenes are not unworthy to be placed beside homer's picture of the parting of hector and andromache, though there is more naive self-consciousness in the work of the spanish bard, than in that of his more artistic colleague of the grecian olden times. there is particularly a famous picture of the duties of noble ladies in spain of this time and of the tender solicitude of a father for his daughters' innocence, that is quite beyond expectation at { } the hands of a poet whose forte was evidently war and its alarms, rather than the expression of the ethical qualities of home life. the following passage, descriptive of the cid's parting from his wife, will give some idea of these qualities better than could be conveyed in any other way: "thou knowest well, señora, he said before he went, to parting from each other our love doth not consent; but love and joyance never may stand in duty's way, and when the king commandeth the noble must obey. now let discretion guide thee, thou art of worthy name; while i am parted from thee, let none in thee find blame. employ thy hours full wisely, and tend thy household well, be never slothful, woe and death with idleness do dwell. lay by thy costly dresses until i come again. for in the husband's absence let wives in dress be plain; and look well to thy daughters, nor let them be aware. _lest they comprehend the danger because they see thy care, and lose unconscious innocence. at home they must abide, for the safety of the daughter is at the mother's side_. be serious with thy servants, with strangers on thy guard, with friends be kind and friendly, and well thy household ward, to no one show my letters, thy best friends may not see. lest reading them they also may guess of thine to me. and if good news they bring thee, and woman-like dost seek the sympathy of others, with thy daughters only speak. * * * farewell, farewell, jimena, the trumpet's call i hear! one last embrace, and then he mounts the steed without a peer." the touch of paternal solicitude and prudence in the passage we have put in italics is so apparently modern, that it can scarcely fail to be a source of surprise, coming as it does from that crude period at the end of the twelfth century when such minute psychological observation as to young folks' ways would be little expected, and least of all in the rough warrior { } hero or his poet creator, whose notions of right and wrong are, to judge from many passages of the poem, so much coarser than those of our time. after the cid in point of time, the next enduring poetic work that was destined to have an influence on all succeeding generations, was the series of the arthur legends as completed in england. as in the case of the cid these stories of king arthur's court, his knights and his round table, had been for a long time the favorite subject of ballad poets among the english people. just where they originated is not very clear, though it seems most likely that the original inspiration came from celtic sources. these old ballads, however, had very little of literary form and it was not until the end of the twelfth and the beginning of the thirteenth century that they were cast in their present mold, after having passed through the alembic of the mind of a great poetic and literary genius, which refined away the dross and left only the pure gold of supremely sympathetic human stories. to whom we owe this transformation is not known with absolute certainty, though the literary and historical criticism of the last quarter of a century seems to have made it clear that the work must be attributed to walter map or mapes, an english clergyman who died during the first decade of the thirteenth century. his claims to the authorship of the graal legend in its artistic completeness and to the invention of the character of lancelot, which is one of the great triumphs of the arthur legends as they were told at this time, have been much discussed by french and english critics. this discussion has perhaps been best summarized by mr. henry morley, the late professor of literature at the university of london, whose third volume of english writers contains an immense amount of valuable information with regard to the literary history, not alone of england at this time but practically of all the countries of europe. mr. morley's plan was conceived with a breath of view that makes his work a very interesting and authoritative guide in the literary matters of the time. his summation of the position of critical opinion with regard to the authorship of the arthur legends deserves to be quoted in its entirety: "the arthurian romances were, according to this opinion. { } all perfectly detached tales, till in the twelfth century robert de borron (let us add, at map's suggestion) translated the first romance of the st. graal as an introduction to the series, and shortly afterwards walter map added his quest of the graal, lancelot, and mort artus. the way for such work had been prepared by geoffrey of monmouth's bold setting forward of king arthur as a personage of history, in a book that was much sought and discussed, and that made the arthurian romances a fresh subject of interest to educated men. "but m. paulin paris, whose opinions, founded upon a wide acquaintance with the contents of old mss. i am now sketching, and in part adopting, looked upon walter map as the soul of this work of christian spiritualisation. was the romance of the st. graal latin, before it was french? he does not doubt that it was. he sees in it the mysticism of the subtlest theologian. it was not a knight or a jongleur who was so well read in the apocryphal gospels, the legends of the first christian centuries, rabbinical fancies, and old greek mythology; and there is all this in the st. graal. there is a theory, too, of the sacrifice of the mass, an explanation of the saviour's presence in the eucharist, that is the work, he says, of the loftiest and the most brilliant imagination. these were not matters that a knight of the twelfth century would dare to touch. they came from an ecclesiastic and a man of genius. but if so, why should we refuse credit to the assertion, repeated in every ms. that they were first written in latin? the earliest mss. are of a date not long subsequent to the death of walter map, latinist, theologian, wit, and chaplain to king henry ii., who himself took the liveliest interest in breton legends. king henry, m. paris supposes, wished them to be collected, but how? some would prefer one method, some another; map reconciled all. he satisfied the clergy, pleased the scholar, filled the chasms in the popular tales, reconciled contradictions, or rejected inconsistencies, and by him also the introductory tale of the graal was first written in latin for robert de borron to translate into french." the best literary appreciation of map's genius, apart, of course, from the fact that all generations ever since have acknowledged the supreme human interest and eminently { } sympathetic quality of his work, is perhaps to be found in certain remarks of the modern critics who have made special studies in these earlier literary periods. prof. george saintsbury, of the university of edinburgh, for instance, in the second volume of periods of english literature, [footnote ] has been quite unstinted in his praise of this early english writer. he has not hesitated even to say in a striking passage that map, or at least the original author of the launcelot story, was one of the greatest of literary men and deserves a place only next to dante in this century so preciously full of artistic initiative. [footnote : the flourishing of romance and the rise of allegory, by george saintsbury, professor of rhetoric and english literature in the university of edinburgh (new york, charles scribner & sons, ).] "whether it was walter map, or chrestien de troyes, or both, or neither to whom the glory of at once completing and exalting the story is due, i at least have no pretension to decide. whoever did it, if he did it by himself, was a great man indeed--a man second to dante among the men of the middle age. even if it was done by an irregular company of men, each patching and piecing the other's efforts, the result shows a marvelous 'wind of the spirit' abroad and blowing on that company." prof. saintsbury then proceeds to show how much even readers of mallory miss of the greatness and especially of the sympathetic humanity of the original poem, and in a further passage states his firm conviction that the man who created lancelot was one of the greatest literary inventors and sympathetic geniuses of all times, and that his work is destined, because the wellsprings of its action are so deep down in the human heart, to be of interest to generations of men for as long as our present form of civilization lasts. "perhaps the great artistic stroke in the whole legend, and one of the greatest in all literature, is the concoction of a hero who should be not only 'like paris handsome, and like hector brave,' but more heroic than paris and more interesting than hector--not only a 'greatest knight,' but at once the sinful lover of his queen and the champion who should himself all but achieve and in the person of his son actually achieve, the sacred { } adventure of the holy graal. if, as there seems no valid reason to disbelieve, the hitting upon this idea, and the invention or adoption of lancelot to carry it out, be the work of walter mapes (or map), then walter mapes is one of the great novelists of the world, and one of the greatest of them. if it was some unknown person (it could hardly be chrestien, for in chrestien's form the graal interest belongs to percevale, not to lancelot or galahad), then the same compliment must be paid to that person unknown. meanwhile the conception and execution of lancelot, to whomsoever they may be due, are things most happy. entirely free from the faultlessness which is the curse of the classical hero; his unequaled valor not seldom rewarded only by reverses; his merits redeemed from mawkishness by his one great fault, yet including all virtues that are themselves most amiable, and deformed by no vice that is actually loathsome; the soul of goodness in him always warring with his human frailty--sir lancelot fully deserves the noble funeral eulogy pronounced over his grave, felt by all the elect to be, in both senses, one of the first of all extant pieces of perfect english prose." to appreciate fully how much walter map accomplished by his series of stories with regard to king arthur's court, it should be remembered that poets and painters have in many generations ever since found subjects for their inspiration within the bounds of the work which he created. after all, the main interest of succeeding poets who have put the legends into later forms, has centered more in the depth of humanity that there is in the stories, than in the poetic details for which they themselves have been responsible. in succeeding generations poets have often felt that these stories were so beautiful that they deserved to be retold in terms readily comprehensible to their own generation. hence malory wrote his morte d'arthur for the fifteenth century, spenser used certain portions of the old myths for the sixteenth, and the late poet-laureate set himself once more to retell the idyls of the king for the nineteenth century. each of these was adding little but new literary form, to a work that genius had drawn from sources so close to the heart of human nature, that the stories were always to remain of enduring interest. { } for the treasure of poesy with which humanity was enriched when he conceived the idea of setting the old ballads of king arthur into literary form, more must be considered as due to the literary original writer than to any of his great successors. this is precisely the merit of walter map. of some of his less ambitious literary work we have many examples that show us how thoroughly interested he was in all the details of human existence, even the most trivial. he had his likes and dislikes, he seems to have had some disappointed ambition that made him rather bitter towards ecclesiastics, he seems to have had some unfortunate experiences, especially with the cistercians, though how much of this is assumed rather than genuine, is hard to determine at this modern day. many of the extremely bitter things he says with regard to the cistercians might well be considered as examples of that exaggeration, which in certain minds constitutes one modality of humor, rather than as serious expressions of actual thought. it is hard, for instance, to take such an expression as the following as more than an example of this form of jesting by exaggeration. map heard that a cistercian had become a jew. his comment was: "if he wanted to get far from the cistercians why didn't he become a christian." from england the transition to germany is easy. exactly contemporary with the rise of the arthur legends in england to that standard of literary excellence that was to give them their enduring poetic value, there came also the definite arrangement and literary transformation of the old ballads of the german people, into that form in which they were to exert a lasting influence upon the german language and national feeling. the date of the nibelungen lied has been set down somewhat indefinitely as between and . most of the work was undoubtedly accomplished after the beginning of the thirteenth century and in the form in which we have it at present, there seems to be no doubt that much was done after the famous meeting of the meistersingers on the wartburg--the subject of song and story and music drama ever since, which took place very probably in the year . with regard to the nibelungen lied, as in the case of the other great literary arrangements of folk-ballads, there has been question as to the { } singleness of authorship. here, however, as with regard to homer and the cid, the trend of modern criticism has all been towards the attribution of the poem to one writer, and the internal evidence of similarity of expression constantly maintained, a certain simplicity of feeling and naïveté of repetition seems to leave no doubt in the matter. as regards the merits of the nibelungen lied as a great work of literature, there has been very little doubt in the english-speaking world at least, because of the enthusiastic recognition accorded it by german critics and the influence of german criticism in all branches of literature over the whole teutonic race during the nineteenth century. english admiration for the poem began after carlyle's introduction of it to the english reading public in his essays. since this time it has come to be very well known and yet, notwithstanding all that has been said about it no english critic has expressed more fully the place of the great german poem in world literature, than did this enthusiastic pro-german of the first half of the nineteenth century. for those for whom carlyle's essays are a sealed book because of loss of interest in him with the passage of time, the citation of some of his appreciative critical expressions may be necessary. "here in the old frankish (oberdeutsch) dialect of the nibelungen, we have a clear decisive utterance, and in a real system of verse, not without essential regularity, great liveliness and now and then even harmony of rhythm. doubtless we must often call it a diffuse diluted utterance; at the same time it is genuine, with a certain antique garrulous heartiness, and has a rhythm in the thoughts as well as the words. the simplicity is never silly; even in that perpetual recurrence of epithets, sometimes of rhymes, as where two words, for instance lip (body), lif (leib) and wip (woman), weib (wife) are indissolubly wedded together, and the one never shows itself without the other following--there is something which reminds us not so much of poverty, as of trustfulness and childlike innocence. indeed a strange charm lies in those old tones, where, in gay dancing melodies, the sternest tidings are sung to us; and deep floods of sadness and strife play lightly in little { } purling billows, like seas in summer. it is as a meek smile, in whose still, thoughtful depths a whole infinitude of patience, and love, and heroic strength lie revealed. but in other cases too, we have seen this outward sport and inward earnestness offer grateful contrasts, and cunning excitement; for example, in tasso; of whom, though otherwise different enough, this old northern singer has more than once reminded us. there too, as here, we have a dark solemn meaning in light guise; deeds of high temper, harsh self-denial, daring and death, stand embodied in that soft, quick-flowing joyfully-modulated verse. nay farther, as if the implement, much more than we might fancy, had influenced the work done, these two poems, could we trust our individual feeling, have in one respect the same poetical result for us; in the nibelungen as in the gerusalemme, the persons and their story are indeed brought vividly before us, yet not near and palpably present; it is rather as if we looked on that scene through an inverted telescope, whereby the whole was carried far away into the distance, the life-large figures compressed into brilliant miniatures, so clear, so real, yet tiny, elf-like and beautiful as well as lessened, their colors being now closer and brighter, the shadows and trivial features no longer visible. this, as we partly apprehend, comes of singing epic poems; most part of which only pretend to be sung. tasso's rich melody still lives among the italian people; the nibelungen also is what it professes to be, a song." the story of the nibelungen would ordinarily be supposed to be so distant from the interests of modern life, as scarcely to hold the attention of a reader unless he were interested in it from a scholarly or more or less antiquarian standpoint. for those who think thus, however, there is only one thing that will correct such a false impression and that is to read the nibelungen itself. it has a depth of simplicity and a sympathetic human interest all its own but that reminds one more of homer than of anything else in literature, and homer has faults but lack of interest is not one of them. from the very beginning the story of the young man who does not think he will marry, and whose mother does not think that any one is good enough for him, and of the young woman who is sure that no one will come that will attract enough of her attention so as to compel { } her to subject herself to the yoke of marriage, are types of what is so permanent in humanity, that the readers' attention is at once caught. after this the fighting parts of the story become the center of interest and hold the attention in spite of the refining influences that later centuries are supposed to have brought to humanity. hence it is that prof. saintsbury in the second volume of his periods of european literature, already quoted from, is able to say much of the modern interest in the story. "there may be," as he says, "too many episodic personages--deitrich of bern, for instance, has extremely little to do in this galley. but the strength, thoroughness, and in its own savage way, charm of kriemhild's character, and the incomparable series of battles between the burgundian princes and etzel's men in the later cantos--cantos which contain the very best poetical fighting in the history of the world--far more than redeem this. the nibelungen lied is a very great poem; and with beowulf (the oldest but the least interesting on the whole), roland (the most artistically finished in form), and the poem of the cid (the cheerfullest and perhaps the fullest of character), composes a quartette of epics with which the literary story of the great european literary nations most appropriately begins. in bulk, dramatic completeness, and a certain furia, the nibelungen lied, though the youngest and probably the least original is the greatest of the four." less need be said of the nibelungen than of the cid or walter map's work because it is much more familiar, and even ordinary readers of literature have been brought more closely in touch with it because of its relation to the wagnerian operas. even those who know the fine old german poems only passingly, will yet realize the supreme genius of their author, and those who need to have the opinions of distinguished critics to back them before they form an estimate for themselves, will not need to seek far in our modern literature to find lofty praises of the old german epic. with even this brief treatment no reader will doubt that there is in these three epics, typical products of the literary spirit of three great european nations whose literatures rising high above these deep firm substructures, were to be of the greatest { } influence in the development of the human mind, and yet were to remain practically always within the limits of thought and feeling that had been traced by these old founders of literature of the early thirteenth century, whose work, like that of their contemporaries in every other form of artistic expression, was to be the model and the source of inspiration for future generations. [illustration] crozier (obverse and reverse) { } xi meistersingers, minnesingers, trouvÃ�res, troubadours. it would be a supreme mistake to think because the idea of literature in the thirteenth century is usually associated with the arthur legends, the nibelungen and dante, that all of the literary content of the century was inevitably serious in character or always epical in form. as a matter of fact the soul of wit and humor had entered into the body social, as we shall see in subsequent chapters, and the spirit of gaiety and the light-hearted admiration for nature found as frequent expression as at any time in history. with these as always in literary history there came outbursts of love in lyric strains that were not destined to die. while the poets of south germany and of italy sang of love that was of the loftiest description, never mingled with anything of the merely sensual, their tuneful trifles are quite as satisfying to the modern ear in both sense and sound as any of the more elaborate _vers de societé_ of the modern times. the german poets particularly did not hesitate to emphasize the fact that sensuality had no part in minne--their pretty term for love--and yet they sang with all the natural grace and fervid rapture of the grecian poets of the old pagan times, worshiping at the shrines of fleshly goddesses, or singing to the frail beauties of an unmoral period. nothing in the history of literature is better proof that ideal love can, unmixed with anything sensual, inspire lyric outbursts of supreme and enduring beauty, than the poems of the minnesingers and of some of the french and italian troubadours of this period. it is easier to understand dante's position in this matter after reading the poems of his predecessors in the thirteenth century. for this feeling of the lofty character of the love they sang was not, in spite of what is sometimes said, confined only to the germans, though as is well known from time immemorial the { } teutonic feeling towards woman was by racial influence of higher character than that of the southern nations. as mr. h. j. chaytor says in the introduction to his troubadours of dante, there came a gradual change over the mind of the troubadour about the beginning of the thirteenth century and "seeing that love was the inspiring force to good deeds," the later troubadours gradually dissociated their love from the object which had aroused it. among them, "as among the minnesingers, love is no longer sexual passion, it is rather the motive to great works, to self-surrender, to the winning an honorable name as courtier and poet." mr. chaytor then quotes the well known lines from bernart de ventadorn, one of the troubadours to whom dante refers, and whose works dante seems to have read with special attention since their poems contain similar errors of mythology. "for indeed i know of no more subtle passion under heaven than is the maiden passion for a maid. not only to keep down the base in man. but teach high thought and amiable words. and courtliness and the desire of fame. and love of truth and all that makes a man." a sentiment surely that will be considered as true now as it ever was, be the time the thirteenth century or earlier or later, and that represents the best solution of social problems that has ever been put forward--nature's own panacea for ills that other remedies at best only palliate. in the early nineteenth century carlyle said of this period what we may well repeat here: "we shall suppose that this literary period is partially known to all readers. let each recall whatever he has learned or figures regarding it; represent to himself that brave young heyday of chivalry and minstrelsy when a stern barbarossa, a stern lion-heart, sang sirventes, and with the hand that could wield the sword and sceptre twanged the melodious strings, when knights-errant tilted, and ladies' eyes rained bright influences; and suddenly, as at sunrise, the whole earth had grown { } vocal and musical. then truly was the time of singing come; for princes and prelates, emperors and squires, the wise and the simple, men, women and children, all sang and rhymed, or delighted in hearing it done. it was a universal noise of song; as if the spring of manhood had arrived, and warblings from every spray, not, indeed, without infinite twitterings also, which, except their gladness, had no music, were bidding it welcome." this is the keynote of the century--song, blithesome and gay as the birds, solemn and harmonious as the organ tones that accord so well with the great latin hymns--everywhere song. "believers," says tieck, the great collector of thirteenth century poetry, "sang of faith; lovers of love; knights described knightly actions and battles; and loving, believing knights were their chief audience. the spring, beauty, gaiety, were objects that could never tire; great duels and deeds of arms carried away every hearer, the more surely the stronger they were painted; and as the pillars and dome of the church encircled the flock, so did religion, as the highest, encircle poetry and reality; and every heart, in equal love, humbled itself before her." the names of the meistersingers are well-known to musical lovers at least, because of the music drama of that name and the famous war of the wartburg. the most familiar of all of them is doubtless walter von der vogelweide who, when he was asked where he found the tuneful melodies for his songs, said that he learned them from the birds. those who recall longfellow's pretty ballad with regard to walter and his leaving all his substance to feed the birds over his grave near nuremberg's minster towers, will not find it surprising that this meistersinger's poetry breathes the deepest love of nature, and that there is in it a lyric quality of joy in the things of nature that we are apt to think of as modern, until we find over and over again in these bards, that the spirit of the woods and of the fields and of the spring time, meant as much for them as for any follower of the wordsworth school of poetry in the more conscious after-time. this from walter with regard to the may will serve to illustrate very well this phase of his work. { } gentle may, thou showerest fairly gifts afar and near; clothest all the woods so rarely, and the meadows here; o'er the heath new colors glow; flowers and clover on the plain. merry rivals, strive amain which can fastest grow. lady! part me from my sadness. love me while 'tis may; mine is but a borrowed gladness if thou frown alway; look around and smile anew! all the world is glad and free; let a little joy from thee fall to my lot too! walter could be on occasion, however, as serious as any of the meistersingers and is especially known for his religious poems. it is not surprising that any one who set woman on so high a pedestal as did walter, should have written beautiful poems to the blessed virgin. he was the first, so it is said, to express the sentiment: "woman, god bless her, by that name, for it is a far nobler name than lady." occasionally he can be seriously didactic and he has not hesitated even to express some sentiments with regard to methods of education. among other things he discusses the question as to whether children should be whipped or not in the process of education and curiously enough takes the very modern view that whipping is always a mistake. in this, of course, he disagrees with all the practical educators of his time, who considered the rod the most effective instrument for the education of children and strictly followed the scriptural injunction about sparing the rod and spoiling the child. walter's opinion is for that reason all the more interesting: "children with rod ruling-- 'tis the worst of schooling. who is honor made to know. him a word seems as a blow." { } the birds were always a favorite subject for poetic inspiration on the part of the minnesingers. bird music rapt poetic souls into ecstasies in which the passage of time was utterly unnoticed. it is from the thirteenth century that comes the beautiful legend with regard to the monk who, having wondered how time could be kept from dragging in heaven, was permitted to listen to the song of a bird one day in the forest and when he awoke from his rapture and went back to his convent found that a hundred years had passed, that all of the monks of his acquaintance were dead, and while his name was found on the rolls of the monastery, after it there was a note that he had disappeared one day and had never been heard of afterwards. almost in the same tenor as this is a pretty song from dietmar von eist, written at the beginning of the thirteenth century, and which was a type of the charming songs that were to be so characteristic of the times: there sat upon the linden-tree a bird, and sung its strain; so sweet it sung that as i heard my heart went back again. it went to one remember'd spot, it saw the rose-tree grow. and thought again the thoughts of love, there cherished long ago. a thousand years to me it seems since by my fair i sate; yet thus to be a stranger long is not my choice, but fate; since then i have not seen the flowers, nor heard the birds' sweet song; my joys have all too briefly past. my griefs been all too long. hartman von aue was a contemporary of walter's and is best known for his romantic stories. it is rather curiously interesting to find that one of the old chroniclers considers it a great mark of distinction that, though hartman was a knight, he was able to read and write whatever he found written in { } books. it must not be forgotten, however, that not all of these poets could read and write, and that indeed so distinguished a literary man as wolfram von eschenbach, the author of percival, the story on which wagner founded his opera of parsifal, could neither read nor write. he had developed a very wonderful memory and was able to store faithfully his poems in the course of their composition so that he was above the need of pen and paper. hartman is most famous for having written the story of poor henry, which longfellow has chosen so effectively for his golden legend. hartman's appreciation of women can be judged from the following lines, which accord her an equal share in her lord's glory because of her sufferings in prayer at home. glory be unto her whose word sends her dear lord to bitter fight; although he conquer by his sword. she to the praise has equal right; he with the sword in battle, she at home with prayer. both win the victory, and both the glory share. occasionally one finds, as we have said, among the little songs of the minnesingers of the time such tuneful trifles as could be included very appropriately in a modern collection of _vers de société_, or as might even serve as a love message on a modern valentine or a christmas card. the surprise of finding such things at such a time will justify the quotation of one of them from brother wernher, who owes his title of brother not to his membership in any religious order, very probably, but to the fact that he belonged to the brotherhood of the poets of the time. since creation i was thine; now forever thou art mine. i have shut thee fast in my heart at last. i have dropped the key in an unknown sea. forever must thou my prisoner be! { } wolfram von eschenbach was the chief of a group of poets who at the close of the twelfth and beginning of the thirteenth centuries gathered about the landgraf hermann of thuringen in his court on the wartburg, at the foot of which lies eisenach, in the present grand duchy of saxe-weimar. they shaped tales of knightly adventure, blended with reflection, spiritual suggestion, and a grace of verse that represented the best culture of the court, and did not address itself immediately to the people. wolfram was a younger son of one of the lower noble bavarian families settled at eschenbach, nine miles from ausbach, in middle franconia. he had a poor little home of his own, wildenberg, but went abroad to seek adventures as a knight, and tell adventures as a poet welcome to great lords, and most welcome to the lavish friend of poets, hermann of thuringen, at whose court on the wartburg he remained twenty years, from to , in which latter year his "parzival" was finished. from some passages in his poem it may safely be inferred that he was happily married, and had children. the landgraf hermann died in , and, was succeeded by ludwig, husband of st. elizabeth. we cannot ascribe to english writers alone the spiritualizing of the grail legends, when there is wolfram's "parzival" drawing from the same cycle of myths a noble poem of the striving to bind earthly knighthood to the ever-living god. while gawain, type of the earthly knight wins great praise in love and chivalry, parzival--percival--finds his way on from childhood up, through humble searchings of the spirit, till he is ruler in the kingdom of the soul, where he designs that lohengrin, his eldest son, shall be his successor, while kardeiss, his younger son, has rule over his earthly possessions. how beautifully the minnesingers could enter into the spirit of nature and at the same time how much the spirit of spring has always been prone to appeal to poetic sensibilities may be judged from the following song of conrad of kirchberg, which is translated very closely and in the same meter as the original old high german poem. it is very evident that none of the spirit of spring was lost on this poet of the olden time, nor on the other hand that any possibility of poetic expression was missed by him. there is a music in the lilt of the verselets, { } eminently suggestive of the lyric effect that the new birth of things had on the poet himself and that he wished to convey to his readers. of this, however, every one must judge for himself and so we give the poem as it may be found in roscoe's edition of sismondi's literature of the south of europe. may, sweet may, again is come; may, that frees the land from gloom. up, then, children, we will go where the blooming roses grow. in a joyful company we the bursting flowers will see; up! your festal dress prepare! where gay hearts are meeting, there may hath pleasures most inviting heart, and sight, and ear delighting: listen to the bird's sweet song. hark! how soft it floats along! courtly dames our pleasures share. never saw i may so fair; therefore, dancing will we go: youths rejoice, the flowrets blow; sing ye! join the chorus gay! hail this merry, merry may! at least as beautiful in their tributes to their lady loves and their lyric descriptions of the beauties of spring, were the troubadours whose tuneful trifles, sometimes deserving of much more serious consideration than the application of such a term to them would seem to demand, have come down to us though the centuries. one of the best known of these is arnaud de marveil, who was born in very humble circumstances but who succeeded in raising himself by his poetic genius to be the companion of ruling princes and the friend of the high nobility. among the provencals he has been called the great master of love, though this is a name which petrarch reserves especially for arnaud daniel, while he calls marveil the less famous of the arnauds. an example of his work as the poet of love, that is typical of what is usually considered to have { } been the favorite mode of the troubadour poets runs as follows: all i behold recalls the memory of her i love. the freshness of the hour th' enamell'd fields, the many coloured flower, speaking of her, move me to melody. had not the poets, with their courtly phrase, saluted many a fair of meaner worth, i could not now have render'd thee the praise so justly due, of "fairest of the earth." to name thee thus had been to speak thy name, and waken, o'er thy cheek, the blush of modest shame. an example of the love of nature which characterizes some of arnaud de marveil's work will serve to show how thoroughly he entered into the spirit of the spring-time and how much all the sights and sounds of nature found an echo in his poetic spirit. the translation of this as of the preceding specimen from arnaud is taken from the english edition of the historical view of the literature of the south of europe by sismondi, and this translation we owe to thomas roscoe, the well known author of the life of lorenzo the magnificent, who considering that sismondi does not furnish enough of specimens of this troubadour poet, inserts the following verses, for the translation of which he acknowledges himself indebted to the kindness of friends, a modest concealment doubtless of his own work: oh! how sweet the breeze of april, breathing soft as may draws near! while, through nights of tranquil beauty, songs of gladness meet the ear: every bird his well-known language uttering in the morning's pride, revelling in joy and gladness by his happy partner's side. when, around me, all is smiling, when to life the young birds spring, thoughts of love, i cannot hinder, come, my heart inspiriting-- nature, habit, both incline me in such joy to bear my part: with such sounds of bliss around me could i wear a sadden'd heart? { } his description of his lady love is another example of his worship of nature in a different strain, which serves to show that a lover's exaggeration of the qualities of his lady is not a modern development of _la belle passion_. fairer than the far-famed helen, lovelier than the flow'rets gay. snow-white teeth, and lips truth-telling, heart as open as the day; golden hair, and fresh bright roses-- heaven, who formed a thing so fair. knows that never yet another lived, who can with thee compare. a single stanza from a love-song by bertrand de born will show better than any amount of critical appreciation how beautifully he can treat the more serious side of love. while the troubadours are usually said to have sung their love strains in less serious vein than their german brother poets of the north, this has the ring of tenderness and truth about it and yet is not in these qualities very different from others of his songs that are well known. the translation we have chosen is that made by roscoe who has rendered a number of the songs of the troubadours into english verse that presents an excellent equivalent of the original. bertrand is insisting with his lady-love that she must not listen to the rumors she may hear from others with regard to his faithfulness. i cannot hide from thee how much i fear the whispers breathed by flatterers in thine ear against my faith. but turn not, oh, i pray! that heart so true, so faithful, so sincere. so humble and so frank, to me so dear. oh, lady! turn it not from me away. { } at times one is surprised to find pretty tributes to nature even in the midst of songs that are devoted to war. the two things that were nearest the hearts of these troubadour poets were war and their lady-loves, but the beauties of nature became mixed up not only with their love songs but also with their battle hymns, or at least with their ardent descriptions of military preparations and the glories of war. an excellent example of this is to be found in the following stanza written by william of saint gregory, a troubadour who is best known for his songs of war rather than of tenderness. the beautiful spring delights me well. when flowers and leaves are growing; and it pleases my heart to hear the swell of the birds' sweet chorus flowing in the echoing wood; and i love to see all scattered around pavilions and tents on martial ground; and my spirit finds it good to see on the level plains beyond gay knights and steeds caparison'd. occasionally the troubadours indulge in religious poetry though usually not of a mystical or profoundly devotional character. even the famous peyrols, who is so well known for his love songs, sometimes wandered into religious poetry that was not unworthy to be placed beside his lyric effusions on other topics. peyrols is best known perhaps for his lamentations over king richard the lion heart's fate, for he had been with that monarch on the crusade, and like most of the troubadours who went with the army, drank in deep admiration for the poetic king. after his visit to the holy land on this occasion one stanza of his song in memory of that visit runs as follows: [footnote : translated by roscoe.] { } i have seen the jordan river, i have seen the holy grave. lord! to thee my thanks i render for the joys thy goodness gave, showing to my raptured sight the spot whereon thou saw'st the light. vessel good and favoring breezes, pilot, trusty, soon shall we once more see the towers of marseilles rising o'er the briny sea. farewell, acre, farewell, all. of temple or of hospital: now, alas! the world's decaying. when shall we once more behold kings like lion-hearted richard, france's monarch, stout and bold? [illustration] tower of scaligers (verona) { } xii great latin hymns and church music. one of the most precious bequests of the thirteenth century to all the succeeding centuries is undoubtedly the great latin hymns. these sublime religious poems, comparable only to the hebrew psalms for their wondrous expression of the awe and devotion of religious feeling, present the beginnings of rhymed poetry, yet they have been acclaimed by competent modern critics as among the greatest poems that ever came from the mind of man. they come to us from this period and were composed, most of them at least, during the thirteenth century itself, a few, shortly before it, though all of them received during this century the stamp of ecclesiastical and popular approval, which made them for many centuries afterward the principal medium of the expression of congregational devotion and the exemplar and incentive for vernacular poetry. it is from these latter standpoints that they deserve the attention of all students of literature quite apart from their significance as great expressions of the mind of these wondrous generations. these latin hymns have sometimes been spoken of with perhaps a certain degree of contempt as "rhymed latin poetry," as if the use of rhyme in conjunction with latin somehow lowered the dignity of the grand old tongue in which cicero wrote his graceful periods and horace sang his tuneful odes. as a matter of fact, far from detracting from the beauties of latin expression, these hymns have added new laurels to the glory of the language and have shown the wonderful possibilities of the roman speech in the hands of generations long after the classical period. if they served no other purpose than to demonstrate beyond cavil how profoundly the scholars of this generation succeeded in possessing themselves of the genius of the latin language, they would serve to contradict the foolish critics who talk of the education of the period as superficial, or as negligent of everything but scholastic philosophy and theology. { } at least one distinguished philologist, professor f. a. march, who has now for the better part of half a century occupied the chair of comparative philology at lafayette college, does not hesitate to say that the latin hymns represent an expression of the genius of the latin people and language, more characteristic than the classical poetry even of the golden or silver ages. "these hymns," he says, "were the first original poetry of the people in the latin language, unless perhaps those latin critics may be right who think they find in livy a prose rendering of earlier ballads. the so-called classic poetry was an echo of greece, both in substance and in form. the matter and meters were both imitated and the poems were composed for the lovers of grecian art in the roman court. it did not spring from the people, but the christian hymns were proper folk poetry, the bible of the people--their homeric poems. their making was not so much speech as action. they were in substance festive prayers, the simplest rhythmic offering of thanks and praise to the giver of light and of rest both natural and spiritual, at morning and evening and at other seasons, suited to the remembrance and rhythmical rehearsal of the truths of the bible." prof. march's opinion has been echoed by many another enthusiastic student of these wonderful hymns. it is only those who do not know them who fail to grow enthusiastic about them. this of itself would stamp these great poems as worthy of careful study. there is, however, an additional reason for modern interest in them. these hymns were sung by the whole congregation at the many services that they attended in the medieval period. in this regard it seems well to recall, that it was the custom to go to church much oftener then than at present. besides the sundays there were many holy days of obligation, that is, religious festivals on which attendance at church was obligatory, and in addition a certain number of days of devotion on which, because of special reverence for some particular saint, or in celebration of some event in the life of the lord or his saints, the people of special parts of the country found themselves drawn to attendance on church services. it seems probable that instead of the sixty or so times a year that is now obligatory, people went to church during the thirteenth { } century more than a hundred times in the year. twice a week then, at least, there was the uplifting cultural influence of this congregational singing of wonderful hymns that are among the greatest poems ever written and that belong to literature of the very highest order. the educational value of such intimate contact with what is best in literary expression could scarcely fail to have a distinct effect upon the people. it is idle to say that the hymns being in latin they were not understood, since the language of them was close akin to the spoken tongues, the subjects were eminently familiar mysteries of religion and constant repetition and frequent explanation must have led to a very general comprehension even by the least educated classes. for anyone with any pretension to education they must have been easy to understand, since latin was practically a universal language. it is not always realized by the students whose interests have been mainly confined to modern literature, in what estimation these latin hymns have been held by those who are in the best position to be able to judge critically of their value as poetry. take for example the dies irae, confessedly the greatest of them, and it will be found that many of the great poets and literary men of the nineteenth century have counted it among their favorite poems. such men as goethe, friedrich and august schlegel, scott, milman and archbishop trench were enthusiastic in its praise. while such geniuses as dryden, johnson and jeremy taylor, and the musicians mozart and hayden, avowed supreme admiration for it. herder, fichte and august schlegel besides crashaw, drummond, roscommon, trench and macaulay gave the proof of their appreciation of the great thirteenth century hymn by devoting themselves to making translations of it, and goethe's use of it in faust and scott's in the lay of the last minstrel, show how much poets, whose sympathies were not involved in its religious aspects, were caught by its literary and esthetic merit. in very recent times the latin hymns have been coming more to their own again and such distinguished critics as prof. henry morley, and prof. george saintsbury, have not hesitated to express their critical appreciation of these hymns as great { } literature. prof. saintsbury says in his volume of the thirteenth century literature: [footnote ] [footnote : the flourishing of romance and the rise of allegory, volume ii. of periods of european literature, edited by george saintsbury, new york, scribners, .] {opp } [illustration] st. francis prophesies the death of celano (giotto, upper ch., assisi) "it will be more convenient to postpone to a later chapter of this volume a consideration of the exact way in which latin sacred poetry affected the prosody of the vernacular; but it is well here to point out that almost all the finest and most famous examples of the medieval hymns, with perhaps the sole exception of the veni sancte spiritus, date from the twelfth and thirteenth centuries. ours (that is, from this period) are the stately rhythms of adam of st. victor, and the softer ones of st. bernard the greater. it was at this time that jacopone da todi, in the intervals of his eccentric vernacular exercises, was inspired to write the stabat mater. from this time comes that glorious descant of bernard of morlaix, in which, the more its famous and very elegant english paraphrase is read beside it (jerusalem the golden), the more does the greatness and the beauty of the original appear. "and from this time comes the greatest of all hymns, and one of the greatest of all poems, the dies irae. there have been attempts--more than one of them--to make out that the dies irae is no such wonderful thing after all; attempts which are, perhaps, the extreme examples of that cheap and despicable paradox which thinks to escape the charge of blind docility by the affectation of heterodox independence. the judgment of the greatest (and not always of the most pious) men of letters of modern times may confirm those who are uncomfortable without authority in a different opinion. fortunately there is not likely ever to be lack of those who, authority or no authority, in youth and in age, after much reading or without much, in all time of their tribulation and in all time of their wealth, will hold these wonderful triplets, be they thomas of celano's or another's, as nearly or quite the most perfect wedding of sound to sense that they know." this seems almost the limit of praise but prof. saintsbury can say even more than this: "it would be possible, indeed, to { } illustrate a complete dissertation on the methods of expression in serious poetry from the fifty-one lines of the dies irae. rhyme, alliteration, cadence, and adjustment of vowel and consonant values--all these things receive perfect expression in it, or, at least, in the first thirteen stanzas, for the last four are a little inferior. it is quite astonishing to reflect upon the careful art or the felicitous accident of such a line as: tuba mirum spargens sonum, with the thud of the trochee falling in each instance in a different vowel; and still more on the continuous sequence of five stanzas, from _judex ergo_ to _non sit cassus_, in which not a word could be displaced or replaced by another without loss. the climax of verbal harmony, corresponding to and expressing religious passion and religious awe, is reached in the last-- quaerens me sedisti lassus, redemisti crucem passus: tantus labor non sit cassus! where the sudden change from the dominant _e_ sounds (except in the rhyme foot) of the first two lines to the _a's_ of the last is simply miraculous and miraculously assisted by what may be called the internal sub-rhyme of _sedisti_ and _redemisti_. this latter effect can rarely be attempted without a jingle: there is no jingle here, only an ineffable melody. after the dies irae, no poet could say that any effect of poetry was, as far as sound goes, unattainable, though few could have hoped to equal it, and perhaps no one except dante and shakespeare has fully done so." higher praise than this could scarcely be given and it comes from an acknowledged authority, whose interests are moreover in secular rather than religious literature, and whose enthusiastic praise is therefore all the more striking. here in america, schaff, whose critical judgment in religious literature is unquestionable and whose sympathies with the old church and her hymns were not as deep as if he had been a roman catholic, has been quite as unstinted in laudation. "this marvelous hymn is the acknowledged masterpiece of latin poetry, and the most sublime of all uninspired hymns. { } ... the secret of its irresistible power lies in the awful grandeur of the theme, the intense earnestness and pathos of the poet, the simple majesty and solemn music of its language, the stately meter, the triple rhyme, and the vowel assonances, chosen in striking adaptation to the sense--all combining to produce an overwhelming effect, as if we heard the final crash of the universe, the commotion of the opening graves, the trumpet of the archangel summoning the quick and the dead, and saw the 'king of tremendous majesty' seated on the throne of justice and of mercy, and ready to dispense everlasting life and everlasting woe." neale says of thomas aquinas' great hymn the pange lingua: "this hymn contests the second place among those of the western church, with the 'vexilla regis,' the 'stabat mater,' the 'jesu dulcis memoria,' the 'ad regias agni dapes,' the 'ad supernam,' and one or two others, leaving the 'dies irae' in its unapproachable glory," thus furnishing another supreme testimony to the hymn we have been discussing, which indeed only needs to be read to be appreciated, since it will inevitably tempt to successive readings and these bring with them ever and ever increasing admiration, showing in this more than in any other way that it is a work of sublime genius. with regard to rhyme particularly the triumph of art and the influence of the latin hymns is undoubted. this latest beauty of poetry reached its perfection of expression in the latin hymns. it is rather curious to trace its gradual development. it constitutes the only feature of literature which apparently did not come to us from the east. the earlier specimens of poetry of which we know anything among the oriental nations other than the hebrews, are beautiful examples of the possibilities of rhythm and the beginnings of meter. as poetry goes westward meter becomes as important as rhythm in poetry and these two qualities differentiated it from prose. both of these literary modes, however, are eastern in origin. rhyme comes from the distant west and seems to have originated in the alliteration invented by the celtic bards. the vowel assonance was after a time completed by the addition of consonantal assonance and then the invention of rhyme was completed. the first fully rhymed hymns seem to have been written by the { } irish monks and carried over to the continent by them on their christianizing expeditions, after the irruption of the barbarians had obliterated the civilization of europe. during the tenth and eleventh centuries rhyme developed mainly in connection with ecclesiastical poetry. during the twelfth and thirteenth centuries it reached an acme of evolution which has never been surpassed during all the succeeding generations. it must not be thought that, because so much attention is given to the dies irae, this constitutes the only supremely great hymn of the thirteenth century. there are at least five or six others that well deserve to be mentioned in the same breath. one of them, the famous stabat mater of jacopone da todi, has been considered by some critics as quite as beautiful as the dies irae in poetic expression, though below it as poetry because of the lesser sublimity of its subject. certainly no more marvelously poetic expression of all that is saddest in human sorrow has ever been put into words, than that which is to be found in these stanzas of the franciscan monk who had himself known all the depths of human sorrow and trial. most people know the opening stanzas of it well enough to scarce need their presentation and yet it is from the poem itself, and not from any critical appreciation of it, that its greatness must be judged. {opp } [illustration] virgin and child (pisa, campo santo, giov. pisano) stabat mater dolorosa juxta crucem lacrymosa, dum pendebat filius, cuius animan gementem, contristantem at dolentem pertransivit gladius. o quam tristis et afflicta fuit illa benedicta mater unigeniti. quae moerebat et dolebat et tremebat, dum videbat nati poenas inclyti. quis est homo, qui non fleret, matrem christi si videret, in tanto supplicio? quis non posset contristari, piam matrem contemplari dolentem cum filio! { } as in the case of the dies irae there have been many translations of the stabat mater, most of them done by poets whose hearts were in their work and who were accomplishing their purpose as labors of love. while we realize how many beautiful translations there are, it is almost pitiful to think what poor english versions are sometimes used in the devotional exercises of the present day. one of the most beautiful translations is undoubtedly that by denis florence maccarthy, who has been hailed as probably the best translator into english of foreign poetry that our generation has known, and whose translations of calderon present the greatest of spanish poets, in a dress as worthy of the original as it is possible for a poet to have in a foreign tongue. maccarthy has succeeded in following the intricate rhyme plan of the stabat with a perfection that would be deemed almost impossible in our harsher english, which does not readily yield itself to double rhymes and which permits frequency of rhyme as a rule only at the sacrifice of vigor of expression. the first three stanzas, however, of the stabat mater will serve to show how well maccarthy accomplished his difficult task: by the cross, on which suspended. with his bleeding hands extended, hung that son she so adored, stood the mournful mother weeping. she whose heart, its silence keeping. grief had cleft as with a sword. o, that mother's sad affliction-- mother of all benediction-- of the sole-begotten one; oh, the grieving, sense-bereaving, of her heaving breast, perceiving the dread sufferings of her son. what man is there so unfeeling. who, his heart to pity steeling. could behold that sight unmoved? could christ's mother see there weeping, see the pious mother keeping vigil by the son she loved? { } a very beautiful translation in the meter of the original was also made by the distinguished irish poet, aubrey de vere. the last two stanzas of this translation have been considered as perhaps the most charmingly effective equivalent in english for jacopone's wonderfully devotional termination that has ever been written. may his wounds both wound and heal me; his blood enkindle, cleanse, anneal me; be his cross my hope and stay: virgin, when the mountains quiver, from that flame which burns for ever, shield me on the judgment-day. christ, when he that shaped me calls me, when advancing death appalls me. through her prayer the storm make calm: when to dust my dust returneth save a soul to thee that yearneth; grant it thou the crown and palm. even distinguished professors of philosophy and theology occasionally indulged themselves in the privilege of writing these latin hymns and, what is more surprising, succeeded in making poetry of a very high order. at least two of the most distinguished professors in these branches at the university of paris in the latter half of the thirteenth century, must be acknowledged as having written hymns that are confessedly immortal, not because of any canonical usage that keeps them alive, but because they express in very different ways, in wondrously beautiful language some of the sublimest religious thoughts of their time. these two are st. bonaventure, the franciscan, and st. thomas of aquin, the dominican. st. bonaventure's hymns on the passion and cross of christ represent what has been most beautifully sung on these subjects in all the ages. st. thomas' poetic work centers around the blessed sacrament in whose honor he was so ardent and so devoted { } that the composition of the office for its feast was confided to him by the pope. the hymns he wrote, far from being the series of prosy theological formulas that might have been expected perhaps under such circumstances, are great contributions to a form of literature which contains more gems of purest ray in its collection than almost any other. st. thomas' poetic jewels shine with no borrowed radiance, and their effulgence is not cast into shadow even by the greatest of their companion pieces among the latin hymns of a wonderfully productive century. neale's tribute to one of them has already been quoted in an earlier part of this chapter. it has indeed been considered almost miraculous, that this profoundest of thinkers should have been able to attain within the bounds of rhyme and rhythm, the accurate expression of some of the most intricate theological thoughts that have ever been expressed, and yet should have accomplished his purpose with a clarity of language, a simplicity and directness of words, a poetic sympathy of feeling, and an utter devotion, that make his hymns great literature in the best sense of the word. one of them at least, the pange lingua gloriosi, has been in constant use in the church ever since his time, and its two last stanzas beginning with tantum ergo sacramentum, are perhaps the most familiar of all the latin hymns. few of those most familiar with it realize its place in literature, the greatness of its author, or its own marvelous poetic merits. it must not be forgotten that at the very time when these hymns were most popular the modern languages were just assuming shape. even at the end of the thirteenth century none of them had reached anything like the form that it was to continue to hold, except perhaps the italian and to some extent the spanish. when dante wrote his divine comedy at the beginning of the fourteenth century, he was tempted to use the latin language, the common language of all the scholars of his day, and the language ordinarily used for any ambitious literary project for nearly a century later. it will not be forgotten that when petrarch in the fourteenth century wrote his epic, africa, on which he expected his fame as a poet to rest, he preferred to use the latin language. fortunately dante was large enough of mind to realize, that the vulgar { } tongue of the italians would prove the best instrument for the expression of the thoughts he wished to communicate, and so he cast the italian language into the mold in which it has practically ever since remained. his very hesitation, however, shows how incomplete as yet were these modern languages considered by the scholars who used them. it was at this very formative period, however, that the people on whose use of the nascent modern languages their future character depended, were having dinned into their ears in the numerous church services, the great latin hymns with their wonderful finish of expression. undoubtedly one of the most effective factors of whatever of sweetness there is in the modern tongues, must be attributed to this influence exerted all unconsciously upon the minds of the people. the rhythm and the expressiveness of these magnificent poems could scarcely fail to stamp itself to some degree upon the language, crude though it might be, of the people who had become so familiar with them. it is, then, to no small extent because of the influence of these latin hymns that our modern languages possess a rhythmic melodiousness that in time enabled them to become the instruments for poetic diction in such a way as to satisfy all the requirements of the modern ear in rhyme, and rhythm, and meter. a striking corresponding effect upon the exactness of expression in the modern languages, it will be noticed, is pointed out in the chapter on the prose of the century as representing, according to professor saintsbury, the greatest benefit that was derived from the exaggerated practise of dialectic disputation in the curriculum of the medieval universities. those who would think that the thirteenth century was happy in creative genius but lacking in the critical faculty that would enable it to select the best, not only of the hymns presented by its own generations but also of those which came from the preceding centuries, should make themselves acquainted with the history of these latin hymns. just before the thirteenth century the monks of the famous abbey of st. victor took up the writing of hymns with wonderful success and two of them, adam and hugh, became not only the favorites of their own but of succeeding generations. the thirteenth { } century received the work of these men and gave them a vogue which has continued down to our own time. some of the hymns that were thus acclaimed and made popular are among the greatest contributions to this form of literature, and while they have had periods of eclipse owing to bad taste in the times that followed, the reputation secured during the thirteenth century has always been sufficient to recall them to memory and bring men again to a realization of their beauty when a more esthetic generation came into existence. one of the hymns of the immediately preceding time, which attained great popularity during the thirteenth century--a popularity that reflects credit on those among whom it is noted as well as upon the great hymn itself--was bernard of cluny's or bernard of morlaix's hymn, concerning the contempt of the world, many of the ideas of which were to be used freely in the book bearing this title written by the first pope of the century, innocent iii, whose name is usually, though gratuitously associated with quite other ideas than those of contempt for worldly grandeur. the description of the new jerusalem to come, which is found at the beginning of this great poem, is the basis of all the modern religious poems on this subject. few hymns have been more praised. schaff, in his christ in song says: "this glowing description is the sweetest of all the new jerusalem hymns of heavenly homesickness which have taken their inspiration from the last two chapters of revelation." the extreme difficulty of the meter which its author selected and which would seem almost to preclude the possibility of expressing great connected thought, especially in so long a poem, became under the master hand of this poetic genius, whose command of the latin language is unrivaled, the source of new beauties for his poem. besides maintaining the meter of the old latin hexameters he added double rhymes in each line and yet had every alternate line also end in a rhyme. to appreciate the difficulty this must be read. { } hora novissima, tempora pessima sunt, vigilemus, ecce minaciter imminet arbiter ille supremus imminet, imminet ut mala terminet, aequa coronet. recta remuneret, anxia liberet, aethera donet, auferat aspera duraque pondera mentis onustae, sobria muniat, improba puniat, utraque juste. hic breve vivitur, hic breve plangitur, hic breve fletur; non breve vivere, non breve plangere retribuetur; o retributio! stat brevis actio, vita perennis; o retributio! coelica mansio stat lue plenis; quid datur et quibus? aether egentibus et cruce dignis, sidera vermibus, optima sontibus, astra malignis. there are many versions, but few translators have dared to attempt a close imitation of the original meter. its beauty is so great, however, that even the labor required for this has not deterred some enthusiastic admirers. our english tongue, however, does not lend itself readily to the production of hexameters, though in these lines the rhyme and rhythm has been caught to some extent: "these are the latter times, these are not better times; let us stand waiting; lo! how with, awfulness, he, first in lawfulness, comes arbitrating." even from this it may be realized that doctor neale is justified in his enthusiastic opinion that "it is the most lovely, in the same way that the dies irae is the most sublime, and the stabat mater the most pathetic, of medieval poems." while it scarcely has a place here properly, a word must be said with regard to the music of the thirteenth century. it might possibly be thought that these wondrous rhymes had been spoiled in their effectiveness by the crude music to which they were set. to harbor any such notion, however, would only be another exhibition of that intellectual snobbery which concludes that generations so distant could not have anything worth the consideration of our more developed time. the music of the thirteenth century is as great a triumph as any other feature of its accomplishment. it would be clearly absurd to suppose, that the people who created the cathedrals and made every element associated with the church ceremonial so beautiful as to attract the attention of all generations since, could have failed to develop a music suitable to these { } magnificent fanes. as a matter of fact no more suitable music for congregational singing than the gregorian chant, which reached the acme of its development in the thirteenth century, has been invented, and the fact that the catholic church, after having tried modern music, is now going back to this medieval musical mode for devotional expression, is only a further noteworthy tribute to the enduring character of another phase of thirteenth century accomplishment. rockstro, who wrote the article on plain chant for grove's dictionary of music and for the encyclopedia britannica, declared that no more wonderful succession of single notes, had even been strung into melodies so harmoniously adapted to the expression of the words with which they were to be sung, than some of these plain chants of the middle ages and especially of the thirteenth century. no more sublimely beautiful musical expression of all the depths there are in sadness has ever found its way into music, than what is so simply expressed in the lamentations as they are sung in the office called tenebrae during holy week. even more beautiful in its joyousness is the marvelous melody of the exultet which is sung in the office of holy saturday. this latter is said to be the sublimest expression of joyful sound that has ever come from the human heart and mind. in a word, in music as in every other artistic department, the men of the thirteenth century reached a standard that has never been excelled and that remains to the present day as a source of pleasure and admiration for intellectual men, and will continue to be so for numberless generations yet unborn. nor must it be thought that the thirteenth century men and women were satisfied with church music alone. about the middle of the century part singing came into use in the churches at the less formal ceremonials, and soon spread to secular uses. as the mystery plays gave rise to the modern drama, so church music gave birth to the popular music of the time. in england, particularly, about the middle of the century, various glee songs were sung, portions of which have come down to us, and a great movement of folk music was begun. before the end of the century the interaction of church and secular music had given rise to many of the modes of modern musical { } development, and the musical movement was as substantially begun as were any of the other great artistic and intellectual movements which this century so marvelously initiated. this subject, of course, is of the kind that needs to be studied in special works if any satisfactory amount of information is to be obtained, but even the passing hint of it which we have been able to give will enable the reader to realize the important place of the thirteenth century in the development of modern music. [illustration] entombment of blessed virgin (notre dame, paris) { } xiii three most read books of the century. three books were more read than any others during the thirteenth century, that is, of course, apart from holy scriptures, which contrary to the usually accepted notion in this matter, were frequently the subject of study and of almost daily contact in one way or another by all classes of people. these three books were, reynard the fox, that is the series of stories of the animals in which they are used as a cloak for a satire upon man and his ways, called often the animal epic; the golden legend, which impressed longfellow so much that he spent many years making what he hoped might prove for the modern world a bit of the self-revelation that this wonderful old medieval book has been for its own and subsequent generations; and, finally, the romance of the rose, probably the most read book during the thirteenth and fourteenth and most of the fifteenth centuries in all the countries of europe. its popularity can be well appreciated from the fact that, though chaucer was much read, there are more than three times as many manuscript copies of the romance of the rose in existence as of chaucer's canterbury tales, and it was one of the earliest books to see the light in print. [footnote ] [footnote : it was a favorite occupation some few years ago to pick out what were considered the ten best books. sir john lubbock first suggested, that it would be an interesting thing to pick out the ten books which, if one were to be confined for life, should be thought the most likely to be of enduring interest. if this favorite game were to be played with the selection limited to the authors of a single century, it is reasonably sure that most educated people would pick out the thirteenth century group of ten for their exclusive reading for the rest of life, rather than any other. an experimental list of ten books selected from the thirteenth century writers would include the cid, the legends of king arthur, the nibelungen lied, the romance of the rose, reynard the fox, the golden legend, the summa of st. thomas aquinas, parsifal or perceval by wolfram von eschenbach, durandus's symbolism and dante. as will readily be appreciated by anyone who knows literature well, these are eminently books of enduring interest. when it is considered that in making this list no call is made upon icelandic literature nor provençal literature, both of which are of supreme interest, and both reached their maturity at this time, the abounding literary wealth of the century will be understood.] { } it has become the fashion in recent years, to take the pains from time to time to find out which are the most read books. the criterion of worth thus set up is not very valuable, for unfortunately for the increase in readers, there has not come a corresponding demand for the best books nor for solid literature. the fact that a book has been the best seller, or the most read for a time, usually stamps it at once as trivial or at most as being of quite momentary interest and not at all likely to endure. it is all the more interesting to find then, that these three most read books of the thirteenth century, have not only more than merely academic interest at the present time, but that they are literature in the best sense of the word. they have always been not only a means of helping people to pass the time, the sad office to which the generality of books has been reduced in our time, but a source of inspiration for literary men in many generations since they first became popular. the story of reynard the fox is one of the most profoundly humorous books that was ever written. its satire was aimed at its own time yet it is never for a moment antiquated for the modern reader. at a time when, owing to the imperfect development of personal rights, it would have been extremely dangerous to satirize as the author does very freely, the rulers, the judges, the nobility, the ecclesiastical authorities and churchmen, and practically all classes of society, the writer, whose name has, unfortunately for the completeness of literary history, not come down to us, succeeded in painting all the foibles of men and pointing out all the differences there are between men's pretensions and their actual accomplishments. all the methods by which the cunning scoundrel could escape justice are exploited. the various modes of escaping punishment by direct and indirect bribery, by pretended repentance and reformation, by cunning appeal to the selfishness of judges, are revealed with the fidelity to detail of a modern muckraker; yet, all of it with a humanly humorous quality which, while it takes away nothing from the completeness of the exposure, removes most of the bitterness that probably would have made the satire fail of its purpose. while every class in the community of the time comes in for satirical allusions, that give us a better idea of how closely the men and the women { } of the time resembled those of our own, than is to be found in any other single literary work that has been preserved for us from this century, or, indeed, any other, the series of stories seemed to be scarcely more than a collection of fables for children, and probably was read quite unsuspectingly by those who are so unmercifully satirized in it, though doubtless, as is usually noted in such cases, each one may have applied the satire of the story as he saw it to his neighbor and not to himself. a recent editor has said very well of reynard the fox that it is one of the most universal of books in its interest for all classes. critics have at all times been ready to praise and few if any have found fault. it is one of the books that answers well to what cardinal newman declared to be at least the accidental definition of a classic; it pleases in childhood, in youth, in middle age and even in declining years. it is because of the eternal verity of the humanity in the book, that with so much truth froude writing of reynard can say: "it is not addressed to a passing mode of folly or of profligacy, but it touches the perennial nature of mankind, laying bare our own sympathies, and tastes, and weaknesses, with as keen and true an edge as when the living world of the old suabian poet winced under its earliest utterance." the writer who traced the portraits must be counted one of the great observers of all time. as is the case with so many creative artists of the thirteenth century, though this is truer elsewhere than in literature, the author is not known. perhaps he thought it safer to shroud his identity in friendly obscurity, rather than expose himself to the risks the finding of supposed keys to his satire might occasion. too much credit must not be given to this explanation, however, though some writers have made material out of it to exploit church intolerance, which the conditions do not justify. we are not sure who wrote the arthur legends, we do not know the author of the cid, even all-pervasive german scholarship has not settled the problem of the writer of the nibelungen, and the authorship of the dies irae is in doubt, though all of these would be sources of honor and praise rather than danger. authors had evidently not as yet become sophisticated to the extent of { } seeking immortality for their works. they even seem to have been indifferent as to whether their names were associated with them or not. enough for them apparently to have had the satisfaction of doing, all else seemed futile. the original of reynard the fox was probably written in the netherlands, though it may be somewhat difficult for the modern mind to associate so much of wit and humor with the dutchmen of the middle ages. it arose there about the time that the cid came into vogue in spain, the arthur legends were being put into shape in england, and the nibelungen reaching its ultimate form in germany. reynard thus fills up the geographical chart of contemporary literary effort for the thirteenth century, since france and italy come in for their share in other forms of literature, and no country is missing from the story of successful, enduring accomplishment in letters. it was written from so close to the heart of nature, that it makes a most interesting gift book even for the twentieth century child, and yet will be read with probably even more pleasure by the parents. with good reason another recent editor has thus summed up the catholicity of its appeal to all generations: "this book belongs to the rare class which is equally delightful to children and to their elders. in this regard it may be compared to 'gulliver's travels,' 'don quixote' and 'pilgrim's progress.' for wit and shrewd satire and for pure drollery both in situations and descriptions, it is unsurpassed. the animals are not men dressed up in the skin of beasts, but are throughout true to their characters, and are not only strongly realized but consistently drawn, albeit in so simple and captivating a way that the subtle art of the narrator is quite hidden, and one is aware only of reading an absorbingly interesting and witty tale." to have a place beside gulliver, the old spanish knight and christian, shows the estimation in which the book is held by those who are best acquainted with it. the work is probably best known through the version of it which has come to us from the greatest of german poets, goethe, whose reineke fuchs has perhaps had more sympathetic readers and a wider audience than any other of goethe's { } works. the very fact that so deeply intellectual a literary man should have considered it worth his while to devote his time to making a modern version of it, shows not only the estimation in which he held it, but also affords excellent testimony to its worth as literature, for goethe, unlike most poets, was a fine literary critic, and one who above all knew the reasons for the esthetic faith that was in him. animal stories in every age, however, have been imitations of it much more than is usually imagined. while the author probably obtained the hint for his work from some of the old-time fables as they came to him by tradition, though we have no reason to think that aesop was familiar to him and many for thinking the greek fabulist was not, he added so much to this simple literary mode, transformed it so thoroughly from child's literature to world literature, that the main merit of modern animal stories must be attributed to him. uncle remus and the many compilations of this kind that have been popular in our own generation, owe much more to the animal epic than might be thought possible by one not familiar with the original thirteenth century work. every language has a translation of the animal epic and most of the generations since have been interested and amused by the quaint conceits, which enable the author to picture so undisguisedly, men and women under animal garb. it discloses better than any other specimen of the literature of the time that men and women do not change even in the course of centuries, and that in the heart of the middle ages a wise observer could see the foibles of humanity just as they exist at the present time. any one who thinks that evolution after seven centuries should have changed men somewhat in their ethical aspects, at least, made their aspirations higher and their tendencies less commonplace, not to say less degenerative, should read one of the old versions of reynard the fox and be convinced that men and women in the thirteenth century were quite the same as we are familiar with them at the present moment. the second of the most read books of the century is the famous legenda aurea or, as it has been called in english, the golden legend, written by jacobus de voragine, the distinguished dominican preacher and writer (born during the first half of the thirteenth century, died just at its close), who, { } after rising to the higher grades in his own order, became the archbishop of genoa. his work at once sprang into popular favor and continued to be perhaps the most widely read book, with the exception of the holy scriptures, during the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries. it was one of the earliest books printed in italy, the first edition appearing about , and it is evident that it was considered that its widespread popularity would not only reimburse the publisher, but would help the nascent art of printing by bringing it to the attention of a great many people. its subject is very different from that of the modern most read books; librarians do not often have to supply lives of saints nowadays, though some similarities of material with that of books now much in demand help to account for its vogue. jacobus de voragine's work consisted of the lives of the greater saints of the church since the time of christ, and detailed especially the wonderful things that happened in their lives, some of which of course were mythical and all of them containing marvelous stories. this gave prominence to many legends that have continued to maintain their hold upon the popular imagination ever since. with all this adventitious interest, however, the book contained a solid fund of information with regard to the lives of the saints, and besides it taught the precious lessons of unselfishness and the care for others of the men who had come to be greeted by the title of saint. the work must have done not a little to stir up the faith, enliven the charity, and build up the characters of the people of the time, and certainly has fewer objections than most popular reading at any period of the world's history. for young folks the wonderful legends afforded excellent and absolutely innocuous exercise of the functions of the imagination quite as well as our own modern wonder books or fairy tales, while the stories themselves presented many descriptive portions out of which subjects for decorative purposes could readily be obtained. it must be set down as another typical distinction of the thirteenth century and an addition to its greatness, that it should have made the golden legend popular and thus preserved it for future generations, who became { } deeply interested in it, as in most of the other precious heritages they received from this great original century. {opp } [illustration] madonna and child (giov. pisano, padua) [illustration] st. christopher (alto relievo, venice) the third of the most read books of the century, the romance of the rose, is not so well known except by scholars as is the animal epic or perhaps even the golden legend. anyone who wants to understand the burden of the time, however, and who wishes to put himself in the mood and the tense to comprehend not only the other literature of the era, and in this must be included even dante, but also the social, educational, and even scientific movements of the period, must become familiar with it. it has been well said that a knowledge and study of the three most read books of the century, those which we have named, will afford a far clearer insight into the daily life and the spirit working within the people for whom they were written, than the annals of the wars or political struggles that were waged during the same period between kings and nobles. for this clearer insight a knowledge of the romance of the rose is more important than of the others. it provides a better introduction to the customs and habits, the manners of thought and of action, the literary and educational interests of the people of the thirteenth century, than any mere history, however detailed, could. in this respect it resembles homer who, as froude declares, has given us a better idea of greek life than a whole encyclopedia of classified information would have done. the intimate life stories of no other periods in history are so well illustrated, nor so readily to be comprehended, as those of homer and the authors of the medieval romaunt. the romance of the rose continued to be for more than two centuries the most read book in europe. every one with any pretense to scholarship or to literary taste in any european country considered it necessary to be familiar with it, and without exaggeration what lowell once declared with regard to don quixote, that it would be considered a mark of lack of culture to miss a reference to it in any country in europe, might well have been repeated during the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries of the romance of the rose. it has in recent years been put into very suitable english dress by mr. f. s. ellis and published among the temple classics, thus placing it { } within easy reach of english readers. mr. ellis must certainly be considered a suitable judge of the interest there is in the work. he spent several years in translating its two and twenty thousand six hundred and eight lines and yet considers that few books deserve as much attention as this typical thirteenth century allegory. he says: "the charge of dulness once made against this highly imaginative and brilliant book, successive english writers, until quite recent times have been content to accept the verdict, though professor morley and others have of late ably repelled the charge. if further testimony were necessary as to the falsity of the accusation, and the opinion of one who has found a grateful pastime in translating it might be considered of any weight, he would not hesitate to traverse the attribution of dulness, and to assert that it is a poem of extreme interest, written as to the first part with delicate fancy, sweet appreciation of natural beauty, clear insight, and skilful invention, while j. de meun's continuation is distinguished by vigor, brilliant invention, and close observation of human nature. the thirteenth century lives before us." the rose is written on a lofty plane of literary value, and the fact that it was so popular, speaks well for the taste of the times and for the enthusiasm of the people for the more serious forms of literature. not that the romance of the rose is a very serious book itself, but if we compare it with the popular publications which barely touch the realities of life in the modern time, it will seem eminently serious. in spite of the years that have elapsed since its original publication it has not lost all its interest, even for a casual reader, and especially for one whose principal study is mankind in its varying environment down the ages, for it presents a very interesting picture of men and their ways in this wonderful century. here, as in the stories of reynard the fox, one is brought face to face with the fact that men and women have not changed and that the peccadillos of our own generation have their history in the middle ages also. take, for instance, the question of the too great love of money which is now the subject of so much writing and sermonizing. one might think that at least this was { } modern. here, however, is what the author of the romance of the rose has to say about it: three cruel vengeances pursue these miserable wretches who hoard up their worthless wealth: great toil is theirs to win it; then their spoil they fear to lose; and lastly, grieve most bitterly that they must leave their hoards behind them. cursed they die who living, lived but wretchedly; for no man, if he lack of love. hath peace below or joy above. if those who heap up wealth would show fair love to others, they would go through life beloved, and thus would reign sweet happy days. if they were fain, who hold so much of good to shower around their bounty unto those they found in need thereof, and nobly lent their money, free from measurement of usury (yet gave it not to idle gangrel men), i wot that then throughout the land were seen no pauper carl or starveling quean. but lust of wealth doth so abase man's heart, that even love's sweet grace bows down before it; men but love their neighbors that their love may prove a profit, and both bought and sold are friendships at the price of gold. nay, shameless women set to hire their bodies, heedless of hell-fire; it is after reading a passage like this in a book written in the thirteenth century that one feels the full truth of that expression of the greatest of american critics, james russell lowell, which so often comes back to mind with regard to the works of this century, that to read a classic is like reading a commentary on the morning paper. when this principle is { } applied the other way, i suppose it may be said, that when a book written in the long ago sounds as if it were the utterance of some one aroused by the evils round him in our modern life, then it springs from so close to the heart of nature that it is destined to live and have an influence far beyond its own time. the romance of the rose, written seven centuries ago, now promises to have renewed youth in the awakening of interest in our gothic ancestors and their accomplishments, before the over-praised renaissance came to trouble the stream of thought and writing. other passages serve to show how completely the old-time poet realized all the abuses of the desire for wealth, and how much it makes men waste their lives over unessentials, instead of trying to make existence worth while for themselves and others. here is an arraignment of the strenuous life of business every line of which is as true for us as it was for the poet's generation: 'tis truth (though some 'twill little please) to hear the trader knows no ease; for ever in his soul a prey to anxious care of how he may amass more wealth: this mad desire doth all his thought and actions fire. devising means whereby to stuff his barns and coffers, for 'enough' he ne'er can have, but hungreth yet his neighbors' goods and gold to get. it is as though for thirst he fain would quaff the volume of the seine at one full draught, and yet should fail to find its waters of avail to quench his longing. what distress, what anguish, wrath, and bitterness devour the wretch! fell rage and spite possess his spirit day and night. and tear his heart; the fear of want pursues him like a spectre gaunt. the more he hath, a wider mouth he opes, no draught can quench his drouth. { } the old poet pictures the happiness of the poor man by contrast, and can in conclusion depict even more pitilessly the real poverty of spirit of the man who "having, struggleth still to get" and never stops to enjoy life itself by helping his fellows: light-heart and gay goes many a beggar by the way, but little heeding though his back be bent beneath a charcoal sack. they labor patiently and sing. and dance, and laugh at whatso thing befalls, for havings care they nought. but feed on scraps and chitlings bought beside st. marcel's, and dispend their gains for wassail, then, straight wend once more to work, not grumblingly. but light of heart as bird on tree winning their bread without desire to fleece their neighbors. nought they tire of this their round, but week by week in mirth and work contentment seek; returning when their work is done once more to swill the jovial tun. and he who what he holds esteems enough, is rich beyond the dreams of many a dreary usurer, and lives his life-days happier far; for nought it signifies what gains the wretched usurer makes, the pains of poverty afflict him yet who having, struggleth still to get. the pictures are as true to life at the beginning of the twentieth century as they were in the latter half of the thirteenth. there are little touches of realism in both the pictures, which show at once how acute an observer, how full of humor his appreciation, and yet how sympathetic a writer the author of the romance was, and at the same time reveal something of the sociological value of his work. it discloses what is so easily concealed under the mask of formal historical writing and { } tells us of the people rather than of the few great ones among them, or those whom time and chance had made leaders of men. it seems long to read but as a recent translator has said, it represents only the file of a newspaper for eighteen months, and while it talks of quite as trivial things as the modern newspaper, the information is of a kind that is likely to do more good, and prove of more satisfaction, than the passing crimes and scandals that now occupy over-anxious readers. [illustration] central tower (lincoln) { } xiv some thirteenth century prose. it would be unpardonable to allow the notion to be entertained that it was only in poetry that the writers of the thirteenth century succeeded in creating works of enduring influence. some of the prose writings of the time are deeply interesting for many reasons. modern prose was in its formative period, and the evolution of style, as of other things in the making, is proverbially worthy of more serious study than even the developed result. the prose writings of the thirteenth century were mainly done in latin, but that was not for lack of command over the vernacular tongues, as we shall see, but because this was practically a universal language. this century had among other advantages that subsequent ages have striven for unsuccessfully, our own most of all, a common medium of expression for all scholars at least. there are, however, the beginnings of prose in all the modern languages and it is easy to understand that the latin of the time had a great influence on the vernacular and that the modes of expression which had become familiar in the learned tongue, were naturally transferred to the vulgar speech, as it was called, whenever accuracy of thought and nicety of expression invited such transmutation. with regard to the latin of the period it is the custom of many presumably well-educated men to sniff a little and say deprecatingly, that after all much cannot be expected from the writers of the time, since they were dependent on medieval or scholastic latin for the expression of their ideas. this criticism is supposed to do away with any idea of the possibility of there having been a praiseworthy prose style, at this time in the middle ages. in the chapter on the latin hymns, we call attention to the fact that this same mode of criticism was supposed to preclude all possibility of rhymed latin, as worthy to occupy a prominent place in literature. the widespread { } encouragement of this false impression has, as a matter of fact, led to a neglect of these wonderful poems, though they may in the opinion of competent critics, even be considered as representing the true genius of the latin language and its powers of poetic expression better than the greek poetic modes, which were adopted by the romans, but which, with the possible exception of their two greatest poets, never seem to have acquired that spontaneity that would characterize a native outburst of lingual vitality. as for the philosophic writers of the century that great period holds in this, as in other departments, the position of the palmiest time of the middle ages. to it belongs alexander hales, the doctor irrefragabilis who disputes with aquinas the prize for the best example of the summa theologiae; bonaventure the mystic, and writer of beautiful hymns; roger bacon, the natural philosopher; vincent of beauvais, the encyclopedist. while of the four, greatest of all, albertus magnus, the "dumb ox of cologne," was born seven years before its opening, his life lasted over four-fifths of it; that of aquinas covered its second and third quarters; occam himself, though his main exertions lie beyond this century, was probably born before aquinas died; while john duns scotus hardly outlived the century's close by a decade. raymond lully, one of the most characteristic figures of scholasticism and of the medieval period (with his "great art" of automatic philosophy), who died in , was born as early as . peter the spaniard, pope and author of the summulae logicales, the grammar of formal logic for ages as well of several medieval treatises that have attracted renewed attention in our day, died in . with regard to what was accomplished in philosophic and theologic prose, examples will be found in the chapter on st. thomas aquinas, which prove beyond all doubt the utter simplicity, the directness, and the power of the prose of the thirteenth century. in the medical works of the time there was less directness, but always a simplicity that made them commendable. in general, university writers were influenced by the scholastic methods and we find it reflected constantly in their works. in the minds of many people this would be { } enough at once to condemn it. it will usually be found, however, as we have noted before, that those who are readiest to condemn scholastic writing know nothing about it, or so little that their opinion is not worth considering. usually they have whatever knowledge they think they possess, at second hand. sometimes all that they have read of scholastic philosophy are some particularly obscure passages on abstruse subjects, selected by some prejudiced historian, in order to show how impossible was the philosophic writing of these centuries of the later middle ages. there are other opinions, however, that are of quite different significance and value. we shall quote but one of them, written by professor saintsbury of the university of edinburgh, who in his volume on the flourishing of romance and the rise of allegory (the twelfth and thirteenth centuries) of his periods of european literature, has shown how sympathetically the prose writing of the thirteenth century may appeal even to a scholarly modern, whose main interests have been all his life in literature. far from thinking that prose was spoiled by scholasticism. prof. saintsbury considers that scholasticism was the fortunate training school in which all the possibilities of modern prose were brought out and naturally introduced into the budding languages of the time. he says: "however this may be" (whether the science of the nineteenth century after an equal interval will be of any more positive value, whether it will not have even less comparative interest than that which appertains to the scholasticism of the thirteenth century) "the claim modest, and even meager as it may seem to some, which has been here once more put forward for this scholasticism--the claim of a far-reaching educative influence in mere language, in mere system of arrangement and expression, will remain valid. if at the outset of the career of modern languages, men had thought with the looseness of modern thought, had indulged in the haphazard slovenliness of modern logic, had popularized theology and vulgarized rhetoric, as we have seen both popularized and vulgarized since, we should indeed have been in evil case. it used to be thought clever to moralize and to felicitate mankind over the rejection of the stays, the fetters, the prison in which its { } thought was medievally kept. the justice or the injustice, the taste or the vulgarity of these moralizings, of these felicitations, may not concern us here. but in expression, as distinguished from thought, the value of the discipline to which these youthful languages was subjected is not likely now to be denied by any scholar who has paid attention to the subject. it would have been perhaps a pity if thought had not gone through other phases; it would certainly have been a pity if the tongues had been subjected to the fullest influence of latin constraint. but that the more lawless of them benefited by that constraint there can be no doubt whatever. the influence of form which the best latin hymns of the middle ages exercised in poetry, the influence in vocabulary and in logical arrangement which scholasticism exercised in prose are beyond dispute: and even those who will not pardon literature, whatever its historic and educative importance be, for being something less than masterly in itself, will find it difficult to maintain the exclusion of the cur deus homo, and impossible to refuse admission to the dies irae." besides this philosophic and scientific prose, there were two forms of writing of which this century presents a copious number of examples. these are the chronicles and biographies of the time and the stories of travelers and explorers. these latter we have treated in a separate chapter. the chronicles of the time deserve to be studied with patient attention by anyone who wishes to know the prose writers of the century and the character of the men of that time and their outlook on life. it is usually considered that chroniclers are rather tiresome old fogies who talk much and say very little, who accept all sorts of legends on insufficient authority and who like to fill up their pages with wonderful things regardless of their truth. in this regard it must not be forgotten that in times almost within the memory of men still alive, herodotus now looked upon deservedly as the father of history and one of the great historical writers of all time, was considered to have a place among these chroniclers, and his works were ranked scarcely higher, except for the purity of their greek style. the first of the great chroniclers in a modern tongue was the famous geoffrey de villehardouin, who was not only a writer { } of, but an actor in the scenes which he describes. he was enrolled among the elite of french chivalry, in that crusade at the beginning of the thirteenth century, which resulted in the foundation of the greco-latin empire. his book entitled "the conquest of constantinople," includes the story of the expedition during the years from to . modern war correspondents have seldom succeeded in giving a more vivid picture of the events of which they were witnesses than this first french chronicler of the thirteenth century. it is evident that the work was composed with the idea that it should be recited, as had been the old poetic chansons de geste, in the castles of the nobles and before assemblages of the people, perhaps on fair days and other times when they were gathered together. the consequence is that it is written in a lively straightforward style with direct appeals to its auditors. it contains not a few passages of highly poetic description which show that the chronicler was himself a literary man of no mean order and probably well versed in the effusions of the old poets of this country. his description of the fleet of the crusaders as it was about to set sail for the east and then his description of its arrival before the imposing walls of the imperial city, are the best examples of this, and have not been surpassed even by modern writers on similar topics. though the french writer was beyond all doubt not familiar with the grecian writers and knew nothing of xenophon, there is a constant reminder of the greek historian in his work. xenophon's simple directness, his thorough-going sincerity, the impression he produces of absolute good faith and confidence in the completeness of the picture, so that one feels that one has been present almost at many of the scenes described, are all to be encountered in his medieval successor. villehardouin went far ahead of his predecessors, the chroniclers of foregoing centuries, in his careful devotion to truth. a french writer has declared that to villehardouin must be ascribed the foundation of historical probity. none of his facts, stated as such, has ever been impugned, and though his long speeches must necessarily have been his own composition, there seems no doubt that they contain the ideas which had been expressed on various occasions, and besides were composed with due reference to { } the character of the speaker and convey something of his special style of expression. prof. saintsbury in his article in the encyclopedia britannica on villehardouin, sums up very strikingly the place that this first great vernacular historian's book must occupy. he says: "it is not impertinent, and at the same time an excuse for what has been already said, to repeat that villehardouin's book, brief as it is, is in reality one of the capital books of literature, not merely for its merit, but because it is the most authentic and the most striking embodiment in the contemporary literature of the sentiments which determined the action of a great and important period of history. there are but very few books which hold this position, and villehardouin's is one of them. if every other contemporary record of the crusades perished, we should still be able by aid of this to understand and realize what the mental attitude of crusaders, of teutonic knights, and the rest was, and without this we should lack the earliest, the most undoubtedly genuine, and the most characteristic of all such records. the very inconsistency with which villehardouin is chargeable, the absence of compunction with which he relates the changing of a sacred religious pilgrimage into something by no means unlike a mere filibustering raid on a great scale, add a charm to the book. for, religious as it is, it is entirely free from the very slightest touch of hypocrisy or, indeed, of self-consciousness of any kind. the famous description of the crusades, _gesta dei per francos_, was evidently to villehardouin a plain matter-of-fact description and it no more occurred to him to doubt the divine favor being extended to the expeditions against alexius or theodore than to doubt that it was shown to expeditions against saracens and turks." {opp } [illustration] ponte alle grazie (florence, lapo) [illustration] porta romana gate, (florence, n. pisano) it was especially in the exploitation of biographical material that the thirteenth century chroniclers were at their best. any one who recalls carlyle's unstinted admiration of jocelyn of brakelonds' life of abbot sampson in his essays past and present, will be sure that at least one writer in england had succeeded in pleasing so difficult a critic in this rather thorny mode of literary expression. it is easy to say too much or too little about the virtues and the vices of a man whose biography one has chosen to write. jocelyn's simple, straightforward story { } would seem to fulfill the best canons of modern criticism in this respect. probably no more vivid picture of a man and his ways was ever given until boswell's johnson. nor was the english chronicler alone in this respect. the sieur de joinville's biographical studies of the life of louis ix. furnish another example of this literary mode at its best, and modern writers of biography could not do better than go back to read these intimate pictures of the life of a great king, which are not flattered nor overdrawn but give us the man as he actually was. the english biographic chronicler of the olden time could picture exciting scenes without any waste of words. a specimen of his work will serve to show the merit of his style. after reading it one is not likely to be surprised that carlyle should have so taken the chronicler to heart nor been so enthusiastic in his praise. it is the very type of that impressionism in style that has once more in the course of time become the fad of our own day. "the abbot was informed that the church of woolpit was vacant, walter of coutances being chosen to the bishopric of lincoln. he presently convened the prior and great part of the convent, and taking up his story thus began: 'you well know what trouble i had in respect of the church of woolpit; and in order that it should be obtained for your exclusive use i journeyed to rome at your instance, in the time of the schism between pope alexander and octavian. i passed through italy at that time when all clerks bearing letters of our lord the pope alexander were taken. some were imprisoned, some hanged, and some, with nose and lips cut off, sent forward to the pope, to his shame and confusion. i, however, pretended to be scotch; and putting on the garb of a scotchman, and the gesture of one, i often brandished my staff, in the way they use that weapon called, a gaveloc, at those who mocked me, using threatening language, after the manner of the scotch. to those that met and questioned me as to who i was, i answered nothing, but, "ride ride rome, turne cantwereberei." this did i to conceal myself and my errand, and that i should get to rome safer in the guise of a scotchman. "'having obtained letters from the pope, even as i wished, on my return i passed by a certain castle, as my way led me { } from the city; and behold the officers thereof came about me, laying hold upon me, and saying, "this vagabond who makes himself out to be a scotchman is either a spy or bears letters from the false pope alexander." and while they examined my ragged clothes, and my boots, and my breeches, and even the old shoes which i carried over my shoulders, after the fashion of the scotch, i thrust my hand into the little wallet which i carried, wherein was contained the letter of our lord the pope, placed under a little cup i had for drinking. the lord god and st. edmund so permitting, i drew out both the letter and the cup together, so that, extending my arm aloft, i held the letter underneath the cup. they could see the cup plain enough, but they did not see the letter; and so i got clear out of their hands, in the name of the lord. whatever money i had about me they took away; therefore i had to beg from door to door, without any payment, until i arrived in england.'" another excellent example of the biographic prose of the century, though this is the vernacular, is joinville's life of st. louis, without doubt one of the precious biographical treasures of all times. it contains a vivid portrait of louis ix., made by a man who knew him well personally, took part with him in some of the important actions of the book, and in general was an active personage in the affairs of the time. those who think that rapid picturesque description such as vividly recalls deeds of battle was reserved for the modern war correspondent, should read certain portions of joinville's book. as an example we have ventured to quote the page on which the seneschal historian himself recounts the role which he played in the famous battle of mansourah, at which, with the count de soissons and pierre de neuville, he defended a small bridge against the enemy under a hail of arrows. he says: "before us there were two sergeants of the king, one of whom was named william de boon and the other john of gamaches. against these the turks who had placed themselves between the river and the little tributary, led a whole mob of villains on foot, who hurled at them clods of turf or whatever came to hand. never could they make them recoil upon us, however. as a last resort the turks sent forward a foot soldier { } who three times launched greek fire at them. once william de boon received the pot of green fire upon his buckler. if the fire had touched anything on him he would have been entirely burned up. we at the rear were all covered by arrows which had missed the sergeants. it happened that i found a waistcoat which had been stuffed by one of the saracens. i turned the open side of it towards me and made a shield out of the vest which rendered me great service, for i was wounded by their arrows in only five places though my horse was wounded in fifteen. one of my own men brought me a banner with my arms and a lance. every time then that we saw that they were pressing the royal sergeants we charged upon them and they fled. the good count soissons, from the point at which we were, joked with me and said 'senechal, let us hoot out this rabble, for by the headdress of god (this was his favorite oath) we shall talk over this day you and i many a time in our ladies' halls.'" we have said that the writing of the thirteenth century must have been done to a great extent for the sake of the women of the time, and that its very existence was a proof that the women possessed a degree of culture, that might not be realized from the few details that have been preserved to us of their education and habits of life. in this last passage of joinville we have the proof of this, since evidently the telling of the stories of these days of battle was done mainly in order that the women folks might have their share in the excitement of the campaign, and might be enabled vividly to appreciate what the dangers had been and how gloriously their lords had triumphed. at every period of the world's history it was true that literature was mainly made for women and that some of the best portions of it always concerned them very closely. we have purposely left till last, the greatest of the chroniclers of the thirteenth century, matthew paris, the author of the historia major, who owes his surname doubtless to the fact that he was educated at the university of paris. instead of trying to tell anything about him from our own slight personal knowledge, we prefer to quote the passage from green's history of the english people, in which one of the greatest of our modern english historians pays such a magnificent tribute to his colleague of the earlier times: { } "the story of this period of misrule has been preserved for us by an annalist whose pages glow with the new outburst of patriotic feeling which this common expression of the people and the clergy had produced. matthew paris is the greatest, as he is in reality the last of our monastic historians. the school of st. albans survived indeed till a far later time, but the writers dwindle into mere annalists whose view is bounded by the abbey precincts, and whose work is as colorless as it is jejune. in matthew the breadth and precision of the narrative, the copiousness of his information on topics whether national or european, the general fairness and justice of his comments, are only surpassed by the patriotic fire and enthusiasm of the whole. he had succeeded roger of wendover as chronicler of st. albans; and the greater chronicle, with the abridgement of it which has long passed under the name of matthew of westminster, a "history of the english," and the "lives of the earlier abbots," were only a few among the voluminous works which attest his prodigious industry. he was an eminent artist as well as a historian, and many of the manuscripts which are preserved are illustrated by his own hand. a large circle of correspondents--bishops like grosseteste, ministers like hubert de burgh, officials like alexander de swinford--furnished him with minute accounts of political and ecclesiastical proceedings. pilgrims from the east and papal agents brought news of foreign events to his scriptorium at st. albans. he had access to and quotes largely from state documents, charters, and exchequer rolls. the frequency of the royal visits to the abbey brought him a store of political intelligence and henry himself contributed to the great chronicle which has preserved with so terrible a faithfulness the memory of his weakness and misgovernment. on one solemn feast-day the king recognized matthew, and bidding him sit on the middle step between the floor and the throne, begged him to write the story of the day's proceedings. while on a visit to st. albans he invited him to his table and chamber, and enumerated by name two hundred and fifty of the english barons for his information. but all this royal patronage has left little mark on his work. "_the case,_" as he says, "_of historical writers is hard, for if they tell the truth they provoke men, and if they write what is false they offend god._" { } with all the fullness of the school of court historians, such as benedict or hoveden, matthew paris combines an independence and patriotism which is strange to their pages. he denounces with the same unsparing energy the oppression of the papacy and the king. his point of view is neither that of a courtier nor of a churchman, but of an englishman, and the new national tone of his chronicle is but an echo of the national sentiment which at last bound nobles and yeomen and churchmen together into an english people." we of the twentieth century are a people of information and encyclopedias rather than of literature, so that we shall surely appreciate one important specimen of the prose writing of the thirteenth century since it comprises the first modern encyclopedia. its author was the famous vincent of beauvais. vincent consulted all the authors, sacred and profane, that he could possibly lay hands on, and the number of them was indeed prodigious. it has often been said by men supposed to be authorities in history, that the historians of the middle ages had at their disposition only a small number of books, and that above all they were not familiar with the older historians. while this was true as regards the greek, it was not for the latin historical writers. vincent of beauvais has quotations from caesar's de bello gallico, from sallust's catiline and jugurtha, from quintus curtius, from suetonius and from valerius maximus and finally from justin's abridgement of trogus pompeius. vincent had the advantage of having at his disposition the numerous libraries of the monasteries throughout france, the extent of which, usually unrealized in modern times, will be appreciated from our special chapter on the subject. besides he consulted the documents in the chapter houses of the cathedrals especially those of paris, of rouen, of laon, of beauvais and of bayeux, which were particularly rich in collections of documents. it might be thought that these libraries and archives would be closely guarded. far from being closed to writers from the outer world they were accessible to all to such an extent, indeed, that a number of them are mentioned by vincent as public institutions. { } his method of collecting his information is interesting, because it shows the system employed by him is practically that which has obtained down to our own day. he made use for his immense investigation of a whole army of young assistants, most of whom were furnished him by his own order, the dominicans. he makes special mention in a number of places of quotations due to their collaboration. the costliness of maintaining such a system would have made the completion of the work absolutely impossible were it not for the liberality of king louis ix., who generously offered to defray the expenses of the composition. vincent has acknowledged this by declaring in his prefatorial letter to the king that, "you have always liberally given assistance even to the work of gathering the materials." {opp } [illustration] st. catherine's (lÃ�beck) [illustration] church and cloisters, san antonio (padua) vincent's method of writing is quite as interesting as his method of compilation of facts. the great dominican was not satisfied with being merely a source of information. the philosophy of history has received its greatest christian contribution from st. augustine's city of god. in this an attempt was made to trace the meaning and causal sequence of events as well as their mere external connection and place in time. in a lesser medieval way vincent tried deliberately to imitate this and besides writing history attempted to trace the philosophy of it. for him, as for the great french philosophic historian bossuet in his universal history five centuries later, everything runs its provided race from the creation to the redemption and then on toward the consummation of the world. he describes at first the commencements of the church from the time of abel, through its progress under the patriarchs, the prophets, judges, kings, and leaders of the people, down to the birth of christ. he traces the history of the apostles and of the first disciples, though he makes it a point to find place for the famous deeds of the great men of pagan antiquity. he notes the commencement of empires and kingdoms, their glory, their decadence, their ruin, and the sovereigns who made them illustrious in peace and war. there was much that was defective in the details of history as they were traced by vincent, much that was lacking in completeness, but the intention was evidently the best, and patience and labor were devoted to the { } sources of history at his command. perhaps never more than at the present moment have we been in a position to realize that history at its best can be so full of defects even after further centuries of consultation of documents and printed materials, that we are not likely to be in the mood to blame this first modern historian very much. as for the other portions of his encyclopedia, biographic, literary and scientific, they were not only freely consulted by his contemporaries and successors, but we find traces of their influence in the writings and also in the decorative work of the next two centuries. we have already spoken of the use of his book in the provision of subjects for the ornamentation of cathedrals and the same thing might be said of edifices of other kinds. nor must it be thought that vincent has only a historic or ecclesiastical interest. dr. julius pagel, in his chapter on medicine in the middle ages in puschmann's hand-book of the history of medicine, [footnote ] says, "that there were three writers whose works were even more popular than those of albertus magnus. these three were bartholomew, the englishman; thomas, of cantimprato, and vincent, of beauvais, the last of whom must be considered as one of the most important contributors to the generalization of scientific knowledge, not alone in the thirteenth but in the immediately succeeding centuries. his most important work was really an encyclopedia of the knowledge of his time. it was called the greater triple mirror and there is no doubt that it reflected the knowledge of his period. he had the true scientific spirit and constantly cites the authorities from whom his information was derived. he cites hundreds of authors and there is scarcely a subject that he does not touch on. one book of his work is concerned with human anatomy, and the concluding portion of it is an abbreviation of history carried down to the year ." [footnote : puschmann. hand-buch der geschichte der medizin, jena, fischer, .] it might be considered that such a compend of information would be very dry-as-dust reading and that it would be fragmentary in character and little likely to be attractive except to a serious student. dr. pagel's opinion does not agree with this _a priori_ impression. he says with regard to it: { } "the language is clear, readily intelligible, and the information is conveyed usually in an excellent, simple style. through the introduction of interesting similes the contents do not lack a certain taking quality, so that the reading of the work easily becomes absorbing." this is, i suppose, almost the last thing that might be expected of a scientific teacher in the thirteenth century, because, after all, vincent of beauvais must be considered as one of the schoolmen, and they are supposed to be eminently arid, but evidently, if we are to trust this testimony of a modern german physician, only by those who have not taken the trouble to read them. one of the most important works of thirteenth century prose is the well-known rationale divinorum officiorum (significance of the divine offices) written by william durandus, the bishop of mende, in france, whose tomb and its inscription in the handsome old gothic cathedral of santa maria sopra minerva, in rome, shares with the body of st. catherine of sienna the honor of attracting so many visitors. the book has been translated into english under the title. the symbolism of churches and church ornaments, and has been very widely read. it was very popular in the thirteenth century, and the best possible idea of its subsequent reputation can be gathered from the fact, that the rationale was the first work from the pen of an uninspired writer to be accorded the privilege of being printed. the editio princeps, a real first edition of supreme value, appeared from the press of john fust in . the only other books that had been printed at that time were the psalters of and . this edition is, of course, of the most extreme rarity. according to the english translators of durandus the beauty of the typography has seldom been exceeded. the style of durandus has been praised very much by the critics of succeeding centuries for its straightforwardness, simplicity and brevity. most of these qualities it evidently owes to the hours spent by its author in the reading of holy scriptures. durandus fashioned his style so much on the sacred writings that most of his book possesses something of the impressive character of the bible itself. the impression derived from it is that of reading a book on a religious subject written { } in an eminently suitable tone and spirit. most of this impression must be attributed without doubt to the fact, that durandus has not only formed his style on the scriptures, but has actually incorporated scriptural expressions in his writings to such an extent as to make them mostly a scriptural composition. this, far from being a fault, appears quite appropriate in his book because of its subject and the method of treatment. a quotation from the proeme (as it is in the quaint spelling of the english translation) will give the best idea of this. "all things, as pertain to offices and matters ecclesiastical, be full of divine significations and mysterious, and overflow with celestial sweetness; if so be that a man be diligent in his study of them, and know how to draw honey from the rock, and oil from the hardest stone. but who knoweth the ordinances of heaven, or can fix the reasons thereof upon the earth? for he that prieth into their majesty, is overwhelmed by the glory of them. of a truth the well is deep, and i have nothing to draw with: unless he giveth it unto me who giveth to all men liberally, and upbraideth not: so that while i journey through the mountains i may draw water with joy out of the wells of salvation. wherefore albeit of the things handed down from our forefathers, capable we are not to explain all, yet if among them there be any thing which is done without reason it should be forthwith put away. wherefore, i, william, by the alone tender mercy of god, bishop of the holy church which is in mende, will knock diligently at the door, if so be that the key of david will open unto me: that the king may bring me into his treasure? and shew unto me the heavenly pattern which was shewed unto moses in the mount: so that i may learn those things which pertain to rites ecclesiastical whereof they teach and what they signify: and that i may be able plainly to reveal and make manifest the reasons of them, by his help, who hath ordained strength out of the mouth of babes and sucklings: whose spirits bloweth where it { } listeth: dividing to each severally as it will to the praise and glory of the trinity." this passage alone of durandus would serve as an excellent refutation of the old-time protestant tradition, fortunately now dying out though not as yet entirely eradicated, which stated so emphatically that the bible was not allowed to be read before luther's time. those who wish to obtain a good idea of durandus' style and the way he presents his material, can obtain it very well from his chapter on bells, the first two paragraphs of which we venture to quote. they will be found quite as full of interesting information in their way as any modern writer might have brought together, and have the dignity and simplicity of the best modern prose. "bells are brazen vessels, and were first invented in nola, a city of campania. wherefore the larger bells are called campanae, from campania the district, and the smaller nolae, from nola the town. "you must know that bells, by the sound of which the people assembleth together to the church to hear, and the clergy to preach, in the morning the mercy of god and his power by night do signify the silver trumpets, by which under the old law the people was called together unto sacrifice. (of these trumpets we shall speak in our sixth book.) for just as the watchmen in a camp rouse one another by trumpets, so do the ministers of the church excite each other by the sound of bells to watch the livelong night against the plots of the devil. wherefore our brazen bells are more sonorous than the trumpets of the old law, because then god was known in judea only, but now in the whole earth. they be also more durable: for they signify that the teaching of the new testament will be more lasting than the trumpets and sacrifices of the old law, namely, even unto the end of the world. "again bells do signify preachers, who ought after the likeness of a bell to exhort the faithful unto faith: the which was typified in that the lord commanded moses to make a vestment for the high priest who entered into the holy of holies. also the cavity of the bell denoteth the mouth of the preacher, { } according to the saying of the apostle, i am become as sounding brass on a tinkling cymbal." of course there are what we would be apt to consider exaggerations of symbolic meanings and far-fetched explanations and references, but this was of the taste of the time and has not in subsequent centuries been so beyond the canons of good taste as at present. durandus goes on to tell that the hardness of the metal of the bell signifies fortitude in the mind of the preacher, that the wood of the frame on which the bell hangeth doth signify the wood of our lord's cross, that the rope by which the bell is strung is humility and also showeth the measure of life, that the ring in the length of the rope is the crown of reward for perseverance unto the end, and then proceeds to show why and how often the bells are rung and what the significance of each ringing is. he explains why the bells are silent for three days before easter and also during times of interdict, and gives as the justification for this last the quotation from the prophet "i will make thy tongue cleave to the roof of thy mouth for they are a rebellious house." even these few specimens of the prose of the thirteenth century, will serve to show that the writers of the period could express themselves with a vigor and directness which have made their books interesting reading for generations long after their time, and which stamp their authors as worthy of a period that found enduring and adequate modes of expression for every form of thought and feeling. [illustration] stone carving (paris) { } xv origin of the drama. the last place in the world, perhaps, that one would look for a great impulse to the development of the modern drama, which is entirely a new invention, an outgrowth of christian culture and has practically no connection with the classic drama, would be in the life of st. francis of assisi. his utter simplicity, his thorough-going and cordial poverty, his sincere endeavor all during his life to make little of himself, might seem quite enough to forbid any thought of him as the father of a literary movement of this kind. "the poor little man of god," however, as he liked to call himself, in his supreme effort to get back to nature and out of the ways of the conventional world, succeeded in accomplishing a number of utterly unexpected results. his love for nature led to his wonderful expression of his feelings in his favorite hymn, one of the first great lyrical outbursts in modern poetry, a religious poem which as we shall see in the chapter on the father of the renaissance, renan declares can only be appreciated properly by comparing it with the old hebrew psalms, beside which it is worthy to be placed. those who know the life of st. francis best will easily appreciate how dramatic, though unconsciously so, were all the actions of his life. after all, his utter renunciation of all things, his taking of holy poverty to be his bride, his address to the birds, his sisters, his famous question of the butcher as to why he killed his brothers, the sheep, his personification of the sun and the moon and even of the death of the body as his brothers and sisters, are all eminently dramatic moments. his life is full of incidents that lent themselves, because of their dramatic quality, to the painters of succeeding centuries as the subjects of their striking pictures. before the end of the century giotto had picked out some of the most interesting of these for the decorative illustration of the upper church at { } assisi. during the succeeding century, the author of the little flowers of st. francis, embodied many of these beautiful scenes in his little work, where they have been the favorite reading of poets for many centuries since. it should not be such a surprise as it might otherwise be, then, to find that st. francis may be considered in one sense as the father of the modern drama. the story is a very pretty one and has an additional value because it has been illustrated by no less a brush than that of giotto. one christmas eve just at the beginning of the thirteenth century, st. francis gathered round him some of the poor people living outside of the town of assisi, in order to recall vividly to them the great event which had taken place on that night so many centuries before. a little figure of a child, dressed in swaddling clothes, was laid on some straw in a manger with the breath of the nearby animals to warm it. to this manger throne of the child king of bethlehem, there came in adoration, after the hymns that recalled the angels' visit, first some of the shepherds from the surrounding country and then some of the country people who represented the kings from the east with their retinues, bringing with them their royal gifts. after this little scene, probably one of the first nativity plays that had ever been given, st. francis, according to the old legend, took the little image in his arms and in an excess of devotion pressed it to his heart. according to the old-time story, the infant came to life in his embrace and putting its little arms around his neck embraced him in return. of course our modern generation is entirely too devoted to "common sense" to accept any such pretty, pious story as this as more than a beautiful poetic legend. the legend has provided a subject for poet and painter many a time in subsequent centuries. perhaps never has it been used with better effect than by giotto, whose representation is one of the favorite pictures on the wall of the upper church of assisi. whether the little baby figure of the play actually came to life in his arms or not we do not know, but one thing is certain, that infant modern dramatic literature did come to life at the moment and that before the end of the thirteenth century it was to have a vigor and an influence that made it { } one of the great factors in the social life of the period. the franciscans were soon spread over the world. with filial reverence they took with them all the customs of their loved father of assisi, and especially such as appealed to the masses and brought home to them in a vivid way the great truths of religion. by the middle of the century many of the towns had cycles of mystery plays given at various times during the year, associated with the different feasts and illustrating and enforcing the lessons of the liturgy for the people in a manner so effective that it has probably never been equaled before or since. while the most potent factor in the dissemination of the early religious drama can be traced to francis and the franciscans, they were but promoters of a movement already well begun. mystery plays were attempted before the thirteenth century in england and in north france. there is a well-known story from matthew paris, who wrote about the middle of the thirteenth century, of one geoffrey who afterwards became abbot of st. albans. while yet a secular he borrowed certain precious religious vestments to be used in some sort of a miracle play in honor of st. catherine. during the performance of the play, these vestments were destroyed by fire and geogory was so much afflicted by the misfortune that in a spirit of reparation he became a religious in the abbey of st. albans. this must have been about the beginning of the twelfth century. towards the end of this century mystery plays were not infrequent, though not in anything like the developed form nor popular character which they acquired during the thirteenth century. fitz stephen, writing the life of st. thomas a becket, towards the end of the twelfth century, contrasts the holier plays of london in his days with the theatrical spectacles of ancient rome. the plays he mentioned were, however, scarcely more than slight developments of church ceremonial with almost literal employment of scripture and liturgical language. {opp } [illustration] st. francis' nativity play (giotto) the first cycle of mystery plays of which there is definite mention is that of chester. according to the proclamation of the chester plays, the representation of this cycle dates in some form from the mayoralty of john arneway, who was the { } mayor of chester, between and . of the series of plays as given in the thirteenth century there are few remains. it is probable, even, that at this early date they were not acted in english but in french. english plays were probably first given in some of the cathedral towns along the east coast of england, and perhaps york should have the credit of this innovation. it is easy to understand how the simpler dramatic additions to the ritual of the church would inevitably develop in the earnest and very full religious life of the people which came with the building of the cathedrals, the evolution of church ceremonial and the social life fostered by the trade-guilds of the time. while we have none of the remains of the actual plays of the thirteenth century, there is no doubt that an excellent idea of their form and content can be gathered from the english mystery plays, that have recently been edited in modern form and which serve to show the characteristics of the various cycles. it might perhaps be thought that these mystery plays would not furnish any great amount of entertainment for the populace, especially after they had seen them a certain number of times. the yearly repetition might naturally be expected to bring with it before long a satiety that would lead to inattention. as is well known, however, there is an enduring interest about these old religious stories that makes them of much greater attractiveness than most ordinary historical traditions. many a faithful reader of the bible finds constantly renewed interest in the old biblical stories in spite of frequent repetition. their significance to the eye of faith in the middle ages gave them, beyond any doubt, that quality which in any literary work will exemplify and fulfill horace's dictum, _decies repetita placebit_. besides, it must not be forgotten that the men and women of the thirteenth century had not the superficial facilities of the printing press to cloy their intellectual curiosity, and by trivial titillation make them constantly crave novelty. it must not be thought, in spite of the fact that these were religious plays, that they were always so serious as to be merely instructive without being amusing. a large fund of amusement was injected into the old biblical stories by the { } writers of the different cycles and undoubtedly the actors themselves added certain personal elements in this matter, which still further enhanced some of the comical aspects of the solemn stories. nearly always the incidents of the scriptural narrative though followed more or less literally, were treated with a large humanity that could scarcely fail to introduce elements of humor into the dramatic performances. such liberties, however, were taken only with characters not mentioned by the bible--the inventions of the writers. a series of quotations from the chester cycle of plays will best illustrate this. we give them in the quaint spelling of the oldest version extant. the scene we quote is from the play dealing with noah's flood and pictures noah's wife as a veritable shrew. noye-- wyffe, in this vessel we shall be kepte: my children and thou, i woulde in ye lepte. noye's wiffe-- in fayth, noye, i hade as leffe thou slepte! for all thy frynishe fare, i will not doe after thy reade. noye-- good wyffe, doe nowe as i thee bydde. noye's wiffe-- be christe! not or i see more neede, though thou stande all the daye and stare. noye-- lorde, that wemen be crabbed aye, and non are meke, i dare well saye. this is well seene by me to daye, in witnesse of you ichone (each one). goodwiffe, lett be all this beare, that thou maiste in this place heare; for all the wene that thou arte maister, and so thou arte, by sante john! all noah's artful concession of his wife's mastery in the household does not avail to move her and so he tries objurgation. noye-- wiffe, come in: why standes thou their? thou arte ever frowarde, i dare well sweare; come in, one godes halfe! tyme yt were, for feare leste that we drowne. { } noye's wiffe-- yes, sir, sette up youer saile, and rowe fourth with evill haile, for withouten (anye) fayle i will not oute of this towne; but i have my gossippes everyechone, one foote further i will not gone: the shall not drowne, by sainte john! and i may save ther life. the loven me full well, by christe! but thou lett them into thy cheiste, (ark) elles rowe nowe wher thee leiste, and gette thee a newe wiffe. it is evident that he will not succeed so noah, wise doubtless with the wisdom of experience, forbears to urge but appeals to her sons to bring her. noye-- seme, sonne, loe! thy mother is wrawe: forsooth, such another i doe not knowe. sem-- father, i shall fetch her in, i trowe, withoutten anye fayle.-- mother, my father after thee sends. and byddes thee into yeinder shippe wende. loke up and see the wynde. for we bene readye to sayle. noye's wiffe-- seme, goe againe to hym, i saie; i will not come theirin to daye. noye-- come in, wiffe, in twentye devilles waye! or elles stand there without. ham-- shall we all feche her in? noye-- yea, sonnes, in christe blessinge and myne! i woulde you hied you be-tyme. for of this flude i am in doubte. jeffatte-- mother, we praye you all together. for we are heare, youer owne childer. come into the shippe for feare of the weither, for his love that you boughte! { } noye's wiffe-- that will not i, for all youer call, but i have my gossippes all. sem-- in faith, mother, yett you shalle, wheither thou wylte or (nought). _(her sons bring her in; as she steps aboard she is greeted by noah.)_ noye-- welckome, wiffe, into this botte. noye's wiffe-- have thou that for thy note! (_giving her husband a cuff on the head_). noye-- ha, ha! marye, this is hotte! it is good for to be still. ha! children, me thinkes my botte remeves, our tarryinge heare highlye me greves, over the lande the watter spreades; god doe as he will. this quotation will give a good idea of the human interest of these mystery plays and serve to show that they did not fail in dramatic power for any lack of humor or acute observation. it would be easy to illustrate this much more amply. the opportunities to enjoy these plays were abundant. we have said that the chester cycle is the one of which there is earliest mention. the method of its presentation has been described by mr. henry morley in the fourth volume of his english writers. he says: "there were scaffolds erected for spectators in those places to which the successive pageants would be drawn; and a citizen who on the first day saw in any place the first pageant (that of the fall of lucifer), if he kept his place and returned to it in good time on each successive morning, would see the scripture story, as thus told, pass in its right order before him. each pageant was drawn on four or six wheels, and had a room in which the actors and properties were concealed, under the upper room or stage on which they played." mr. morley then describes the action of the various parts of the cycle, showing how clearly the lessons of the old testament history and its symbolic and typical meaning were pointed out so that the spectators could not miss them. { } how completely the story of the bible was told may be judged from the order of the pageants of the play of corpus christi, in the time of the mayoralty of william alne, in the third year of the reign of king henry v., compiled by roger burton, town clerk. . tanners. god the father almighty creating and forming the heavens, angels and archangels, lucifer and the angels that fell with him to hell. . plasterers. god the father, in his own substance, creating the earth and all which is therein, in the space of five days. . cardmakers. god the father creating adam of the clay of the earth and making eve of adam's rib, and inspiring them with the breath of life. . fullers. god forbidding adam and eve to eat of the tree of life. . coopers. adam and eve and a tree betwixt them; the serpent deceiving them with apples; god speaking to them and cursing the serpent, and with a sword driving them out of paradise. . armourers. adam and eve, an angel with a spade and distaff assigning them work. . gaunters (glovers). abel and cain offering victims in sacrifice. . shipwrights. god warning noah to make an ark of floatable wood, . pessoners (fishmongers) and mariners. noah in the ark, with his wife; the three sons of noah with their wives; with divers animals. . parchment-makers, bookbinders. abraham sacrificing his son, isaac, on an altar, a boy with wood and an angel. . hosiers. moses lifting up the serpent in the wilderness; king pharaoh; eight jews wondering and expecting. . spicers. a doctor declaring the sayings of the prophets of the future birth of christ. mary; an angel saluting her; mary saluting elizabeth. . pewterers, founders. mary, joseph wishing to put her away; an angel speaking to them that they go to bethlehem. { } . tylers. mary, joseph, a midwife; the child born, lying in a manger betwixt an ox and an ass, and an angel speaking to the shepherds, and to the players in the next pageant. . chandlers. the shepherds talking together, the star in the east; an angel giving the shepherds the good tidings of the child's birth. , . orfevers (goldsmiths), goldbeaters, moneymakers. the three kings coming from the east, herod asking them about the child jesus; the son of herod, two counsellors, and a messenger. mary with the child, a star above, and the three kings offering gifts. how completely the people of each town were engaged in the presentation of the plays, can be judged from the following supplementary list of the other trade guilds that took parts. many of them bear quaint names, which are now obsolete. they included the girdellers, makers of girdles; nailers, sawyers, lorymers (bridle makers), the spurriers (makers of spurs), the fevers or smiths, the curriers, the plumbers, the pattern-makers, the bottlers, the cap-makers, the skinners, the bladesmiths, the scalers, the buckle-makers, the cordwainers, the bowyers (makers of bows), the fletchers (arrow-featherers), the tilemakers, the hayresters (workers in horse hair), the boilers (bowl-makers), the tunners, the sellers or saddlers; the fuystours (makers of saddle tree), the verrours (glaziers), the broggours (brokers), the dubbers (refurbishers of clothes), the luminers or illuminators, the scriveners, the drapers, the potters, the weavers, the hostlers and mercers. the men of no occupation, however menial it may seem to us, were barred. each of these companies had a special pageant with a portion of the old or new testament to represent and in each succeeding year spent much of their spare time in preparing for their dramatic performance, studying and practising their parts and making everything ready for competition with their brother craftsmen in the other pageants. only those who know the supreme educative value of dramatic representations for those actively interested in them, will appreciate all that these plays meant for popular education in the best sense of the word, but all can readily understand how much they stood for in popular occupation of mind with high thoughts and how { } much they must have acted as a preventive of debasing dissipations. it is extremely interesting to follow out some of the details of the management of these mystery plays. we shall find in even the meagre accounts that we have of them, sufficient to show us that men were not expected to work for nothing, nor even to be satisfied with what compensation there might be in the honor of being chosen for certain parts, nor in the special banquets that were provided for the actors after the performances. a definite salary was paid to each of the actors according to the importance of the part he took. not only this, but the loans of garments for costume purposes, or of furniture or other material for stage properties, was repaid by definite sums of money. these are not large, but, considering the buying power of money at that time and the wages paid workmen, which enabled them to live at least as well, comparatively, as modern workmen, the compensation is ample. mr. morley, in the fourth volume of his "english writers," has given us some of these details and as they have a special social interest and the old documents rejoice in a comic literalness of statement, they deserve citation. when about to set up a play, each guild chose for itself a competent manager, to whom it gave the rule of the pageant, and voted a fixed sum for its expenses. the play-book and the standing wardrobe and other properties were handed over to him, and he was accountable, of course, for their return after the close of the performances. the manager had to appoint his actors, to give them their several parts written out for them (perhaps by the prompter, who was a regular official), and to see to the rehearsals, of which there would be two for an old play and at least five for a new one. at rehearsal time, as well as during the great performance the actors ate and drank at the cost of the guild, ending all with a supper, at which they had roast beef and roast goose, with wine for the chiefs, and beer for the rest. the actors were paid, of course, according to the length of their parts and quantity of business in them, not their dignity. thus in a play setting forth the trial and crucifixion of our lord, the actors of herod and caiaphas received each s. d.; { } the representative of annas, s. d.; and of christ s.; which was also the sum paid to each actor in the parts of his executioners, and d. more than was paid for acting the devil or judas. in the united plays of the "descent into hell" and the "ascension," the payment was to the actor who represented christ, s. d.; and s. d. to him who played the devil. in one play we find this gradation of the scale of payment to performers:--"paid, for playing of peter, xvid.; to two damsels, xiid.; to the demon, vid.; to fawston for hanging judas, ivd.; paid to fawston for cock-crowing, ivd." {opp } [illustration] palazzo buondelmonte (florence) [illustration] palazzo tolomei (siena) of the costume of the actors, and of the stage furniture a tolerably clear notion is also to be drawn from the coventry account-books, of which mr. sharp printed all that bears upon such questions. they record, of course, chiefly repairs and renewals of stage properties and wardrobe. "in one year pilate has a new green cloak, in another a new hat. pilate's wife was dame procula, and we have such entries as, 'for mending of dame procula's garments, viid.' 'to reward to mrs. grimsby for lending of her gear for pilate's wife, xiid.' 'for a quart of wine for hiring porcula's gown, iid.' no actor had naked hands. those not in masks had their faces prepared by a painter. the costume of each part was traditional, varied little in the course of years, and much of it was originally designed after the pictures and painted sculpture in the churches. as in those medieval decorations, gilding was used freely; the performer of christ wore a gilt peruke and beard, so did peter, and probably all the apostles or saints who would be represented on church walls with a gilt nimbus." christ's coat was of white sheep-skin, painted and gilded, with a girdle and red sandals. the part of the high priests caiaphas and annas were often played in ecclesiastical robes hired from a church, a practice (one sad result of which because of fire has already been noted) that was eventually condemned as likely to lead to disrespect for sacred objects. herod, who wore a mask, was set up as a sceptred royal warrior in a gilt and silvered helmet, in armour and gown of blue satin, with such saracen details of dress as the crusaders connected with the worship of mahomet, including the crooked faulchion, which was gilt. the tormentors of christ wore jackets of black { } buckram with nails and dice upon them. the virgin mary was crowned, as in her images. the angels wore white surplices and wings. the devil also had wings, and was played in an appropriate mask and leather dress trimmed with feathers and hair. he was, as the prologue to the chester plays describes him, "the devil in his feathers all ragged and rent," or, as the coventry account-books show, carried three pounds of hair upon his hose. there was probably no greater impulse for social uplift and for real education of the masses than these mystery and morality plays, in which the people took part themselves and in which, as a consequence of the presence of friends in the various roles, the spectators had a livelier interest than would have been otherwise the case under even the most favorable circumstances, or with elaborate presentation. in recent years there has come the realization that the drama may thus be made a real educational influence. unfortunately at the present time, whatever of influence it has is exerted almost exclusively upon the better-to-do classes, who have so many other opportunities for educational uplift. these plays during the thirteenth century brought the people intimately into contact with the great characters of old testament and new testament history, and besides giving them precious religious information, which of itself, however, might mean very little for true education, helped them to an insight into character and to a right appreciation of human actions and a sympathy with what was right even though it entailed suffering, such as could not have otherwise been obtained. of course it is easy to say that such dramas constantly repeated, the subjects always the same and only the cast varying from year to year, would become intolerably familiar and might after a time degenerate into the merely contemptible. as a matter of fact, however, they did not. these old stories of religious heroes were written so close to the heart of nature, involved so intimately all the problems of life that they are of undying interest. their repetition was only from year to year and this did not give the opportunity for the familiarity which breeds contempt. besides, though the plays in the various cycles existed in definite forms there seems no doubt that { } certain changes were made by the players themselves and by the managers of the plays from time to time, and indeed such changes of the text of a play as we know from present-day experience, are almost inevitable. it might be urged, too, that the people themselves would scarcely be possessed of the histrionic talent necessary to make the plays effective. ordinarily, however, as we know from our modern city life, much less of the actor's art is needed than of interest in the action, to secure the attention of the gallery. it must not be assumed too readily, however, that the guilds which were able to supply men for the great artistic decoration of the cathedrals of the thirteenth century, could not supply actors who would so enter into the artistic expression of a part as to represent it to the life. the actor is more born than made, in spite of the number of schools of acting that are supposed to be turning out successful rivals of roscius, on recurring graduation days. it must not be forgotten that the only example of these mystery plays which is still left to us is the passion play at oberammergau, and that is one of the world's greatest spectacles. on the last occasion when it was given about half a million of people from all over the world, many of them even from distant america and australia, found their way into the tyrolese mountains in order to be present at it. it is only the old, old, old story of the passion and death of the lord. it is represented by villagers chosen from among the inhabitants of a little village of fourteen hundred inhabitants, who while they have a distinct taste for the artistic and produce some of the best wood-carving done anywhere in europe, thus approximating very interestingly the thirteenth century peoples, are not particularly noted for their education, nor for their dramatic ability. no one who went up to see the passion play came away dissatisfied either with the interest of the play or with its manner of representation. it is distinctly an example of how well men and women do things when they are thoroughly interested in them, and when they are under the influence of an old-time tradition according to which they must have the ability to accomplish what is expected of them. such a tradition actually existed during the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries, leading to a gradual development of { } dramatic power both in writers and actors, that eventually was to result in the magnificent outburst of dramatic genius during the elizabethan period. for it must not be forgotten, that mystery and morality plays continued to hold the stage down almost, if not quite, to the time of shakespeare's early manhood, and he probably saw the coventry cycle of plays acted. while we have a certain number of these old-time plays, most of them, of course, have disappeared by time's attrition during the centuries before the invention of printing, when they were handed round only in manuscript form. of some of these plays we shall have something to say after a moment, stopping only to call attention to the fact that in this literary mode of the mystery and morality plays, dramatic literature in english reached a height of development which has been equaled only by our greatest dramatic geniuses. within the last few years most of the large cities of the english-speaking world, besides the more important universities, have been given the opportunity to hear one of the great products of this form of literary activity. "everyman" is probably as great a play as there is in english and comparable with the best work of shakespeare, marlowe and jonson. its author only took the four last things to be remembered--death, judgment, heaven and hell--the things which must come to every man, and wrote his story around them, yet he did it with such artistic effectiveness as to make his drama a triumph of literary execution. the mystery plays were as interesting in their way to the medieval generations as "everyman" to us. as may be seen from the list quoted from mr. morley, practically all the significant parts of the bible story were acted by these craftsmen. too much can scarcely be said of the educational value of such dramatic exercises; the bible itself with its deep religious teachings, with its simple but sublime style, with its beautiful poetry, entered for a time into the very lives of these people. no wonder that our english speech during these centuries became saturated with biblical thoughts and words. anyone who has ever had any experience with amateur theatricals when a really great play was given, will be able to realize how much more thoroughly every quality, dramatic, literary, poetic, even lyric { } and historical, that there might be in the drama, entered into the hearts and minds of those who took part. it is this feature that is especially deserving of attention with regard to these mystery plays which began in the thirteenth century. the people's interest in them, lifted them out of themselves and their trivial round of life into the higher life of this great religious poetry. on the other hand the teachings of the bible came down from the distant plane on which they might otherwise have been set and entered into the very life of the people. their familiarity with scripture made it a something not to be discussed merely, but to be applied in their everyday affairs. besides this, the organization of the company to give the play and the necessity for the display and exercise of taste in the costumes and of ingenuity in the stage settings, were of themselves of great educative value. the rivalry that naturally existed between the various companies chosen from the different guilds only added to the zest with which rehearsals were taken up, and made the play more fully occupy the minds of those actively engaged in its preparation. for several dull winter months before easter time there was an intense preoccupation of mind with great thoughts and beautiful words, instead of with the paltry round of daily duties, which would otherwise form the burden of conversation. gossip and scandal mongering had fewer opportunities since people's minds were taken up by so much worthier affairs. the towns in which the plays were given never had more than a few thousand inhabitants and most of them must have been personally interested in some way in the play. the jesuits, whose acumen for managing students is proverbial, have always considered it of great importance to have their students prepare plays several times a year. their reason is the occupation of mind which it affords as well as the intellectual and elocutionary training that comes with the work. what they do with premeditation, the old guilds did unconsciously but even more effectively, and their success must be considered as one of the social triumphs of this wonderful thirteenth century. only in recent years has the idea succeeded in making way in government circles on the continent, that the giving of free dramatic entertainments for the poor would form an excellent { } addition to other educational procedures. such performances have new been given for nearly a score of years in berlin. after all, the subvention allowed by government to the great theaters and opera houses in europe is part of this same policy, though unfortunately they are calculated to affect only the upper classes, who need the help and the stimulus of great dramatic art and great music less than the lower classes, who have so little of variety or of anything that makes for uplift in their lives. in the thirteenth century this very modern notion was anticipated in such a way as to benefit the very poorest of the population, and that not only passively, that is by the hearing of dramatic performances, but also actively, by taking parts in them and so having all the details of the action and the words impressed upon them. [illustration] capital (lincoln) { } xvi francis the saint--the father of the renaissance. the renaissance is often thought of as a movement which originated about the middle of the fifteenth century. careful students sometimes trace its origin back somewhat further. in recent years it has come to be realized, however, that the great intellectual development which came during the century after the fall of constantinople in italy, and gradually spread to all the civilized countries of europe, had been preparing for at least two centuries and a half. while the period from the middle of the fifteenth to the end of the sixteenth centuries well deserves the name of renaissance, because one of the most important fructifying principles of the movement was the rebirth of greek ideas into the modern world after the dispersion of greek scholars by the turkish advance into the byzantine empire, the term must not be allowed to carry with it the mistaken notion which only too often has been plausibly accepted, that there was a new birth of poetic, literary and esthetic ideas at this time, just as if there had been nothing worth considering in these lines before. any such notion as this would be the height of absurdity in the light of the history of the previous centuries in italy. it was a cherished notion of the people of the renaissance themselves that they were the first to do artistic and literary work, hence they invented the term gothic, meaning thereby barbarous, for the art of the preceding time, but in this they were only exercising that amusing, self-complacency which each generation deems its right. succeeding generations adopting their depreciative term have turned it into one of glory so that gothic art is now in highest honor. fortunately in recent years there has come, as we have said, a growing recognition of the fact that the real beginning of modern art lies much farther back in history, and that the real { } father of the italian renaissance is a man whom very few people in the last three centuries have appreciated at his true worth. undoubtedly the leader in that great return to nature, which constitutes the true basis of modern poetic and artistic ideas of all kinds, was st. francis of assisi. "the poor little man of god," as in his humility he loved to call himself, would surely be the last one to suspect that he should ever come to be thought of as the initiator of a great movement in literature and art. such he was, however, in the highest sense of the term and because of the modern appreciation of him in this regard, publications concerning him have been more frequent during the last ten years than with regard to almost any other single individual. we have under our hand at the present moment what by no means claims to be a complete bibliography of st. francis' life and work, yet we can count no less than thirty different works in various languages (not reckoning translations separate from the originals) which have issued from the press during the last ten years alone. this gives some idea of present day interest in st. francis. it must not be thought, however, that it is only in our time that these significant tributes have been paid him. much of his influence in literature and art, as well as in life, was recognized by the southern nations all during the centuries since his death. that it is only during the last century that other nations have come to appreciate him better, and especially have realized his literary significance, has been their loss and that of their literatures. at the beginning of the nineteenth century görres, the german historian who was so sympathetic towards the middle ages, wrote of st. francis as one of the troubadours, and even did not hesitate to add that without st. francis at the beginning of the thirteenth century there would have been no dante at the end. renan, the well-known french rationalist historian and literateur, did not hesitate to proclaim st. francis one of the great religious poets of all time and his famous canticle of the sun as the greatest religious poem since the hebrew psalms were written. it was from renan that matthew arnold received his introduction to st. francis as a literary man, and his own studies led him to write the famous passages in the essays in criticism, which are usually so much a source of { } surprise to those who think of mr. arnold as the rationalizing critic, rather than the sympathetic admirer of a medieval saint. "in the beginning of the thirteenth century, when the clouds and storms had come, when the gay sensuous pagan life was gone, when men were not living by the senses and understanding, when they were looking for the speedy coming of antichrist, there appeared in italy, to the north of rome, in the beautiful umbrian country at the foot of the appennines, a figure of the most magical power and charm, st. francis. his century is, i think, the most interesting in the history of christianity after its primitive age; more interesting than even the century of the reformation; and one of the chief figures, perhaps the very chief, to which this interest attaches itself, is st. francis. and why? because of the profound popular instinct which enabled him, more than any man since the primitive age, to fit religion for popular use. he brought religion to the people. he founded the most popular body of ministers of religion that has ever existed in the church. he transformed monachism by uprooting the stationary monk, delivering him from the bondage of property, and sending him, as a mendicant friar, to be a stranger and sojourner, not in the wilderness, but in the most crowded haunts of men, to console them and to do them good. this popular instinct of his is at the bottom of his famous marriage with poverty. poverty and suffering are the condition of the people, the multitude, the immense majority of mankind; and it was towards this people that his soul yearned. "he listens," it was said of him, "to those to whom god himself will not listen." matthew arnold has thus surprisingly summed up francis' age and his work. with a sympathy that could scarcely be expected from the man for whom the deity had become merely "a stream of tendency that makes for righteousness," he realized the influence that this supreme lover of a personal god had over his generation, and his brother poet soul flew to its affinity in spite of the apparently insurmountable obstacle of' extreme aloofness of spiritual temperament. {opp } [illustration: ] the glorification of st. francis (giotto, lower church of assisi) matthew arnold proceeds: "so in return, as no other man, st. francis was listened to. when an umbrian town or village heard of his approach, the { } whole population went out in joyful procession to meet him, with green boughs, flags, music, and songs of gladness. the master, who began with two disciples, could in his own lifetime (and he died at forty-five) collect to keep whitsuntide with him, in presence of an immense multitude, five thousand of his minorites. he found fulfilment to his prophetic cry: "i hear in my ears the sound of the tongues of all the nations who shall come unto us; frenchmen, spaniards, germans, englishmen. the lord will make of us a great people, even unto the ends of the earth." when we reach the next paragraph the secret of this surprising paradoxical sympathy is out. it is the literary and esthetic side of st. francis that has appealed to him, and like renan he does not hesitate to give "the poor little man of god" a place among the great original geniuses of all time, associating his name with that of dante. "prose could not satisfy this ardent soul, and he made poetry. latin was too learned for this simple, popular nature, and he composed in his mother tongue, in italian. the beginnings of the mundane poetry of the italians are in sicily, at the court of kings; the beginnings of their religious poetry are in umbria, with st. francis. his are the humble upper waters of a mighty stream: at the beginning of the thirteenth century, it is st. francis, at the end, dante. now it happens that st. francis, too, like the alexandrian songstress, has his hymn for the sun, for adonis; canticle of the sun, canticle of the creatures, the poem goes by both names. like the alexandrian hymn, it is designed for popular use, but not for use by king ptolemy's people; artless in language, irregular in rhythm, it matches with the childlike genius that produced it, and the simple natures that loved and repeated it." probably the most satisfactory translation for those who may not be able to appreciate the original of this sublime hymn that has evoked so many tributes, is the following literal rendering into english in which a quite successful attempt to give the naif rhythm of the original italian, which necessarily disappears in any formal rhymed translation, has been made by father paschal robinson of the order of st. francis for his recent edition of the writings of st. francis. [footnote ] [footnote : philadelphia, the dolphin press, .] { } "here begin the praises of the creatures which the blessed francis made to the praise and honor of god while he was ill at st. damian's: most high, omnipotent, good lord, praise, glory and honor and benediction all, are thine. to thee alone do they belong, most high, and there is no man fit to mention thee. praise be to thee, my lord, with all thy creatures. especially to my worshipful brother sun, the which lights up the day, and through him dost thou brightness give; and beautiful is he and radiant with splendor great; of thee, most high, signification gives. praised be my lord, for sister moon and for the stars, in heaven thou hast formed them clear and precious and fair. praised be my lord for brother wind and for the air and clouds and fair and every kind of weather. by the which thou givest to thy creatures nourishment. praised be my lord for sister water, the which is greatly helpful and humble and precious and pure. praised be my lord for brother fire, by the which thou lightest up the dark. and fair is he and gay and mighty and strong. praised be my lord for our sister, mother earth. the which sustains and keeps us and brings forth diverse fruits with grass and flowers bright. praised be my lord for those who for thy love forgive and weakness bear and tribulation. blessed those who shall in peace endure, for by thee, most high, shall they be crowned. praised be my lord for our sister, the bodily death. from the which no living man can flee. { } woe to them who die in mortal sin; blessed those who shall find themselves in thy most holy will, for the second death shall do them no ill. praise ye and bless ye my lord, and give him thanks, and be subject unto him with great humility." except for his place in literature and art, the lives of few men would seem to be of so little interest to the modern time as that of st. francis of assisi, yet it is for the man himself that so many now turn to him. his spirit is entirely opposed to the sordid principles that have been accepted as the basis of success in modern life. his idea was that happiness consisted in being free from unsatisfied desires rather than seeking to secure the satisfaction of his wishes. duty was self-denial, not self-seeking under any pretext. he stripped himself literally of everything and his mystic marriage to the lady poverty was, so far as he was concerned, as absolute a reality, as if the union had been actual instead of imaginary. the commonplace details of his early years seem all the more interesting from these later developments, and have been the subject of much sympathetic study in recent years. st. francis' father was a cloth merchant and st. francis had been brought up and educated as became the son of a man whose commercial journeys often took him to france. it was indeed while his father was absent on one of these business expeditions that francis was born and on his father's return received from him the name of francisco--the frenchman--in joyful commemoration of his birth. as he grew up he did not differ from the ordinary young man of his time, but seems to have taken the world and its pleasures quite as he found them and after the fashion of those around him. at the age of twenty-five he fell seriously ill and then, for the first time, there came to him the realization of the true significance of life. as dean stanley said shortly before his death, "life seemed different when viewed from the horizontal position." life lived for its own sake was not worth while. to francis there came the realization that when god himself became man he lived his life for others. francis { } set about literally imitating him. enthusiastic students of his life consider him the great type of genuine christian, the most real disciple of christ who ever lived. some money and goods that came into his hands having been disposed of for the poor, francis' father made serious objection and francis was brought before the ecclesiastical authorities. it was at this moment that he stripped himself of everything that he had, the bishop even having to provide a cloak to cover his nakedness, and became the wonderful apostle to the poor that he remained during all the rest of his life. curious as it must ever seem, it was not long before he had many who wished to imitate him and who insisted on becoming his disciples and followers. st. francis had had no idea how infectious his example was to prove. before his death his disciples could be numbered by the thousands and the great order of the franciscans, that for centuries was to do so much work, had come into existence not by any conscious planning, but by the mere force of the great christian principles that were the guiding factors in st. francis' own life. ruskin in his mornings in florence in discussing giotto's famous picture of st. francis' renunciation of his inheritance, and his incurrence thereby of his father's anger, has a characteristic passage that sounds the very keynote of the saint's life and goes to the heart of things. in it he explains the meaning of this apparently contradictory incident in st. francis' life, since francis' great virtue was obedience, yet here, apparently as a beginning of his more perfect christian life, is an act of disobedience. after ruskin's explanation, however, it is all the more difficult to understand the present generation's revival of interest in francis unless it be attributed to a liking for contrast. "that is the meaning of st. francis' renouncing his inheritance; and it is the beginning of giotto's gospel of works. unless this hardest of deeds be done first--this inheritance of mammon and the world cast away,--all other deeds are useless. you cannot serve, cannot obey, god and mammon. no charities, no obedience, no self-denials, are of any use while you are still at heart in conformity with the world. you go to church, because the world goes. you keep sunday, because your { } neighbor keeps it. but you dress ridiculously because your neighbors ask it; and you dare not do a rough piece of work, because your neighbors despise it. you must renounce your neighbor, in his riches and pride, and remember him in his distress. that is st. francis' 'disobedience.'" {opp } [illustration] st. francis (church of the frari, venice, nic. pisano) in spite of ruskin's charming explanation of st. francis' place in history, and his elucidation of the hard passages in his life, most people will only find it more difficult, after these explanations, to understand the modern acute reawakening of interest in st. francis. our generation in its ardent devotion to the things of this world does not seem a promising field for the evangel, "give up all thou hast and follow me." the mystery of st. francis' attraction only deepens the more we know of him. an american franciscan has tried to solve the problem and his words are worth quoting. father paschal robinson, o. s. m., in his "the true st. francis" says:-- "what is the cause of the present widespread homage to st. francis? it is, of course, far too wide a question to allow the present writer to do more than make a few suggestions. first and foremost, we must ever reckon with the perennial charm of the saint's personality, which seems to wield an ineffable influence over the hearts of men--drawing and holding those of the most different habits of mind, with a sense of personal sympathy. perhaps no other man, unless it be st. paul, ever had such wide reaching, all-embracing sympathy: and it may have been wider than st. paul's, for we find no evidence in the great apostle of a love for nature and of animals. this exquisite franciscan spirit, as it is called, which is the very perfume of religion--this spirit at once so humble, so tender, so devout, so akin to 'the good odor of christ'--passed out into the whole world and has become a permanent source of inspiration. a character at once so exhalted and so purified as st. francis was sure to keep alive an ideal; and so he does. from this one can easily understand st. francis' dominance among a small but earnest band of enthusiasts now pointing the world back to the reign of the spirit. it was this same gentle idealism of st. francis which inspired the art of the umbrian people; it was this which was translated into the paintings of the greatest artists. no school of painting has ever been penetrated with { } such pure idealism as the umbrian; and this inspiration, at once religious and artistic, came from the tomb of the _poverello_ above which giotto had painted his mystical frescoes. the earnest quasi-religious study of the medieval beginnings of western art has therefore rightly been set down as another cause for some of the latter-day pilgrimages to assisi. in like manner, the scientific treatment of the romance literature leads naturally to st. francis as to the humble upper waters of a mighty stream; at the beginning of the thirteenth century is st. francis, at the end is dante. it was matthew arnold, we believe, who first held up the poor man of assisi as a literary type--a type as distinct and formal as the author of the _divine comedy_. 'prose,' he says, 'could not easily satisfy the saint's ardent soul, and so he made poetry.' 'it was,' writes ozanam, 'the first cry of a nascent poetry which has grown and made itself heard through the world.'" considering how thoroughly impractical francis seemed to be in his life, it can scarcely help but be a source of ever increasing wonder that he succeeded in influencing, his generation so widely and so thoroughly. it is evident that there were many men of the time tired of the more or less strenuous life, which chained them either to the cares of business or tempted them for the sake of the bubble reputation into a military career. to these st. francis' method of life came with an especially strong appeal. the example of his neglect of worldly things and of his so thoroughly maintained resolve not to be harassed by the ordinary cares of life, and especially not to take too much thought of the future, penetrated into all classes. while it made the rich realize how much of their lives they were living merely for the sake of others, it helped the poor to be satisfied, since here was a sublime and complete recognition of the fact that an existence without cares was better than one with many cares, such as were sure to come to those who wrought ever and anon increase of the goods of this world. such ideas may seen to be essentially modern, but anyone who will turn to the chapter on the three most read books of the century and read the passages from the "romance of the rose" on wealth and poverty, will know better than to think them anything but perennial. { } men gathered around st. francis then and pleaded to be allowed to follow his mode of life. some of the men who thus came to him were the choice spirits of the times. thomas of celano, who was to be one of the master's favorite disciples and subsequently to be his most authoritative biographer, was one of the great literary geniuses of all times, the author of the sublime dies irae. while most of his first companions were men of such extreme simplicity of mind that the world has been rather in an amused than admiring attitude with regard to them, there can be no doubt that this simplicity was of itself an index not only of their genuine sincerity of heart, but of a greatness of mind that set them above the ordinary run of mankind and made them live poetry when they did not write it. the institute established by st. francis was destined, in the course of the century, to attract to it some of the great men of every country. besides thomas of celano there was, in italy, anthony of padua, almost as famous as his master for the beauty of his saintly life; jacopone da todi, the well-known author of the stabat mater, a hymn that rivals in poetic genius, the dies irae; bonaventure, the great teacher of philosophy and theology at the university of paris, and the writer of some of the sublimest treatises of mystical theology that were to be text books for the members of the franciscan order, and of many other religious bodies for centuries after his death, indeed down to even our own times. there was roger bacon, in england, the famous teacher of science at paris and at oxford; and that subtle doctor, duns scotus, whose influence in philosophical speculation was destined never quite to disappear, and many others, the pick of the generations in which they lived, all proud to look up to francis of assisi as their father; all glad of the opportunity that the order gave them, to pass their lives in peace, far from the madding crowd with its strifes and competition, providing them constantly with opportunities to live their own lives, to find their own souls, to cultivate their own individualities untrammelled by worldly cares. francis' success in this matter and the propaganda of his influence will not be so surprising to americans of this generation, if they will only recall what is still a precious memory in { } the minds of men who are yet alive, that efforts to found a community not unlike that of the franciscans in certain ways, attracted widespread attention even in our own country half a century ago. after all, the men who gathered at brook farm had ideas and ideals not so distant from those cherished by st. francis and the early members of the franciscan order. their main effort was also to get away from worldly cares and have the opportunity to work out their philosophy of life far from the disturbing influence of city life, in the peaceful pursuit of only such agricultural efforts as might be necessary to ensure them simple sustenance, yet at the same time enforce from them such exercise in the open air as would guarantee the preservation of health. the men of brook farm were, in the eyes of their generation, quite as far from practical ideas as were the early franciscans. it must not be forgotten, however, that these men who thus attempted in the nineteenth century what st. francis succeeded in accomplishing in the thirteenth, in their subsequent careers succeeded in impressing themselves very strongly upon the life of the american people. much of what is best in our nineteenth century life would be lost if the brook farmers and what they accomplished were to be removed from it. men of ideals are usually also men of working ideas, as these two experiences in history would seem to show. {opp } [illustration] st. elizabeth--three franciscans (giotto) [illustration] st. louis--three franciscans (giotto) [illustration] st. clare--three franciscans (giotto) it was not alone for the men of his generation, however, that francis was destined to furnish a refuge from worldly care and a place of peace and thoughtful life. we have already said that it was by chance, certainly without any conscious intention on francis' part that the franciscan order for men which is usually spoken of as the first order came into existence. the last thing in the world very probably that would ever have entered into the mind of francis when he began to lead the simple life of a poor little man of god, was the founding of a religious order for women. we tell elsewhere the story, of st. clare's interest in st. francis' mode of life and of the trials that she underwent in order to obtain permission and opportunity to fashion her own life in the same way. the problem was even more serious for women than for men. st. francis considered that they should not be { } allowed to follow the franciscan custom of going out to seek alms and yet required that they should live in absolute poverty, possessing nothing and supporting themselves only by the contributions of the faithful and the work of their hands. st. clare attempted the apparently impossible and solved the problem of a new career for the women of her time. it was not very long before st. clare's example proved as infective as that of st. francis himself. while in the beginning the members of her family had been the most strenuous objectors against her taking up such an unwonted mode of existence it was not long before she was joined in the monastery of st. damian where her little community was living, by her sister who was to become almost as famous as herself under the name of st. agnes, and by her mother and other near relatives, from assisi and the neighborhood. this second order of st. francis to which only women were admitted proved to have in it the germ of as active life as that of the first order. before the end of the thirteenth century there were women franciscans in every country in europe. these convents furnished for women a refuge from the worried, hurried, over-busy life around them that proved quite as attractive as the similar opportunity for the men. for many hundreds of years down even to our own time, women were to find in the quiet obscurity of such franciscan convents a peaceful, happy life in which they occupied themselves with simple conventual duties, with manual labor in their monastery gardens, with the making of needle work in which they became the most expert in the world, with the illuminating of missals and office books of such artistic beauty that they have become the most precious treasures of our great libraries, and with the long hours of prayer by which they hoped to accomplish as much in making the world better as if they devoted themselves to ardent efforts of reform which, of course, the circumstances of the time would not have permitted. finally there was the third order of st. francis, which was to gather to itself so many of the distinguished people of the century whose occupations and obligations would not permit them to live the conventual life, but who yet felt that they must be attached by some bond to this beautiful sanctity that was { } entering into all the better life of the century. the third order was established so as to permit all the world to become franciscans to whatever degree it considered possible, and to share in the sublime christianity of the founder whom they all admired so much, even if they were not able to imitate his sublimer virtues. into this third order of st. francis most of the finer spirits of the time entered with enthusiasm. we need only recall that louis ix. of france, the greatest monarch of the century, considered it a special privilege to be a follower of the humble francis, and that st. elizabeth of hungary, the daughter of a king, the wife and mother of a ruling prince, gave another example of the far-reachingness of francis' work. dante was another of the great members of the third order and was buried in the habit of st. francis, glorying in the thought of the brotherhood this gave him with the saint he loved so much. all down the centuries since, other distinguished men in many countries of europe were proud to claim the same distinction. modern science is supposed to be unorthodox in its tendencies and electricity is the most recent of the sciences in development. three of the great founders in electricity, volta, galvani and ampere, were members of the third order of st. francis and at least one of them, galvani, insisted on being buried in the habit of the order six centuries after the death of his father francis in order to show how much he appreciated the privilege. there is no man who lived in the thirteenth century who influenced the better side of men more in all the succeeding ages down to and including our own time, than the poor little man of god of assisi. he is just coming into a further precious heritage of uplift for the men of our time, that is surprising for those who are so buried in the merely material that they fail to realize how much the ideal still rules the minds of thinking men, but that seems only natural and inevitable to those who appreciate all the attractiveness there is in a simple life lived without the bootless hurry, the unattaining bustle and the over-strained excitement of the strenuous existence. what st. francis and his order accomplished in italy another great saint, dominic, was achieving in the west. the { } fact that another order similar to that of st. francis in many respects, yet differing from it in a number of essential particulars, should have arisen almost at the same time shows how profoundly the spirit of organization of effort had penetrated into the minds of these generations of the thirteenth century. while poverty was to be the badge of st. dominic's followers as well as those of st. francis, learning was to replace the simplicity which st. francis desired for his sons. the order of preachers began at once to give many eminent scholars to the church, and for three centuries there was not a single generation that did not see as dominicans some of the most intellectual men of europe. leaders they were in philosophy, in the development of thought, in education, and in every phase of ecclesiastical life. the watch dogs of the lord, (domini canes) they were called, punning on their name because everwhere, they were in the van of defense against the enemies of christianity. that the thirteenth century should have given rise to two such great religious orders stamps it as a wonderfully fruitful period for religion as well as for every other phrase of human development. in order to understand what these great founders tried to do, the work of these two orders must be considered together. they have never ceased, during all the intervening seven centuries, to be the source of great influence in the religious world. they have proven refuges for many gentle spirits at all times and have been the homes of learning, as well as of piety. while occasionally their privileges have been abused, and men have taken advantage of the opportunities to be idle and luxurious, this has happened much seldomer than the world imagines. not a single century has failed to show men among them whom the world honors as saints, and whose lives have been examples of what can be accomplished by human nature at its best. they have been literally schools of unselfishness, and men have learned to think less of themselves and more of their labor by the contemplation of the lives of these begging friars. what they did for england, the rev. augustus jessopp, a non-conformist clergyman in england, has recently told very well, and the more one studies their history, the higher the estimation of them; and the more one knows of { } them, the less does one talk of their vices. green in his "history of the english people" has paid them a tribute that it is well to remember:-- "to bring the world back again within the pale of the church was the aim of two religious orders which sprang suddenly to life at the opening of the thirteenth century. the zeal of the spaniard dominic was aroused at the sight of the lordly prelates who sought by fire and sword to win the albigensian heretics to the faith. 'zeal,' he cried, 'must be met by zeal, lowliness by lowliness, false sanctity by real sanctity, preaching lies by preaching truth.' his fiery ardor and rigid orthodoxy were seconded by the mystical piety, the imaginative enthusiasm of francis of assisi. the life of francis falls like a stream of tender light across the darkness of the time. in the frescoes of giotto or the verse of dante we see him take poverty for his bride. he strips himself of all: he flings his very clothes at his father's feet, that he may be one with nature and god. his passionate verse claims the moon for his sister and the sun for his brother; he calls on his brother the wind, and his sister the water. his last faint cry was a 'welcome, sister death.' strangely as the two men differed from each other, their aim was the same, to convert the heathen, to extirpate heresy, to reconcile knowledge with orthodoxy, to carry the gospel to the poor. the work was to be done by the entire reversal of the older monasticism, by seeking personal salvation in effort for the salvation of their fellow-men, by exchanging the solitary of the cloister for the preacher, the monk for a friar. to force the new 'brethren' into entire dependence on those among whom they labored the vow of poverty was turned into a stern reality; the 'begging friars' were to subsist on the alms of the poor, they might possess neither money nor lands, the very houses in which they lived were to be held in trust for them by others. the tide of popular enthusiasm which welcomed their appearance swept before it the reluctance of rome, the jealousy of the older orders, the opposition of the parochial priesthood. thousands of brethren gathered in a few years around francis and dominic, and the begging preachers, clad in their coarse frock of serge, with the girdle of rope around their waist, wandered barefooted as { } missionaries over asia, battled with heresy in italy and gaul, lectured in the universities, and preached and toiled among the poor." [illustration] side capital (lincoln) { } xvii aquinas the scholar. no one of all the sons of the thirteenth century, not even dante himself, so typifies the greatness of the mentality of the period as does thomas, called from his birthplace aquinas, or of aquin, on whom his own and immediately succeeding generations because of what they considered his almost more than human intellectual acumen, bestowed the title of angelical doctor, while the church for the supremely unselfish character of his life, formally conferred the title of saint. the life of aquinas is of special interest, because it serves to clarify many questions as to the education of the thirteenth century and to correct many false impressions that are only too prevalent with regard to the intellectual life of the period. though aquinas came of a noble family which was related to many of the royal houses of europe and was the son of the count of aquino, then one of the most important of the non-reigning noble houses of italy, his education was begun in his early years and was continued in the midst of such opportunities as even the modern student might well envy. it is often said that the nobility at this time, paid very little attention to the things of the intellect and indeed rather prided themselves on their ignorance of even such ordinary attainments as reading and writing. while this was doubtless true for not a few of them, aquinas's life stands in open contradiction with the impression that any such state of mind was at all general, or that there were not so many exceptions as to nullify any such supposed rule. evidently those who wished could and did take advantage of educational opportunities quite as in our day. aquinas's early education was received at the famous monastery of monte cassino in southern italy, where the benedictines for more than six centuries had been providing magnificent opportunities for the studious youth of italy and for serious-minded students from all over europe. { } when he was scarcely more than a boy he proceeded to the university of naples, which at that time, under the patronage of the emperor frederick ii., was being encouraged not only to take the place so long held by salernum in the educational world of europe, but also to rival the renowned universities of paris and bologna. here he remained until he was seventeen years of age when he resolved to enter the dominican order, which had been founded only a short time before by st. dominic, yet had already begun to make itself felt throughout the religious and educational world of the time. just as it is the custom to declare that as a rule, the nobility cared little for education, so it is more or less usual to proclaim that practically only the clergy had any opportunities for the higher education during the thirteenth century. thomas had evidently been given his early educational opportunities, however, without any thought of the possibility of his becoming a clergyman. his mother was very much opposed to his entrance among the dominicans, and every effort was made to picture to him the pleasures and advantages that would accrue to him because of his noble connections, in a life in the world. thomas insisted, however, and his firm purpose in the matter finally conquered even the serious obstacles that a noble family can place in the way of a boy of seventeen, as regards the disposition of his life in a way opposed to their wishes. the dominicans realized the surpassing intelligence of the youth whom they had received and accordingly he was sent to be trained under the greatest teacher of their order, the famous albert the great, who was then lecturing at cologne. thomas was not the most brilliant of scholars as a young man and seems even to have been the butt of his more successful fellow-students. they are said to have called him the dumb one, or sometimes because of his bulkiness even as a youth, the dumb ox. albert himself, however, was not deceived in his estimation of the intellectual capacity of his young student, and according to tradition declared, that the bellowings of this ox would yet be heard throughout all christendom. after a few years spent at cologne, thomas when he was in his early twenties, accompanied albert who had been called to { } paris. it was at paris that thomas received his bachelor's degree and also took out his license to teach--the doctor's degree of our time. after this some years further were spent at cologne and then the greatness of the man began to dawn on his generation. he was called back to paris and became one of the most popular of the professors at that great university in the height of her fame, at a time when no greater group of men has perhaps ever been gathered together, than shared with him the honors of the professors' chairs at that institution. "albert the great, roger bacon, st. bonaventure, and st. thomas aquinas, form among themselves, so to speak, a complete representation of all the intellectual powers: they are the four doctors who uphold the chair of philosophy in the temple of the middle ages. their mission was truly the reestablishment of the sciences, but not their final consummation. they were not exempt from the ignorances and erroneous opinions of their day, yet they did much to overcome them and succeeded better than is usually acknowledged in introducing the era of modern thought. often, the majesty, i may even say the grace of their conceptions, disappears under the veil of the expressions in which they are clothed; but these imperfections are amply atoned for by superabundant merits. those christian philosophers did not admit within themselves the divorce, since their day become so frequent, between the intellect and the will; their lives were uniformly a laborious application of their doctrines. they realized in its plenitude the practical wisdom so often dreamed of by the ancients--the abstinence of the disciples of pythagoras, the constancy of the stoics, together with humility and charity, virtues unknown to the antique world. albert the great and st. thomas left the castles of their noble ancestors to seek obscurity in the cloisters of st. dominic: the former abdicated, and the latter declined, the honors of the church. it was with the cord of st. francis that roger bacon and st. bonaventure girded their loins; when the last named was sought that the roman purple might be placed upon his shoulders, he begged the envoys to wait until he finished washing the dishes of the convent. thus they did not withdraw themselves { } within the exclusive mysteries of an esoteric teaching; they opened the doors of their schools to the sons of shepherds and artisans, and, like their master, christ, they said: "come all!" after having broken the bread of the word, they were seen distributing the bread of alms. the poor knew them and blessed their names. even yet, after the lapse of six hundred years, the dwellers in paris kneel round the altar of the angel of the school, and the workmen of lyons deem it an honor once a year to bear upon their brawny shoulders the triumphant remains of the 'seraphic doctor.'" for most modern students and even scholars educated in secular universities the name of aquinas is scarcely more than a type, the greatest of them, it is true, of the schoolmen who were so much occupied with distant, impractical and, to say the least, merely theoretic metaphysical problems, in the later middle ages. it is true that the renewed interest in dante in recent years in english speaking countries, has brought about a revival of attention in aquinas's work because to dante, the angelical doctor, as he was already called, meant so much, and because the divine comedy has been declared often and often, by competent critics, to be the summa theologiae of st. thomas of aquin in verse. even this adventitious literary interest, however, has not served to lift the obscurity in which aquinas is veiled for the great majority of scholarly people, whose education has been conducted according to modern methods and present-day ideas. as showing a hopeful tendency to recognize the greatness of these thinkers of the middle ages it is interesting to note that about five years ago one of st. thomas's great works--the summa contra gentiles--was placed on the list of subjects which a candidate may at his option offer in the final honor school of the _litterae humaniores_ at oxford. there has come a definite appreciation of the fact that this old time philosopher represents a phase of intellectual development that must not be neglected, and that stands for such educational influence as may well be taken advantage of even in our day of information rather than mental discipline. for the purposes of this course father rickaby, s. j., has prepared an annotated translation of the great philosophic work under the title, { } "of god and his creatures," which was published by burns and oates of london, . this will enable those for whom the latin of st. thomas was a stumbling block, to read the thoughts of the great scholastic, in translation at least, and it is to be hoped that we shall hear no more of the trifling judgments which have so disgraced our english philosophical literature. the fact that pope leo xiii., by a famous papal bull, insisted that st. thomas should be the standard of teaching in philosophy and theology in all the catholic institutions of learning throughout the world, aroused many thinkers to a realization of the fact that far from being a thing of the dead and distant past, thomas's voice was still a great living force in the world of thought. to most people leo xiii. appealed as an intensely practical and thoroughly modern ruler, whose judgment could be depended on even with regard to teaching problems in philosophy and theology. there was about him none of the qualities that would stamp him as a far-away mystic whose thoughts were still limited by medieval barriers. the fact that in making his declaration the pope was only formulating as a rule, what had spontaneously become the almost constant practice and tradition of catholic schools and universities, of itself served to show how great and how enduring was st. thomas's influence. in the drawing together of christian sects that has inevitably come as a result of the attacks made upon christianity by modern materialists, and then later by those who would in their ardor for the higher criticism do away with practically all that is divine in christianity, there has come a very general realization even on the part of those outside of her fold, that the roman catholic church occupies a position more solidly founded on consistent logical premises and conclusions than any of the denominations. without her aid christian apologetics would indeed be in sad case. pope leo's declaration only emphasizes the fact, then, that the foundation stone of christian apologetics was laid by the great work of st. thomas, and that to him more than any other is due that wonderful coordination of secular and religious knowledge, which appoints for each of these branches of knowledge its { } proper place, and satisfies the human mind better than any other system of philosophic thought. this is the real panegyric of st. thomas, and it only adds to the sublimity of it that it should come nearly six centuries and a half after his death. to only a bare handful of men in the history of the human race, is it given thus to influence the minds of subsequent generations for so long and to have laid down the principles of thought that are to satisfy men for so many generations. this is why, in any attempt at even inadequate treatment of the greatness of the thirteenth century, thomas aquinas, who was its greatest scholar, must have a prominent place. the present generation has had sufficient interest in him aroused, however, amply to justify such a giving of space. when leo xiii. made his recommendation of st. thomas it was not as one who had merely heard of the works of the great medieval thinker, or knew them only by tradition, or had slightly dipped into them as a dilettante, but as one who had been long familiar with them, who had studied the angelical doctor in youth, who had pondered his wisdom in middle age, and resorted again and again to him for guidance in the difficulties of doctrine in maturer years, and the difficulties of morals such as presented themselves in his practical life as a churchman. it was out of the depths of his knowledge of him, that the great pope, whom all the modern world came to honor so reverently before his death, drew his supreme admiration for st. thomas and his recognition of the fact that no safer guide in the thorny path of modern christian apologetics could be followed, than this wonderful genius who first systematized human thought as far as the relations of creator to creature are considered, in the heyday of medieval scholarship and university teaching. those who have their knowledge of scholastic philosophy at second hand, from men who proclaim this period of human development as occupied entirely with fruitless discussion of metaphysical theories, will surely think that they could find nothing of interest for them in st. thomas's writings. it is true the casual reader may not penetrate far enough into his writing to realize its significance and to appreciate its depth of knowledge, but the serious student finds constant { } details of supreme interest because of their applications to the most up-to-date problems. we venture to quote an example that will show this more or less perfectly according to the special philosophic interest of readers. it is st. thomas's discussion of the necessity there was for the revelation of the truth of the existence of god. his statement of the reasons why men, occupied with the ordinary affairs of life, would not ordinarily come to this truth unless it were revealed to them, though they actually have the mental capacity to reach it by reason alone, will show how sympathetically the saint appreciated human conditions as they are. "if a truth of this nature were left to the sole inquiry of reason, three disadvantages would follow. one is that the knowledge of god would be confined to few. the discovery of truth is the fruit of studious inquiry. from this very many are hindered. some are hindered by a constitutional unfitness, their natures being ill-disposed to the acquisition of knowledge. they could never arrive by study at the highest grade of human knowledge, which consists in the knowledge of god. others are hindered by the claims of business and the ties of the management of property. there must be in human society some men devoted to temporal affairs. these could not possibly spend time enough in the learned lessons of speculative inquiry to arrive at the highest point of human inquiry, the knowledge of god. some again are hindered by sloth. the knowledge of the truths that reason can investigate concerning god presupposes much previous knowledge; indeed almost the entire study of philosophy is directed to the knowledge of god. hence, of all parts of philosophy that part stands over to be learned last, which consists of metaphysics dealing with (divine things). thus only with great labour of study is it possible to arrive at the searching out of the aforesaid truth; and this labour few are willing to undergo for sheer love of knowledge. "another disadvantage is that such as did arrive at the knowledge or discovery of the aforesaid truth would take a long time over it on account of the profundity of such truth, and the many prerequisites to the study, and also because in youth and early manhood the soul, tossed to and fro on the { } waves of passion, is not fit for the study of such high truth; only in settled age does the soul become prudent and scientific, as the philosopher says. thus if the only way open to the knowledge of god were the way of reason, the human race would (remain) in thick darkness of ignorance: as the knowledge of god, the best instrument for making men perfect and good, would accrue only to a few after a considerable lapse of time. "a third disadvantage is that, owing to the infirmity of our judgment and the perturbing force of imagination, there is some admixture of error in most of the investigations of human reason. this would be a reason to many for continuing to doubt even of the most accurate demonstrations, not perceiving the force of the demonstration, and seeing the divers judgments, of divers persons who have the name of being wise men. besides, in the midst of much demonstrated truth there is sometimes an element of error, not demonstrated but asserted on the strength of some plausible and sophistic reasoning that is taken for a demonstration. and therefore it was necessary for the real truth concerning divine things to be presented to men with fixed certainty by way of faith. wholesome, therefore, is the arrangement of divine clemency, whereby things even that reason can investigate are commanded to be held on faith, so that all might be easily partakers of the knowledge of god, and that without doubt and error (book i. cix)." a still more striking example of thomas's eminently sympathetic discussion of a most difficult problem, is to be found in his treatment of the question of the resurrection of the body. the doctrine that men will rise again on the last day with the same bodies that they had while here on earth, has been a stumbling block for the faith of a great many persons from the beginning of christianity. in recent times the discovery of the indestructibility of matter, far from lessening the skeptical elements in this problem as might have been anticipated, has rather emphasized them. while the material of which man's body was composed is never destroyed, it is broken up largely into its original elements and is used over and over again in many natural processes, and even enters into the composition of other men's bodies during the long succeeding generations. here is a problem upon which it would { } ordinarily be presumed at once, that a philosophic writer of the thirteenth century could throw no possible light. we venture to say, however, that the following passage which we quote from an article on st. thomas in a recent copy of the dublin _review_, represents the best possible solution of the problem, even in the face of all our modern advance in science. "what does not bar numerical unity in a man while he lives on uninterruptedly (writes st. thomas), clearly can be no bar to the identity of the arisen man with the man that was. in a man's body, while he lives, there are not always the same parts in respect of matter but only in respect of species. in respect of matter there is a flux and reflux of parts. still that fact does not bar the man's numerical unity from the beginning to the end of his life. the form and species of the several parts continue throughout life, but the matter of the parts is dissolved by the natural heat, and new matter accrues through nourishment. yet the man is not numerically different by the difference of his component parts at different ages, although it is true that the material composition of the man at one stage of his life is not his material composition at another. addition is made from without to the stature of a boy without prejudice to his identity, for the boy and the adult are numerically the same man." in a word, aquinas says that we recognize that the body of the boy and of the man are the same though they are composed of quite different material. with this in mind the problem of the resurrection takes on quite a new aspect from what it held before. what we would call attention to, however, is not so much the matter of the argument as the mode of it. it is essentially modern in every respect. not only does thomas know that the body changes completely during the course of years, but he knows that the agent by which the matter of the parts is dissolved is "the natural heat," while "new matter accrues through nourishment." the passage contains a marvelous anticipation of present-day physiology as well as a distinct contribution to christian apologetics. this coordination of science and theology, though usually thought to be lacking among scholastic philosophers, is constantly typical of their mode of thought and discussion, and this example, far from { } being exceptional, is genuinely representative of them, as all serious students of scholasticism know. perhaps the last thing for which the ordinary person would expect to find a great modern teacher recommending the reading of st. thomas would be to find therein the proper doctrine with regard to liberty and the remedies for our modern social evils. those who will recall, however, how well the generations of the thirteenth century faced social problems even more serious than ours--for the common people had no rights at all [at] the beginning of the century, yet secured them with such satisfaction as to lay the foundation of the modern history of liberty--will realize that the intellectual men of the time must have had a much better grasp of the principles underlying such problems, than would otherwise be imagined. as a matter of fact, st. thomas's treatment of society, its rights and duties, and the mutual relationship between it and the individual, is one of the triumphs of his wonderful work in ethics. it is no wonder, then, that the great pope of the end of the nineteenth century, whose encyclicals showed that he understood very thoroughly these social evils of our time, recognized their tendencies and appreciated their danger, recommended as a remedy for them the reading of st. thomas. pope leo said: "domestic and civil society, even, which, as all see, is exposed to great danger from the plague of perverse opinions, would certainly enjoy a far more peaceful and a securer existence if more wholesome doctrine were taught in the academies and schools--one more in conformity with the teaching of the church, such as is contained in the works of thomas aquinas. "for the teachings of thomas on the true meaning of liberty--which at this time is running into license--on the divine origin of all authority, on laws and their force, on the paternal and just rule of princes, on obedience to the higher powers, on mutual charity one towards another--on all of these and kindred subjects, have very great and invincible force to overturn those principles of the new order which are well known to be dangerous to the peaceful order of things and to public safety." { } for this great pope, however, there was no greater teacher of any of the serious philosophical, ethical and theological problems than this saint of the thirteenth century. his position in the matter would only seem exaggerated to those who do not appreciate pope leo's marvelous practical intelligence, and saint thomas's exhaustive treatment of most of the questions that have always been uppermost in the minds of men. while, with characteristic humility, he considered himself scarcely more than a commentator on aristotle, his natural genius was eminently original and he added much more of his own than what he took from his master. there can be no doubt that his was one of the most gifted minds in all humanity's history and that for profundity of intelligence he deserves to be classed with plato and aristotle, as his great disciple dante is placed between homer and shakespeare. those who know st. thomas the best, and have spent their lives in the study of him, not only cordially welcomed but ardently applauded pope leo's commendation of him, and considered that lofty as was his praise there was not a word they would have changed even in such a laudatory passage as the following: "while, therefore, we hold that every word of wisdom, every useful thing by whomsoever discovered or planned, ought to be received with a willing and grateful mind. we exhort you, venerable brethren, in all earnestness to restore the golden wisdom of st. thomas, and to spread it far and wide for the defense and beauty of the catholic faith, for the good of society, and for the advantage of all the sciences. the wisdom of st. thomas, we say--for if anything is taken up with too great subtlety by the scholastic doctors, or too carelessly stated--if there is anything that ill agrees with the discoveries of a later age, or, in a word, improbable in whatever way, it does not enter our mind, to propose that for imitation to our age. let carefully selected teachers endeavor to implant the doctrines of thomas aquinas in the minds of students, and set forth clearly his solidity and excellence over others. let the academies already founded or to be founded by you illustrate and defend this doctrine, and use it for refutation of prevailing errors. but, lest the false for the true or the corrupt for the pure be drunk in, be watchful that the doctrine of thomas { } be drawn from his own fountains, or at least from those rivulets which derived from the very fount, have thus far flowed, according to the established agreement of learned men, pure and clear; be careful to guard the minds of youth from those which are said to flow thence, but in reality are gathered from strange and unwholesome streams." tributes quite as laudatory are not lacking from modern secular writers and while there have been many derogatory remarks, these have always come from men who either knew aquinas only at second hand, or who confess that they had been unable to read him understandingly. the praise all comes from men who have spent years in the study of his writings. a recent writer in the dublin _review_ (january, ) sums up his appreciation of one of st. thomas's works, his masterly book in philosophy, as follows: "the _summa contra gentiles_ is an historical monument of the first importance for the history of philosophy. in the variety of its contents, it is a perfect encyclopedia of the learning of the day. by it we can fix the high-water mark of thirteenth century thought, for it contains the lectures of a doctor second to none in the great school of thought then flourishing--the university of paris. it is by the study of such books that one enters into the mental life of the period at which they were written; not by the hasty perusal of histories of philosophy. no student of the contra gentiles is likely to acquiesce in the statement that the middle ages were a time when mankind seemed to have lost the power of thinking for themselves. medieval people thought for themselves, thoughts curiously different from ours and profitable to study." here is a similar high tribute for aquinas's great work on theology from his modern biographer, father vaughan: "the 'summa theologica' is a mighty synthesis, thrown into technical and scientific form, of the catholic traditions of east and west, of the infallible dicta of the sacred page, and of the most enlightened conclusions of human reason, gathered from the soaring intuitions of the academy, and the rigid severity of the lyceum. "its author was a man endowed with the characteristic notes of the three great fathers of greek philosophy: he possessed { } the intellectual honesty and precision of socrates, the analytical keenness of aristotle, and that yearning after wisdom and light which was the distinguishing mark of 'plato the divine,' and which has ever been one of the essential conditions of the highest intuitions of religion." as a matter of fact it was the very greatness of thomas aquinas, and the great group of contemporaries who were so close to him, that produced an unfortunate effect on subsequent thinking and teaching in europe. these men were so surpassing in their grasp of the whole round of human thought, that their works came to be worshiped more or less as fetishes, and men did not think for themselves but appealed to them as authorities. it is a great but an unfortunate tribute to the scholastics of the thirteenth century that subsequent generations for many hundred years not only did not think that they could improve on them, but even hesitated to entertain the notion that they could equal them. turner in his history of philosophy has pointed out this fact clearly and has attributed to it, to a great extent, the decadence of scholastic philosophy. "the causes of the decay of scholastic philosophy were both internal and external. the internal causes are to be found in the condition of scholastic philosophy at the beginning of the fourteenth century. the great work of christian syncretism had been completed by the masters of the preceding period; revelation and science had been harmonized; contribution had been levied on the pagan philosophies of greece and arabia, and whatever truth these philosophies had possessed had been utilized to form the basis of a rational exposition of christian revelation. the efforts of roger bacon and of alfred the great to reform scientific method had failed; the sciences were not cultivated. there was, therefore, no source of development, and nothing was left for the later scholastics except to dispute as to the meaning of principles, to comment on the text of this master or of that, and to subtilize to such an extent that scholasticism soon became a synonym for captious quibbling. the great thomistic principle that in philosophy the argument from authority is the weakest of all arguments was forgotten; aristotle, st. thomas, or scotus became the criterion of truth, and as solomon, whose youthful wisdom had { } astonished the world, profaned his old age by the worship of idols, the philosophy of the schools, in the days of its decadence, turned from the service of truth to prostrate itself before the shrine of a master. dialectic, which in the thirteenth century had been regarded as the instrument of knowledge, now became an object of study for the sake of display; and to this fault of method was added a fault of style--an uncouthness and barbarity of terminology which bewilder the modern reader." the appreciation of st. thomas in his own time is the greatest tribute to the critical faculty of the century that could be made. "genius is praised but starves," in the words of the old roman poet. certainly most of the geniuses of the world have met with anything but their proper meed of appreciation in their own time. this is not true, however, during our thirteenth century. we have already shown how the artists, and especially giotto, (at the end of the thirteenth century giotto was only twenty-four years old) were appreciated, and how much attention dante began to attract from his contemporaries, and we may add that all the great scholars of the period had a following that insured the wide publication of their works, at a time when this had to be accomplished by slow and patient hand-labor. the appreciation for thomas, indeed, came near proving inimical to his completion of his important works in philosophy and theology. many places in europe wanted to have the opportunity to hear him. we have only reintroduced the practise of exchanging university professors in very recent years. this was quite a common practise in the thirteenth century, however, and so st. thomas, after having been professor at paris and later at rome, taught for a while at naples and then at a number of the italian universities. everywhere he went he was noted for the kindliness of his disposition and for his power to make friends. looked upon as the greatest thinker of his time it would be easy to expect that there should be some signs of consciousness of this, and as a consequence some of that unpleasant self-assertion which so often makes great intellectual geniuses unpopular. thomas, however, never seems to have had any over-appreciation of his own talents, but, realizing how little he knew compared to { } the whole round of knowledge, and how superficial his thinking was compared to the depth of the mysteries he was trying, not to solve but to treat satisfactorily, it must be admitted that there was no question of conceit having a place in his life. this must account for the universal friendship of all who came in contact with him. the popes insisted on having him as a professor at the roman university in which they were so much interested, and which they wished to make one of the greatest universities of the time. here thomas was brought in contact with ecclesiastics from all over the world and helped to form the mind of the time. those who think the popes of the middle ages opposed to education should study the records of this roman university. thomas became the great friend of successive popes, some of whom had been brought in contact with him during his years of studying and teaching at rome and paris. this gave him many privileges and abundant encouragement, but finally came near ruining his career as a philosophic writer and teacher, since his papal friends wished to raise him to high ecclesiastical dignities. urban iv. seems first to have thought of this but his successor clement iv., one of the noblest churchmen of the period, who had himself wished to decline the papacy, actually made out the bull, creating thomas archbishop of naples. when this document was in due course presented to aquinas, far from giving him any pleasure it proved a source of grief and pain. he saw the chance to do his life-work slipping from him. this was so evident to his friend the pope that he withdrew the bull and st. thomas was left in peace during the rest of his career, and allowed to prosecute that one great object to which he had dedicated his mighty intellect. this was the summing up of all human knowledge in a work that would show the relation of the creator to the creature, and apply the great principles of greek philosophy to the sublime truths of christianity. had thomas consented to accept the archbishopric of naples in all human probability, as thomas's great english biographer remarks, the summa theologica would never have been written. it seems not unlikely that the dignity was pressed upon him by the pope partly at the solicitation of powerful members of { } his family, who hoped in this to have some compensation for their relative's having abandoned his opportunities for military and worldly glory. it is fortunate that their efforts failed, and it is only one of the many examples in history of the short-sightedness there may be in considerations that seem founded on the highest human prudence. thomas was left free then to go on with his great work, and during the next five years he applied every spare moment to the completion of his summa. more students have pronounced this the greatest work ever written than is true for any other text-book that has ever been used in schools. that it should be the basis of modern theological teaching after seven centuries is of itself quite sufficient to proclaim its merit. the men who are most enthusiastic about it are those who have used it the longest and who know it the best. st. thomas's english biographer, the very rev. roger bede vaughan, who is a worthy member of that distinguished vaughan family who have given so many zealous ecclesiastics to the english church and so many scholars to support the cause of christianity, can scarcely say enough of this great work, nor of its place in the realm of theology. when it is recalled that father vaughan was not a member of st. thomas's own order, the dominicans, but of the benedictines, it will be seen that it was not because of any _esprit de corps_, but out of the depths of his great admiration for the saint, that his words of praise were written: "it has been shown abundantly that no writer before the angelical's day could have created a synthesis of all knowledge. the greatest of the classic fathers have been treated of, and the reasons of their inability are evident. as for the scholastics who more immediately preceded the angelical, their minds were not ripe for so great and complete a work: the fullness of time had not yet come. very possibly had not albert the great and alexander (of hales) preceded him, st. thomas would not have been prepared to write his master-work; just as, most probably, newton would never have discovered the law of gravitation had it not been for the previous labors of galileo and of kepler. but just as the english astronomer stands solitary in his greatness, though surrounded and { } succeeded by men of extraordinary eminence, so also the angelical stands by himself alone, although albertus magnus was a genius, alexander was a theological king, and bonaventure a seraphic doctor. just as the principia is a work unique, unreachable, so, too, is the 'summa theologica' of the great angelical. just as dante stands alone among the poets, so stands st. thomas in the schools." probably the most marvelous thing about the life of st. thomas is his capacity for work. his written books fill up some twenty folios in their most complete edition. this of itself would seem to be enough to occupy a lifetime without anything more. his written works, however, represent apparently only the products of his hours at leisure. he was only a little more than fifty when he died and he had been a university professor at cologne, at bologna, at paris, at rome, and at naples. in spite of the amount of work that he was thus asked to do, his order, the dominican, constantly called on him to busy himself with certain of its internal affairs. on one occasion at least he visited england in order to attend a dominican chapter at oxford, and the better part of several years at paris was occupied with his labors to secure for his brethren a proper place in the university, so that they might act as teachers and yet have suitable opportunities for the education and the discipline of the members of the order. verily it would seem as though his days must have been at least twice as long as those of the ordinary scholar and student to accomplish so much; yet he is only a type of the monks of the middle ages, of whom so many people seem to think that their principal traits were to be fat and lazy. thomas was fat, as we know from the picture of him which shows him before a desk from which a special segment has been removed to accommodate more conveniently a rather abnormal abdominal development, but as to laziness, surely the last thing that would occur to anyone who knows anything about him, would be to accuse him of it. clearly those who accept the ancient notion of monkish laziness will never understand the middle ages. the great educational progress of the thirteenth century was due almost entirely to monks. { } there is another extremely interesting side to the intellectual character of thomas aquinas which is usually not realized by the ordinary student of philosophy and theology, and still less perhaps by those who are interested in him from an educational standpoint. this is his poetical faculty. for thomas as for many of the great intellectual geniuses of the modern time, the sacrament of the holy eucharist was one of the most wondrously satisfying devotional mysteries of christianity and the subject of special devotion. in our own time the great cardinal newman manifested this same attitude of mind. thomas because of his well-known devotion to the blessed sacrament, was asked by the pope to write the office for the then recently established feast of corpus christi. there are always certain hymns incorporated in the offices of the different feast days. it might ordinarily have been expected that a scholar like aquinas would write the prose portions of the office, leaving the hymns for some other hand, or selecting hymns from some older sacred poetry. thomas, however, wrote both hymns and prose, and, surprising as it may be, his hymns are some of the most beautiful that have ever been composed and remain the admiration of posterity. it must not be forgotten in this regard that thomas's career occurred during the period when latin hymn writing was at its apogee. the dies irae and the stabat mater were both written during the thirteenth century, and the most precious latin hymns of all times were composed during the century and a half from to . aquinas's hymns do not fail to challenge comparison even with the greatest of these. while he had an eminently devotional subject, it must not be forgotten that certain supremely difficult theological problems were involved in the expression of devotion to the blessed sacrament. in spite of the difficulties, thomas succeeded in making not only good theology but great poetry. a portion of one of his hymns, the tantum ergo, has been perhaps more used in church services than any other, with the possible exception of the dies irae. another one of his beautiful hymns that especially deserves to be admired, is less well known and so i have ventured to quote three selected stanzas of it, as an illustration { } of thomas's command over rhyme and rhythm in the latin tongue. [footnote ] adoro te devote, latens deitas, quae sub his figuris vere latitas. tibi se cor meum totum subjicit, quia te contemplans totum deficit. visus, tactus, gustus, in te fallitur, sed auditu solo tute creditur: credo quidquid dixit dei filius nihil veritatis verbo verius. and the less musical but wonderfully significative fourth, stanza-- plagas sicut thomas non intueor, deum tamen meum te confiteor, fac me tibi semper magis credere, in te spem habere, te diligere. only the ardent study of many years will give anything like an adequate idea of the great schoolman's universal genius. i am content if i have conveyed a few hints that will help to a beginning of an acquaintance with one of the half dozen supreme minds of our race. [footnote : the following translation made by justice o'hagan renders sense and sound into english as adequately perhaps as is possible: hidden god, devoutly i adore thee, truly present underneath these veils: all my heart subdues itself before thee. since it all before thee faints and fails. not to sight, or taste, or touch be credit. hearing only do we trust secure; i believe, for god the son hath said it-- word of truth that ever shall endure. ... though i look not on thy wounds with thomas, thee, my lord, and thee, my god, i call: make me more and more believe thy promise, hope in thee, and love thee over all. ] { } xviii st. louis the monarch. if large numbers of men are to be ruled by one of their number, as seems more or less inevitable in the ordinary course of things, then, without doubt, the best model of what such a monarch's life should be, is to be found in that of louis ix., who for nearly half a century was the ruler of france during our period. of all the rulers of men of whom we have record in history he probably took his duties most seriously, with most regard for others, and least for himself and for his family. there is not a single relation of life in which he is not distinguished and in which his career is not worth studying, as an example of what can be done by a simple, earnest, self-forgetful man, to make life better and happier for all those who come in contact with him. his relations with his mother are those of an affectionate son in whom indeed, from his easy compliance with her wishes in his younger years one might suspect some weakness, but whose strength of character is displayed at every turn once he himself assumed the reins of government. after many years of ruling however, when his departure on the crusade compelled him to be absent from the kingdom it was to her he turned again to act as his representative and the wisdom of the choice no one can question. as a husband louis' life was a model, and though he could not accomplish the impossible, and was not able to keep the relations of his mother and his wife as cordial as he would have liked them to be, judging from human experience generally it is hard to think this constitutes any serious blot on his fair name. as a father, few men have ever thought less of material advantages for their children, or more of the necessity for having them realize that happiness in life does not consist in the possession of many things, but rather in the accomplishment of duty and in the recognition of the fact that the giving of happiness to others { } constitutes the best source of felicity for one's self. his letters and instructions to his children, as preserved for us by joinville and other contemporaries, give us perhaps the most taking picture of the man that we have, and round out a personality, which, while it has in the telling french phrase "the defects of its virtues," is surely one of the most beautiful characters that has ever been seen upon earth, in a man who took an active and extremely important part in the great events of the world of his time. the salient points of his character are his devotion to the three great needs of humanity as they present themselves in his time. he made it the aim of his life that men should have justice, and education, and when for any misfortune they needed it,--charity; and every portion of his career is taken up with successful achievement in these great departments of social action. it is well known that when he became conscious that the judges sometimes abused their power and gave sentences for partial reasons, the monarch himself took up the onerous duty of hearing appeals and succeeded in making the judges of his kingdom realize, that only the strictest justice would save them from the king's displeasure, and condign punishment. for an unjust judge there was short shrift. the old tree at versailles, under which he used to hear the causes of the poor who appealed to him, stood for many centuries as a reminder of louis' precious effort to make the dispensing of justice equal to all men. when the duty of hearing appeals took up too much of his time it was transferred to worthy shoulders, and so the important phase of jurisprudence in france relating to appeals, came to be thoroughly established as a part of the organic law of the kingdom. {opp } [illustration] notre dame (paris) as regards education, too much can not be said of louis' influence. it is to him more than to anybody else that the university of paris owes the success it achieved as a great institution of learning at the end of the thirteenth century. had the monarch been opposed to the spread of education with any idea that it might possibly undermine his authority, had he even been indifferent to it, paris would not have come to be the educational center of the world. as it was, louis not only encouraged it in every way, but also acted as the patron of great { } subsidiary institutions which were to add to its prestige and enhance its facilities. among the most noteworthy is the sorbonne. la sainte chapelle deserves to be mentioned, however, and the library attached to it, which owed its foundation and development to louis, were important factors in attracting students to paris and in furnishing them interestingly suggestive material for thought and the development of taste during their residence there. his patronage of vincent of beauvais, the encyclopedist, was but a further manifestation of his interest in everything educational. his benefactions to the hotel dieu must be considered rather under the head of charity, and yet they also serve to represent his encouragement of medical education and of the proper care for the poor in educated hands. voltaire, to whom louis' character as a supreme believer in revealed religion must have been so utterly unsympathetic, and whose position as the historical symbol of all that voltaire most held in antipathy in medievalism, might have been expected to make the french philosopher avoid mention of him since he could not condemn, has been forced into some striking utterances in praise of louis, one of which we quote: "louis ix appeared to be a prince destined to reform europe, if she could have been reformed, to render france triumphant and civilized, and to be in all things a pattern for men. his piety which was that of an anchorite, did not deprive him of any kingly virtue. a wise economy took nothing from his liberality. a profound policy was combined with strict justice and he is perhaps the only sovereign who is entitled to this praise; prudent and firm in counsel, intrepid without rashness in his wars, he was as compassionate as if he had always been unhappy. no man could have carried virtue further." guizot, the french statesman and historian, whose unbending calvinism made the men and institutions of the middle ages almost incomprehensible to him from their catholic aspects, has much of good to say of louis, though there is not wanting rather definite evidence of the reluctance of his admiration: "the world has seen more profound politicians on the throne, greater generals, men of more mighty and brilliant intellect, princes who have exercised a more powerful influence { } over later generations and events subsequent to their own times; but it has never seen such a king as this st. louis, never seen a man possessing sovereign power and yet not contracting the vices and passions which attend it, displaying upon the throne in such a high degree every human virtue purified and ennobled by christian faith. st. louis did not give any new or personal impulse to his age; he did not strongly influence the nature or the development of civilization in france; whilst he endeavored to reform the gravest abuses of the feudal system by the introduction of justice and public order, he did not endeavor to abolish it either by the substitution of a pure monarchy, or by setting class against class in order to raise the royal authority high above all. he was neither an egotist nor a scheming diplomatist; he was, in all sincerity, in harmony with his age and sympathetic alike with the faith, the institutions, the customs, and the tastes of france in the thirteenth century. and yet, both in the thirteenth century and in later times st. louis stands apart as a man of profoundly original character, an isolated figure without any peer among his contemporaries or his successors. as far as it was possible in the middle ages, he was an ideal man, king, and christian." guizot goes even further than this when he says, "it is reported that in the seventeenth century, during the brilliant reign of louis xiv., montecuculli, on learning of the death of his illustrious rival, turenne, said to his officers, 'a man has died to-day who did honor to mankind.' st. louis did honor to france, to royalty, to humanity, and to christianity. this was the feeling of his contemporaries, and after six centuries it is still confirmed by the judgment of the historian." of louis' wonderful influence for good as a ruler all historians are agreed in talking in the highest terms. his private life however, is even more admirable for our purpose of bringing out the greatness of the thirteenth century. of course many legends and myths have gathered around his name, but still enough remains of absolutely trustworthy tradition and even documentary evidence, to make it very clear that he was a man among men, a nobleman of nature's making, who in any position of life would have acquitted himself with a perfection sure to make his life worthy of admiration. one of the most { } striking traits of his character is his love of justice, his insatiable desire to render to all men what was rightly theirs. a biographer has told the story that gives the most telling proof of this in relating the solicitude with which he tried to right all the wrongs not only of his own reign, but of those of his predecessors, before he set out on the crusade. he wished to have the absolute satisfaction that he, nor his, owed any man any reparation, as the most precious treasure he could take with him on his perilous expedition. he wished even to undo any wrongs that might have been done in his name though he was entirely unconscious of them. "as he wished to be in a state of grace at the moment of departure, and to take with him to the holy land a quiet conscience by leaving the kingdom in as happy a condition as possible, he resolved to carry out one of the noblest measures ever undertaken by a king. by his order, inquisitors were sent into all the provinces annexed to the royal dominion since the accession of philip augustus. all those who had been maltreated or despoiled by the bailiffs, seneschals, provosts, sergeants, and other representatives of the royal authority, came to declare their wrongs to these newly appointed judges, and to demand the reparation which was due to them; the number was great, since for forty years there had been much suffering in the country districts and even in the towns .... the royal officers had too often acted as if they were in a conquered country; they believed themselves to be safe from observation, so that they might do as they pleased. the people had much to endure during these forty years, and it was a noble idea to make reparation freely and with elaborate care. no prince had been known, of his own accord and at his own cost, to redress the wrongs inflicted on the people during the reigns of his father and grandfather. this made an immense impression, which lasted for centuries. blanche's son was not merely a good king, he became the unrivalled sovereign, the impeccable judge, the friend and consoler of his subjects." it is no wonder that so inappeasable a lover of justice should commend that virtue above all others to his son. when we read his letters to that son who was to be his successor, in the light of louis' own career, we appreciate with what utter { } sincerity they were written. louis realized that simple justice between men would undo more of the world's wrongs than most of the vaunted cures for social ills, which are only too often the result of injustice. "dear son," he writes in his instruction, "if you come to reign, do that which befits a king, that is, be so just as to deviate in nothing from justice, whatever may befall you. if a poor man goes to law with one who is rich, support the poor rather than the rich man until you know the truth, and when the truth is known, do that which is just. and if it happen that any man has a dispute with yourself, maintain the cause of your adversary before the council so as not to appear partial to your own cause, until the truth is known. unless you do this, those who are of the council may fear to speak against you, and this ought not to be. . . . and if you find that you possess anything unjustly acquired, either in your time or in that of your predecessors, make restitution at once, however great its value, either in land, money, or any other thing. . . . if the matter is doubtful and you cannot find out the truth, follow the advice of trusty men, and make such an agreement as may fully deliver your soul and that of your predecessors. if you hear that your predecessors have made restitution of anything, take great trouble to discover if anything more should be restored, and if you find that this is the case, restore it at once so as to deliver your own soul and that of your predecessors." "the education of his children, their future position and well-being, engrossed the attention of the king as entirely, and were subjects of as keen an interest, as if he had been a father with no other task than the care of his children. after supper they followed him to his apartment, where he made them sit around him for a time whilst he instructed them in their duty; he then sent them to bed. he would direct their attention particularly to the good and bad actions of princes. he used to visit them in their own apartment when he had any leisure, inquire as to their progress, and like a second tobias, give them excellent instruction .... on maundy thursday, he and his children used to wash the feet of a dozen poor persons, give them large alms, and afterward wait upon them whilst they dined. the king together with his son-in-law { } king thibault, whom he loved and looked upon as his own son, carried the first poor man to the hospital of compiègne, and his two oldest sons, louis and philippe, carried the second. they were accustomed to act with him in all things, showing him great reverence, and he desired that they and thibault should also obey him implicitly in everything that he commanded." anyone who still retains any trace of the old-fashioned notion, which used to be unfortunately a commonplace among english speaking people, that the medieval monks were unworthy of their great calling, and that the monasteries were the homes of lazy, fat-witted men whose only object in taking up the life was to secure an easy means of livelihood, will be thoroughly undeceived, if he but read with some attention the stories of louis' relations to the monasteries. in all his journeys he stopped in them, he always asked to see their libraries, he insisted on not being treated better than the community and in every way he tried to show his esteem for them. there is a story which may or may not be true in the "little flowers of st. francis," which comes from almost a contemporary source, however, that once on his travels he called on brother giles, the famous simple-minded companion of st. francis, of whom so many delightfully humorous stories are told. brother giles received his affectionate greeting but said never a word in return. after the first words the king himself said nothing, but both sat and communed in silence for some time, and then the king departed apparently well-pleased with his visit. needless to say when brother giles told the story of the king of france having called on him there was a commotion in the community. but by this time the king was far distant on his way. indeed louis took so many opportunities to stop in monasteries and follow monastic regulations as to prayer and the taking of meals while there, that he quite disgusted some of the members of his retinue who were most with him. one of the ladies of the court in her impatience at him for this, is once said to have remarked under such indiscreet circumstances that it was reported to louis, that she wished they had a man and not a monk for king. louis is said to have asked her very { } gently if she would prefer that he spend most of his time in sport and in excesses of various kinds. even such remarks, however, had no effect in turning him from his purpose to live as simply and as beneficently for others as possible. his genuine appreciation of the monks must be recognized from his wishes with regard to his children. on the other hand his readiness to secure their happiness as far as possible in the way they wished for themselves shows the tenderness of his fatherly heart. a modern biographer has said of him:-- "he was very anxious that his three children born in the east during the crusade--jean tristan, pierre, and blanche--and even his eldest daughter isabella, should enter the monastic life, which he looked upon as the most likely to insure their salvation; he frequently exhorted them to take this step, writing letters of the greatest tenderness and piety, especially to his daughter isabella; but, as they did not show any taste for it, he did not attempt to force their inclinations. thenceforth, he busied himself in making suitable marriages for them, and establishing them according to their rank; at the same time he gave them the most judicious advice as to their conduct and actions in the world upon which they were entering. when he was before tunis and found that he was sick unto death, he gave the instructions which he had written out in french with his own hand to his eldest son, philip. they are models of virtue, wisdom and paternal tenderness, worthy of a king and a christian." perhaps the most interesting feature of st. louis' life was his treatment of the poor. he used literally to recall the fact that they must stand to him in the place of god. "whatever you do to the least of these you do even unto me" was a favorite expression frequently in his mouth. he waited on them personally and no matter how revolting their appearance would not be deterred from this personal service. it is easy to understand that his courtiers did not sympathize with this state of mind, though louis used to encourage them not only by his example but by personal persuasion. every holy thursday he used to wash the feet of twelve poor people at a public ceremonial, in honor of the washing of the feet of the apostles by christ. {opp } [illustration] apostle (la sainte chapelle, paris) it must not be thought moreover, that such a { } proceeding was perhaps less repugnant to the feelings of the men of that time than they are to the present generation. it might be considered that the general paucity of means for maintaining personal cleanliness in medieval times would make the procedure less disgusting. as a proof of the contrary of this we have the words of joinville who tells of the following conversation:-- "many a time," says joinville, "i have seen him cut their bread for them, and pour out their drink. one day he asked me if i washed the feet of the poor on maundy thursday. "sire," i answered, "what, the feet of those dirty wretches! no indeed, i shall never wash them." "truly," replied the king, "you have spoken ill, for you ought not to despise that which god intended for your instruction. i pray you, therefore, first of all for the love of god, and then by your love towards me, that you make a habit of washing their feet." even more striking than this however, was his attitude toward the lepers of the time. these poor creatures were compelled to live apart from the population and were not allowed to approach healthy individuals. they were of exceeding interest to louis however, who took every opportunity to mitigate the trials and hardships of their existence. whenever he met them on his journeys he insisted on abundant alms being given them, and gave orders that every possible provision for their welfare, consonant with the care that their affection should not be permitted to spread, be made for them. over and over again he greeted them as his brothers and when his retinue feared to approach them, would himself go to them, in order to console them by his words and his exhibition of personal interest. there is an incident told of his having on one occasion, when a muddy stream intervened between him and some lepers, forded the stream alone in order to get to them, and neither any personal fear of contagion nor any natural repugnance was permitted to deter him from this sublime work of charity. it is no wonder that his people proclaimed him a saint, that is "one who thinks first of others and only second of himself," even during his lifetime. the only supposed blot upon louis' character is the denunciation by certain modern writers of what they call the fanaticism, { } which prompted him to go on the crusades instead of remaining at home properly to care for his people. the opinion with regard to the place that must be assigned to the crusades as a factor in history and national as well as european development, has changed very much in recent years. formerly it was the custom almost entirely to condemn them and to look upon them as a serious mistake. such ideas however, are only entertained by those who do not realize the conditions under which they were undertaken or the important results which flowed from them. bishop stubbs in his lectures on medieval and modern history, delivered while he was professor of history at oxford, has been at some pains to correct this false notion, and his passage constitutes one of the best apologies for louis' interest in the crusades which could be written. he said:-- "the crusades are not, in my mind, either the popular delusions that our cheap literature has determined them to be, nor papal conspiracies against kings and peoples, as they appear to protestant controversialists; nor the savage outbreak of expiring barbarism, thirsting for blood and plunder, nor volcanic explosions of religious intolerance. i believe them to have been in their deep sources, and in the minds of their best champions, and in the main tendency of their results, capable of ample justification. they were the first great effort of medieval life to go beyond the pursuit of selfish and isolated ambitions; they were the trial-feat of the young world, essaying to use, to the glory of god and the benefit of man, the arms of its new knighthood. that they failed in their direct object is only what may be alleged against almost every great design which the great disposer of events has moulded to help the world's progress; for the world has grown wise from the experience of failure, rather than by the winning of high aims. that the good they did was largely leavened with evil may be said of every war that has ever been waged; that bad men rose by them while good men fell, is and must be true, wherever and whenever the race is to the swift and the battle to the strong. but that in the end they were a benefit to the world no one who reads can doubt; and that in their course they brought out a love for all that is heroic in human nature, the love of freedom, the honor of prowess, sympathy with sorrow, { } perseverance to the last, the chronicles of the age abundantly prove; proving, moreover, that it was by the experience of these times that the forms of those virtues were realized and presented to posterity." [footnote ] [footnote : stubbs, "seventeen lectures on medieval and modern history," p. .] with the stigma of supposed imprudence or foolhardiness for having gone on the crusade turned into a new cause for honor, louis must be considered as probably the greatest monarch who ever occupied an important throne. instead of being surprised that such a monarch should have come in the heart of the middle ages and during a century so distant as the thirteenth, readers must now be ready to appreciate to some degree at least the fact, that his environment instead of being a hindrance in any sense of the word to the development of louis' greatness, should rather be considered as one of the principal sources of it. louis' character was representative of the men of that time and exhibits in their most striking form the qualities that were set up as ideals in that period. if the century had produced nothing else but louis, it would have to be considered as a great epoch in history, for he was no mere accident but typically a son of his age. if this is but properly appreciated the true significance not only of louis' life but the period in which he lived will be better understood than would be possible by any other means. those who want to know the men of this wonderful century as they actually were should study louis' life in detail, for we have been only able to hint at its most striking characteristics. {opp } [illustration] decoration (queen mary's psalter, xiii. century ms.) { } xix dante the poet. it is only too often the custom to talk of dante as a solitary phenomenon in his time. even carlyle who knew well and properly appreciated many things in medieval life and letters and especially in the literary productions of the thirteenth century said, that in dante "ten silent centuries found a voice." anyone who has followed what we have had to say with regard to the thirteenth century will no longer think of dante as standing alone, but will readily appreciate that he is only the fitting culmination of a great literary era. after having gone over even as hurriedly as has been necessary in our brief space, what was accomplished in every country of europe in literature that was destined to live not only because of the greatness of the thoughts, but also for the ultimateness of its expression, we should expect some surpassing literary genius at the end of the period. it seems almost inevitable indeed that a supreme poet, whose name stands above all others but one or two at the most in the whole history of the race, should have lived in the thirteenth century, and should have summed up effectually in himself all the greatness of the century and enshrined its thoughts in undying verse for all future generations. {opp } [illustration] portrait of dante (giotto, in the bargello, florence) when dante himself dares to place his name with those of the men whom he considered the five greatest poets of all time, it seems sublimest egotism. at first thought many will at once conclude that his reason for so doing was, that in the unlettered times his critical faculty was not well developed and as he knew that his work far surpassed that of his contemporaries, he could scarcely help but conclude that his place must be among the great poets. any such thought however, is entirely due to lack of knowledge of the conditions of dante's life and education. he had been in the universities of italy, and in his exile had visited paris and probably also oxford. he knew the poets of his country well. he appreciated them { } highly. it was the consciousness of genius that made him place himself so high and not any faulty comparison with others. succeeding generations have set him even higher than the place chosen by himself and now we breathe his name only with those of homer and shakespeare, considering that these three sublime immortals are so far above all other poets that there is scarcely a second to them. dante is the most universal of poets. he has won recognition from all nations, and he has been the favorite reading of the most diverse times and conditions of men. from the very beginning he has been appreciated, and even before his death men had begun to realize something of the supremacy of his greatness. commentaries on his works that have been preserved down to our own day were written almost during his lifetime. only supreme interest could have tempted men to multiply these by the hard labor of patient handwriting. petrarch who as a young man, was his contemporary, recognized him as the prince of italian poets who had composed in their common tongue, and even was tempted to say that the subtle and profound conceptions of the commedia could not have been written without the special gift of the holy ghost. boccaccio was wont to speak of him as the divine poet, and tells us that he had learned that petrarch deliberately held aloof from the commedia, through fear of losing his originality if he came under the spell of so great a master. very few realize how great a poet dante must be considered even if only the effusions of his younger years were to be taken as the standard of his poetical ability. some of his sonnets are as beautiful of their kind as are to be found in this form of poetry. his description of his lady-love is famous among sonnets of lovers and may only be compared with some of the sonnets from the portuguese in our own day, or with one or two of camoens' original sonnets in the portuguese, for lofty praise of the beloved in worthy numbers. after reading dante's sonnets it is easy to understand how a half century later petrarch was able to raise the sonnet form to an excellence that was never to be surpassed. with a beginning like this it is no wonder that the sonnet became so popular in europe during the next three centuries, and that every young poet, { } down to shakespeare's time, had an attack of sonneteering just as he might have had an attack of the measles. the first one of a pair of sonnets that are considered supreme in their class deserves a place here as an example of dante's poetic faculty in this form, for which he is so much less known than he ought to be. he sees completely fullest bliss abound who among ladies sees my lady's face; those that with her do go are surely bound to give god thanks for such exceeding grace. and in her beauty such strange might is found. that envy finds in other hearts no place; so she makes them walk with her, clothed all round with love and faith and courteous gentleness. the sight of her makes all things lowly be; nor of herself alone she gives delight. but each through her receiveth honor due. and in her acts is such great courtesy, that none can recollect that wondrous sight. who sighs not for it in love's sweetness true. it will be noted that dante has nothing to say of the personal appearance of his beloved. this is true, however, of the whole series of poems to and about her. he never seems to have thought for a moment of her physical qualities. what he finds worthy to praise is her goodness which shines out from her features so that everyone rejoices in it, while a sweetness fills the heart as if a heavenly visitor had come. for him her supreme quality is that, with all her beauty, envy finds no place in others' hearts because she is so clothed around with love and faith and courteous gentleness. it has often been said that shakespeare did not describe the physical appearances of his heroines because he realized that this meant very little, but then shakespeare had to write for the stage and realized that blondes and brunettes, especially in the olden time, could not be made to order and that it was better to leave the heroine's physical appearance rather vague. it would be expected, however, that dante, with his southern temperament, would have dwelt on the physical perfections of his fair. the next { } sonnet, however, of the best known group emphasizes his abstraction of all physical influence in the matter and insists on her goodness and the womanly beauty of her character. it will be found in our chapter on women of the century. in his earlier years dante considered himself one of the troubadours, and there can be no doubt that if he had never written the divine comedy, he still would have been remembered as one of the great poets who wrote of love in this thirteenth century. not only does he deserve a place among the greatest of the minnesingers, the trouvères, and the troubadours, but he is perhaps the greatest of them. that he should have sung as he did at the end of the century only shows that he was in the stream of literary evolution and not being merely carried idly along, but helping to guide it into ever fairer channels. dante's minor poems would have made enduring fame for any poet of less genius than himself. his prose works deserve to be read by anyone who wishes to know the character of this greatest of poets, and also to appreciate what the educational environment of the thirteenth century succeeded in making out of good intellectual material when presented to it. dante's works are the real treasury of information of the most precious kind with regard to the century, since they provide the proper standpoint from which to view all that it accomplished. while dante was a supreme singer among the poets of a great song time, it was only natural, in the light of what we know about the literary product of the rest of this century, that he should have put into epic form the supreme product of his genius. with the great national epics in every country of europe--the cid, the arthur legends, and the nibelungen, at the beginning of this century, and the epical poems of the meistersingers during its first half, it is not surprising, but on the contrary rather what might have been confidently looked for, that there should have arisen a great national epic in italy before the end of the century. the gothic art movement spread through all these countries, and so did the wind of the spirit of esthetic accomplishment which blew the flame of national literature in each country into a mighty blaze, that not only was { } never to be extinguished, but was to be a beacon light in the realm of national literatures forever after. we have already said a word of the well-known contemporary admiration for the poet but it should be realized that due appreciation of dante continued in italy during all the time when italian art and literature was at its highest. it dwindled only at periods of decadence and lack of taste. cornelius' law with regard to dante's influence on art is very well known, italian art according to him, has been strong and vigorous just in proportion as it has worked under dante's influence, while it became weak and sensuous as that influence declined. this has held true from the very beginning and has been as true for literature as for art. when the italians became interested in trivialities and gave themselves up to weak imitations of the classics, or to pastoral poetry that was not a real expression of feeling but a passing fancy of literary folk, then dante was for a time in obscurity. even at the height of the renaissance, however, when greek was at the acme of its interest and the classics occupied so much attention that dante might be expected to be eclipsed, the great thinkers and critics of the time still worshipped at the shrine of their great master of italian verse. the best proof of this is to be found in michael angelo's famous sonnets in praise of dante, the second of which would seem to exhaust all that can be said in praise of a brother poet. into the dark abyss he made his way; both nether worlds he saw, and in the might of his great soul beheld god's splendour bright. and gave to us on earth true light of day: star of supremest worth with its clear ray. heaven's secrets he revealed to us through our dim sight. and had for guerdon what the base world's spite oft gives to souls that noblest grace display, full ill was dante's life-work understood, his purpose high, by that ungrateful state. that welcomed all with kindness but the good. would i were such, to bear like evil fate, to taste his exile, share his lofty mood. for this i'd gladly give all earth calls great. { } in the first of this pair of sonnets, however, michael angelo gave if possible even higher praise than this. it will be recalled that he himself, besides being the greatest of sculptors and one of the greatest of painters and architects in a wonderfully productive period, was also a very great poet. these sonnets to dante, the one to his crucifix, and one to vittoria colonna, are the best proof of this. he knew how to chisel thoughts into wonderfully suitable words quite as well as marble into the beautiful forms that grew under his hands. with all his greatness, and he must have been conscious of it, he thinks that he would be perfectly willing to give up all that earth calls great, simply to share dante's lofty mood even in his exile. no greater tribute has ever been paid by one poet to another than this, and michael angelo's genius was above all critical, never thoughtlessly laudatory. as emphasizing the highest enlightened taste of a great epoch this has seemed to deserve a place here also. what should be said of him speech may not tell; his splendor is too great for men's dim sight; and easier 'twere to blame his foes aright than for his poorest gifts to praise him well. he tracked the path that leads to depths of hell to teach us wisdom, scaled the eternal height. and heaven with open gates did him invite. who in his own loved city might not dwell. ungrateful country step-dame of his fate. to her own loss: full proof we have in this that souls most perfect bear the greatest woe. of thousand things suffice in this to state: no exile ever was unjust as his, nor did the world his equal ever know. in england, in spite of distance of country, race and language, the appreciation of dante began very early. readers of chaucer know the great italian as the favorite poet of the father of english poetry, and over and over again he has expressed the feeling of how much greater than anything he could hope to do was dante's accomplishment. readers will remember how chaucer feels unable to tell the story of { } ugolino and his starving sons in the hunger tower, and refers those interested in the conclusion of the tale to dante. after the religious revolt of the early sixteenth century dante was lost sight of to a great extent. his temper was too catholic to be appreciated by puritan england, and the elizabethans were too much occupied with their own creation of a great national literature, to have any time for appreciation of a foreigner so different in spirit from their times. with the coming of the oxford movement, however, dante at once sprang into favor, and a number of important critical appreciations of him reintroduced him to a wide reading public in england, most of whom were among the most cultured of the island. this renewed interest in dante gave rise to some of the best critical appreciations in any language. dean church's famous essay is the classic english monograph on dante, and its opening paragraph sounds the keynote of critical opinion among english speaking people. "the divina commedia is one of the landmarks of history. more than a magnificent poem, more than the beginning of a language and the opening of a national literature, more than the inspirer of art and the glory of a great people, it is one of those rare and solemn monuments of the mind's power which measure and test what it can reach to, which rise up ineffaceably and forever as time goes on, marking out its advance by grander divisions than its centuries, and adopted as epochs by the consent of all who come after. it stands with the iliad and shakespeare's plays, with the writings of aristotle and plato, with the novum organon and the principia, with justinian's code, with the parthenon and st. peter's. it is the first christian poem, and it opens european literature as the iliad did that of greece and rome. and, like the iliad, it has never become out of date; it accompanies in undiminished freshness the literature which it began." {opp } [illustration] torre del fame (dante, pisa) [illustration] palazzo pretorio (todi) no better introduction to dante could be obtained than this from dean church. those who have found it difficult to get interested in the great florentine poet, and who have been prone to think that perhaps the pretended liking for him on the part of many people was an affectation rather than a sincere expression of opinion, should read this essay and learn { } something of the wealth of sympathy there is in dante for even the man of these modern times. our thirteenth century poet is not easy to read but there is probably no reading in all the world that brings with it so much of intellectual satisfaction, so much of awakening of the best feelings in man, so many glimpses into the depths of his being, as some lines from dante pondered under favorable circumstances. like one of these gothic cathedrals of the olden times he never grows old, but, on the contrary, every favorite passage seems to have a new message for each mood of the reader. this is particularly true for the spiritual side of man's being as has been pointed out by dean church in a well-known passage toward the end of his essay. "those who know the divina commedia best will best know how hard it is to be the interpreter of such a mind; but they will sympathize with the wish to call attention to it. they know, and would wish others also to know, not by hearsay, but by experience, the power of that wonderful poem. they know its austere yet submitting beauty; they know what force there is in its free and earnest and solemn verse to strengthen, to tranquillize, to console. it is a small thing that it has the secret of nature and man; that a few keen words have opened their eyes to new sights in earth, and sea, and sky; have taught them new mysteries of sound; have made them recognize, in distinct image of thought, fugitive feelings, or their unheeded expression, by look, or gesture, or motion; that it has enriched the public and collective memory of society with new instances, never to be lost, of human feeling and fortune; has charmed mind and ear by the music of its stately march, and the variety and completeness of its plan. but besides this, they know how often its seriousness has put to shame their trifling, its magnanimity their faint-heartedness, its living energy their indolence, its stern and sad grandeur rebuked low thoughts, its thrilling tenderness overcome sullenness and assuaged distress, its strong faith quelled despair, and soothed perplexity, its vast grasp imparted the sense of harmony to the view of clashing truth. they know how often they have found in times of trouble, if not light, at least that deep sense of reality, permanent though unseen, which is more than light can { } always give--in the view which it has suggested to them of the judgments and love of god." as might have been expected from the fact of dante's english popularity paralleling the oxford movement, both the great english cardinals who were such prominent agents in that movement, looked upon him as a favorite author. both of them have given him precious tributes. newman's lofty compliment was the flattery of imitation when he wrote the dream of gerontius, that poem for poets which has told the men of our generation more about the immediate hereafter than anything written in these latter centuries. no poet of the intervening period, or of any other time, has so satisfactorily presented the after world as these writers so distant in time, so different in environment,--the one an italian of the thirteenth, the other an englishman of the nineteenth century. cardinal manning's tribute was much more formal though not less glorious. it occurs in the introduction to father bowden's english edition of the german critic hettinger's appreciation of dante, and deserves a place here because it shows how much a representative modern churchman thinks of the great florentine poet. "there are three works which always seem to me to form a triad of dogma, of poetry, and of devotion,--the summa of st. thomas, the divina commedia, and the paradisus animae (a manual of devotional exercises by horstius). all three contain the same outline of faith. st. thomas traces it on the intellect, dante upon the imagination, and the paradisus animae upon the heart. the poem unites the book of dogma and the book of devotion, clothed in conceptions of intensity and of beauty which have never been surpassed nor equalled. no uninspired hand has ever written thoughts so high in words, so resplendent as the last stanza of the divina commedia. it was said of st. thomas, _'post summan thomae nihil restat nisi lumen gloriae_'--after the summa of thomas nothing is left except the light of glory. it may be said of dante, _'post dantis paradisum nihil restat nisi visio dei_,'--after dante's paradise nothing is left except the vision of god." of course john ruskin had a thorough-going admiration for so great a spiritual thinker as dante and expressed it in no { } uncertain terms. with his wonderful power to point out the significance of unexpected manifestations of human genius, ruskin has even succeeded in minimizing one of the great objections urged against dante, better perhaps than could be done by anyone else, for english speaking people at least. for many readers dante is almost unbearable, because of certain grotesque elements they find in him. this has been the source and cause of more unfavorable criticism than anything else in the great florentine's writings. ruskin of course saw it but appreciated it at its proper significance, and has made clear in a passage that every dante reader needs to go over occasionally, in order to assure himself that certain unusual things in dante's attitude towards life are an expression rather of the highest human genius and its outlook on life, than some narrow limitation of medievalism. ruskin said:-- "i believe that there is no test of greatness in nations, periods, nor men more sure than the development, among them or in them, of a noble grotesque, and no test of comparative smallness or limitation, of one kind or another, more sure than the absence of grotesque invention or incapability of understanding it. i think that the central man of all the world, as representing in perfect balance the imaginative, moral and intellectual faculties, all at their highest is dante; and in him the grotesque reaches at once the most distinct and the most noble development to which it was ever brought in the human mind. of the grotesqueness in our own shakespeare i need hardly speak, nor of its intolerableness to his french critics; nor of that of aeschylus and homer, as opposed to the lower greek writers; and so i believe it will be found, at all periods, in all minds of the first order." great reverence for dante might have been expected in italy but the colder northern nations shared it. in germany modern admiration for dante began with that great wave of critical appreciation which entered into german literature with the end of the eighteenth and the beginning of the nineteenth century. as might almost have been expected, frederick schlegel was one of the first modern german admirers of dante, though his brother august, whose translations of shakespeare began that series of german studies of { } shakespeare which has been so fruitful during the past century, was also an open admirer of the medieval poet. since then there has practically been no time when germany has not had some distinguished dante scholar, and when it has not been supplying the world with the products of profound study and deep scholarship with regard to him. the modern educational world has come to look so confidently toward germany for the note of its critical appreciation, that the dante devotion of the germans will be the best possible encouragement for those who need to have the feeling, that their own liking is shared by good authorities, before they are quite satisfied with their appreciation. dean plumptre has summed up the dante movement in germany in a compendious paragraph that must find a place here. "in the year , scartazzini, the great dante scholar of the nineteenth century, recognizes a new starting point. the period of neglect of supercilious criticism comes to an end, and one of reverence, admiration and exhaustive study begins. his account of the labors of german scholars during the sixty years that have followed fills a large part of his volume. translations of the commedia by kopisch, kannegiesser, witte, philalethes (the nom de plume of john, king of saxony), josefa von hoffinger, of the minor poems by witte and krafft, endless volumes and articles on all points connected with dante's life and character, the publications of the deutsche dante-gesellschaft from to , present a body of literature which has scarcely a parallel in history. it is no exaggeration to say that the germans have taught italians to understand and appreciate their own poet, just as they have at least helped to teach englishmen to understand shakespeare." nor must it be thought that only the literary lights of germany thoroughly appreciated the great florentine. the greater the genius of the man the more his admiration for dante if he but once becomes interested in him. a noteworthy example of this is alexander von humboldt the distinguished german scientist, who was generally looked upon as perhaps the greatest thinker in european science during the first quarter of the nineteenth century. he is said to have been very faithful in his study of dante and has expressed his admiration in no { } uncertain terms. curiously enough he found much to admire him for in matters scientific, for while it is not generally realized, dante was an acute observer of nature and has given expression in his works to many observations with regard to subjects that would now be considered within the scope of natural science, in a way to anticipate many supposedly modern bits of information. with regard to this humboldt said in his cosmos:-- "when the glory of the aramaic greek and roman dominion--or i might almost say, when the ancient world had passed away,--we find in the great and inspired founder of a new era, dante alighieri, occasional manifestations of the deepest sensibility to the charms of the terrestrial life of nature, whenever he abstracts himself from the passionate and subjective control of that despondent mysticism which constituted the general circle of his ideas." how little humboldt seems to have realized in his own absorption in external nature, that the qualities he blames in dante are of the very essence of his genius, rounding out his humanity to an interest in all man's relations, supernatural as well as natural, and that without them he would not be the world poet for all time that he is. in america dante came to his own almost as soon as literature obtained her proper place in our new country. the first generation of distinctly literary men comprise the group at cambridge including longfellow, emerson, oliver wendell holmes, charles eliot norton, james russell lowell, and others of minor importance. it soon became a favorite occupation among these men to give certain leisure hours to dante. the cambridge dante society added not a little to the world's knowledge of the poet. longfellow's translation and edition of dante's works was a monumental achievement, for which its author is likely to be remembered better by future generations than perhaps for any of his original work. future generations are likely to remember james russell lowell for his essays on dante and shakespeare better than for anything else. his dante monograph is as magnificently illuminating as that of dean church's and perhaps even more satisfying to critical readers. that these men should have been content to give so much of their time to the study of the thirteenth { } century poet shows in what appreciation he must be held by the rest of us if we would give him his due place in literature. there are many misunderstandings with regard to dante which apparently only some serious study of the poet serves to remove satisfactorily. most people consider that he was a distant, prophetic, religious genius, and that his poetry has in it very little of sympathy for humanity. while it is generally conceded that he saw man projected on the curtain of eternity, and realized all his relationships to the universe and to his creator better than perhaps any other poet of all time, it is usually thought that one must have something of the medieval frame of mind in order to read him with interest and admiration. such impressions are largely the result of reading only a few lines of dante, and, finding them difficult of thorough comprehension, allowing one's self to be forced to the conclusion that he is not of interest to the modern reader. the inferno being the first part of dante's great poem is the one oftenest read in this passing fashion and so many ideas with regard to dante are derived from this portion, which is not only not the masterpiece of the work but, if taken alone, sadly misrepresents the genius of the poet. his is no morbid sentimentality and does not need the adventitious interest of supreme suffering. as a matter of fact the purgatorio is a much better introduction to dante's real greatness, and is considered by the generality of dante scholars as the more humanly sympathetic if not really the supreme expression of his creative faculty. the ascent of the mount of expiation with its constant note of hope and the gradually increasing facility of the ascent as the summit is approached, touches condolent cords in the human heart and arouses feelings that are close to what is best in human aspiration in spite of its consciousness of defect. over and over again in the purgatorio one finds evidence of dante's wonderful powers of observation. the poet is first of all according to the etymology of the word a creator, one who gives life to the figments of his imagination so that we recognize them as vital manifestations of human genius, but is also the seer, the man who sees deeper into things and sees more of them than anyone else. ordinarily dante is considered by those who do not know him as not having been an observer of things human and around him in life. there are passages in his works, however, that entirely refute this. [illustration] angel (rheims) { } the story that he went about the cities of north italy during his exile, with countenance so gloomy and stare so fixed that men pointed to him and spoke of him as one who had visited hell, and the other tradition, however well it may be founded, that the women sometimes pointed him out to their children and then used the memory of him as a bogy man to scare them into doing unpleasant things afterwards, would seem to indicate that he had occupied himself very little with the things around him, and that above all he had paid very little attention to the ways of childhood. he has shown over and over again, especially in the purgatorio, that the simplest and most natural actions of child-life had been engraved upon his heart for he uses them with supreme truth in his figures. he knows how "an infant seeks his mother's breast when fear or anguish vex his troubled heart,"-- but he knows too, how the child who has done wrong, confesses its faults. "as little children, dumb with shame's keen smart. will listening stand with eyes upon the ground. owning their faults with penitential heart, so then stood i." there is a passage in the inferno in which he describes so vividly the rescue of a child from the flames by its mother that plumptre has even ventured to suggest that dante himself may have been the actual subject of the rescue. because it helps to an appreciation of dante's intensity of expression and poignancy of vision the passage itself, with plumptre's comment, seems deserving of quotation: "then suddenly my guide his arms did fling around me, as a mother, roused by cries, sees the fierce flames around her gathering and takes her boy, nor ever halts but flies. caring for him than for herself far more, though one scant shift her only robe supplies." { } it must not be thought, however, that dante's quality as an observer was limited to the actions of human beings. his capacity to see many other things is amply manifested in his great poem. even the smallest of living things, that would surely be thought beneath his notice, became the subject of similies that show how much everything in nature interested the spirit of genius. the passage with regard to the ants has often been quoted, and is indeed a surprising manifestation of nature study at an unexpected time and from an entirely unanticipated quarter. dante saw the souls of those who were so soon to enter into the realm of blessedness, and who were already in the last circle of purgatory, greeting each other with the kiss of peace and his picturesque simile for it is:-- "so oft, within their dusk brown host, proceed this ant and that, till muzzle muzzle meet; spying their way, or how affairs succeed." as for the birds his pages are full of references to them and all of his bird similies are couched in terms that show how sympathetically observant he was of their habits and ways. he knows their different methods of flying in groups and singly, he has observed them on their nests and knows their wonderful maternal anxiety for their young, and describes it with a vividness that would do credit to a naturalist of the modern time who had made his home in the woods. indeed some of his figures taken from birds constitute examples of the finest passages of poetic description of living nature that have ever been written. the domestic animals, moreover, especially the cat and the dog, come in for their share of this sympathetic observance, and he is able to add greatly to the vividness of the pictures he paints by his references to the well-known habits of these animals. it is no wonder that the tradition has grown up that he was fond of such pets and possessed several of them that were well-known to the early commentators on his poems, and the subject of no little erudition. nothing escaped the attention of this acute observer in the world around him, and over and over again one finds surprising bits of observation with regard to natural phenomena usually supposed to be quite out of the range of the interest of { } medieval students generally, and above all of literary men of this middle age. alexander von humboldt calls attention in a well-known passage in his cosmos to the wonderful description of the river of light in the thirtieth canto of the paradiso. "i saw a glory like a stream flow by. in brightness rushing and on either shore were banks that with spring's wondrous hues might vie. and from that river living sparks did soar, and sank on all sides in the flow'rets' bloom, like precious rubies set in golden ore. then, as if drunk with all the rich perfume, back to the wondrous torrent did they roll, and as one sank another filled its room." humboldt explains this as follows, with a suggestion that deserves to be remembered. "it would almost seem as if this picture had its origin in the poet's recollection of that peculiar and rare phosphorescent condition of the ocean in which luminous points appear to rise from the breaking waves, and, spreading themselves over the surface of the waters, convert the liquid plain into a moving sea of sparkling stars." probably the best way for a modern to realize how much of interest there may be for him in dante is to consider the great italian epic poet in comparison with our greatest of english epic poets, milton. while any such comparison in the expressive latin phrase is sure to walk lame, it serves to give an excellent idea of the methods of the two men in the illustration of their ideas. we venture therefore to quote a comparison between these two poets from a distinguished critic who knows both of them well, and whose modern training in english methods of thought, would seem to make him likely to be partial to the more modern poet though as a matter of fact he constantly leans toward the great medieval bard. "the poetry of milton differs from that of dante as the hieroglyphics of egypt differ from the picture-writing of mexico. the images which dante employs speak for themselves; they stand simply for what they are. those of milton have a { } signification which is often discernible only to the initiated. . . . however strange, however grotesque, he never shrinks from describing it. he gives us the shape, the color, the sound, the smell, the taste; he counts the numbers; he measures the size. his similies are the illustrations of a traveler. unlike those of other poets, and especially of milton, they are introduced in a plain business-like manner, not for the sake of any of the beauty in the objects from which they are drawn; not for the sake of any ornament they may impart to the poem; but simply in order to make the meaning of the writer as clear to the reader as it is to himself." "still more striking is the similarity between dante and milton. this may be said to lie rather in the kindred nature of their subjects, and in the parallel development of their minds, than in any mere external resemblance. in both the man was greater than the poet, the souls of both were 'like a star and dwelt apart.' both were academically trained in the deepest studies of their age; the labour which made dante lean made milton blind. the 'doricke sweetnesse' of the english poet is not absent from the tender pages of the vita nuova. the middle life of each was spent in active controversy; each lent his services to the state; each felt the quarrels of his age to be the 'business of posterity,' and left his warnings to ring in the ears of a later time. the lives of both were failures. 'on evil days though fallen, and evil tongues,' they gathered the concentrated experience of their lives into one immortal work, the quintessence of their hopes, their knowledge, and their sufferings. but dante is something more than this. milton's voice is grown faint to us--we have passed into other modes of expression and of thought." the comparison with vergil is still more striking and more favorable to the italian poet. "dante's reputation has passed through many vicissitudes, and much trouble has been spent by critics in comparing him with other poets of established fame. read and commented upon in the italian universities in the generation immediately succeeding his death, his name bcame obscured as the sun of the renaissance rose higher towards its meridian. in the seventeenth century he was less read than petrarch, tasso, or ariosto; in the eighteenth he was { } almost universally neglected. his fame is now fully vindicated. translations and commentaries issue from every press in europe and america. dante societies are formed to investigate the difficulties of his works. he occupies in the lecture-rooms of regenerated italy a place by the side of those great masters whose humble disciple he avowed himself to be. the divine comedy is indeed as true an epic as the aeneid, and dante is as real a classic as vergil. his metre is as pliable and flexible to every mood of emotion, his diction as plaintive and as sonorous. like him he can immortalize by a simple expression, a person, a place, or a phase of nature. dante is even truer in description than vergil, whether he paints the snow falling in the alps, or the homeward flight of birds, or the swelling of an angry torrent. but under this gorgeous pageantry of poetry there lies a unity of conception, a power of philosophic grasp, an earnestness of religion, which to the roman poet were entirely unknown." if we would have a very recent opinion as to the position of dante as a literary man and as a great intellectual force, perhaps no better can be obtained than from some recent expressions of mr. michael rossetti, whose italian descent, english training, and literary and artistic heredity, seem to place him in an ideal position for writing this generation's ultimate judgment with regard to the great poet of the thirteenth century. in his literature of italy he said:-- "one has to recur time after time, to that astounding protagonist, phenomenon and hero, dante alighieri. if one were to say that italian literature consists of dante, it would, no doubt, be an exaggeration, and a gross one, and yet it would contain a certain ultimate nucleus of truth." "dante fixed the italian language, and everyone had to tread in his vestiges. he embodied all the learning and thought of his age and transcended them. he went far ahead of all his predecessors, contemporaries, and successors; he wrote the first remarkable book in italian prose, la vita nuova; and a critical exposition of it in the convito; in latin, a linguistic treatise, the de vulgari eloquio, which upholds the vulgare illustre, or speech of the best cultivated classes, markedly in tuscany and bologna, against the common dialects; and a { } political study, de monarchia, of the most fundamental quality, which even to us moderns continues to be sane and convincing in its essence, though its direct line of argument has collapsed; and finally, and most important by far, he produced in la commedia divina the one poem of modern europe that counter-balances shakespeare and challenges antiquity. this is the sole book which makes it a real pity for anyone to be ignorant of italian. regarded singly, it is much the most astonishing poem in the world, dwarfing all others by its theme, pulverizing most of them by its majesty and sustainment, unique in the force of its paraded personality and the thunderous reverberation of its judgments on the living and the dead." { } xx the women of the century. in generations whose men proved so unending in initiative and so forceful in accomplishment, so commanding in intelligence, so persistent in their purposes, so acute in their searching, so successful in their endeavors, the women of the time could not have been unworthy of them. some hints of this have been already given, in what has been said about the making of furnishings for the church, especially in the matter of needlework and the handpainting of various forms of ornaments. there are further intimations in the histories of the time, though unfortunately not very definite information, with regard to even more ambitious accomplishments by the women of the period. there are, for instance, traditions that the designs for some of the cathedrals and certainly for portions of many of them came from women's hands. it is in the ethical sphere, however, that women accomplished great things during the thirteenth century. their influence stood for what was best and highest in the life of the time and their example encouraged not only their own generation, but many people in many subsequent generations "to look up, not down, to look within, not without" for happiness, and to trust that "god's in his heaven and all's well with the world." there are a number of women of the time whose names the race will not let die. while if the ordinary person were asked to enumerate the great women of the thirteenth century it would be rare to find one able properly to place them, as soon as their names are mentioned, it will be recognized that they succeeded in accomplishing work of such significance that the world is not likely to let the reputation of it perish. some of these names are household words. the bearers of them have been written of at length in quite recent years in english as well as in other languages. their work was of the kind that ordinarily stands quite apart from the course of history and { } so dates are usually not attached to it. it is thought of as a portion of the precious heritage of mankind rather than as belonging to any particular period. three names occur at once. they are st. clare of assisi, st. elizabeth of hungary, and queen blanche of castile, the mother of st. louis. to these should be added queen berengaria, the sister of blanche, and the mother of ferdinand of castile; mabel rich, the london tradesman's wife, the mother of st. edmund of canterbury; and isabella, the famous countess of arundel. the present day interest in st. francis of assisi, has brought st. clare under the lime-light of publicity. there is no doubt at all that her name is well worthy to be mentioned along with his and that she, like him, must be considered one of the strongest and most beautiful characters of all time. she was the daughter of a noble family at assisi, who, having heard st. francis preach, became impressed with the idea that she too should have the opportunity to live the simple life that st. francis pictured. of course her family opposed her in any such notion. that a daughter of theirs should take up with a wandering preacher, who at that time was looked on not a little askance by the regular religious authorities, and whose rags, and poverty made him anything but a proper associate for a young lady of noble birth, could not but seem an impossible idea. accordingly clare ran away from home and told francis that she would never go back and that he must help her to live her life in poverty just as he was doing himself. he sent her to a neighboring convent to be cared for, and also very probably so as to be assured of her vocation. after a time a special convent home for clare and some other young women, who had become enamored with the life of poverty and simplicity was established, and to this clare's sister agnes came as a postulant. by this time apparently the family had become reconciled to clare's absence from home, but they would not stand another daughter following such a foolish example. accordingly agnes was removed from the convent by force after a scene which caused the greatest excitement in the little town. it was not long, however, before agnes returned to the convent and within a few years their mother followed them, and became one of the most fervent members of the little community. {opp } [illustration] st. clare's farewell to the dead st. francis (giotto) { } the peace and happiness that came with this life of absolute poverty soon attracted many other women and clare was asked to establish houses at a distance. gradually the order of poor clares, the second order of st. francis, thus came into existence. when it was necessary to draw up constitutions for the order, clare showed not only the breadth of her intelligence, but the depth of her knowledge of human nature, and her appreciation of what was absolutely necessary in order to keep her order from degeneration. against the counsels of all the ecclesiastics of her time, including many cardinals and even a pope, she insisted on the most absolute poverty as the only basis for the preservation of the spirit of her second order of st. francis. her character was well manifested in this contest from which she came out victorious. her body has been miraculously preserved and may still be seen at assisi. anyone who has seen the strongly set lips and full firm chin of the body in the crypt of san damiano, can easily understand the strength of purpose and of character of this young woman who moulded a generation to her will. the story is told of her, that once when the saracens invaded italy and attacked the convent, she mounted the walls with a monstrance containing the blessed sacrament in her hands, and the marauders turned away in consternation from the stern brave figure that confronted them, and bothered the nuns no more. after st. francis' death she, more than anyone else, succeeded in maintaining the spirit of the franciscan order in the way in which st. francis would have it go. long after her death a copy of the original rules was found in the fold of her garments and did much to restore the franciscan life to its primitive simplicity and purpose, so that even after she was no more on earth, she was still the guardian and promoter of st. francis' work. if one wants to know how much of happiness there came to her in life one should read the famous passage which describes her visit to st. francis, and how she and he with sisters and brothers around them broke bread together, with a sweetness that was beyond human. the passage is to be found in the "little flowers of st. francis of assisi" which was written { } within a century after the occurrences described. it recalls nothing so much as the story of the disciples at emaus and is worthy to be thought of beside the scripture story. [footnote ] [footnote : when came the day ordained by francis, saint clare with one companion passed forth from out the convent and with the companions of saint francis to bear her company came unto saint mary of the angels, and devoutly saluted the virgin mary before her altar, where she had been shorn and veiled; so they conducted her to see the house, until such time as the hour for breaking bread was come. and in the meantime saint francis let make ready the table on the bare ground, as he was wont to do. and the hour of breaking bread being come, they set themselves down together. saint francis and saint clare, and one of the companions of saint francis with the companion of saint clare, and all the other companions took each his place at the table with all humility. and at the first dish, saint francis began to speak of god so sweetly, so sublimely and so wondrously, that the fulness of divine grace came down on them, and they all were wrapt in god. and as they were thus wrapt, with eyes and hands uplift to heaven, the folk of assisi and bettona and the country round about, saw that saint mary of the angels, and all the house, and the wood that was just hard by the house, were burning brightly, and it seemed as it were a great fire that filled the church and the house and the whole wood together: for the which cause the folk of assisi ran thither in great haste to quench the flames, believing of a truth that the whole place was all on fire. but coming closer up to the house and finding no fire at all, they entered within and found saint francis and saint clare and all their company in contemplation rapt in god and sitting around that humble board. whereby of a truth they understood that this had been a heavenly flame and no earthly one at all, which god had let appear miraculously, for to show and signify the fire of love divine wherewith the souls of those holy brothers and holy nuns were all aflame; wherefor they got them gone with great consolation in their hearts and with holy edifying. then after some long space. saint francis and saint clare, together with all the others, returning to themselves again and feeling of good comfort from the spiritual food took little heed of the food of the body.] {opp } [illustration] church (doberan, germany) [illustration] san damiano (assisi) what saint clare accomplished as her life work was the making of a new vocation for women. there are always a certain number of women who look for peace and quiet rather than the struggle for existence. for these the older monasteries did not supply a place unless they were of the wealthier class as a rule. among the poor clares women of all classes were received. in this way a great practical lesson in equality was { } taught. women did not have to marry, perhaps unsuitable, often even objectionable men, simply in order to have a mode of life. they could join one of these communities and though in absolute poverty, with many hours each day devoted to meditation and prayer, had time to give to beautiful needlework, to painting and book illumination, and to other feminine occupations; and might thus pass long, happy lives, apart from the bustle of the strenuous time. italy at this time, it must be recalled, was a seething cauldron of political and military strife. wars were waged, and struggles of all kinds engaged in for precedence and power. these women got away from this unfortunate state of affairs. occasionally in times of pestilence, when they were specially needed, as happened at least once in saint clare's life, they took care of the ailing and lent their convent as a hospital. above all they stood in the eyes of their generation for chosen people who saw things differently from others. they taught the great lesson of not caring too much for the things of this world and of not living one's life in order to get admiration though usually envy comes, nor idle praise for qualities they either do not possess or that are not worthy of notice. they showed people the real value of this life by its reflection upon the other. many a man turned aside from ambitious schemes that would have injured others, because of the kindly influence of these unselfish women and because of the memory of a sister, or an aunt whose sacrificing life was thus a rebuke to his foolish selfishness. other women learned something of the vanity of human things by learning to value the character of these poor clares and realizing how much of happiness came to them from the accomplishment of their simple duties. professor osler said, in his lecture on science and immortality, of these self-forgetting ones:--"the serene faith of socrates with the cup of hemlock at his lips, the heroic devotion of a st. francis or a st. teresa, but more often for each one of us the beautiful life of some good woman whose-- eyes are homes of silent prayer, . . . whose loves in higher love endure. { } do more to keep alive among the laodiceans a belief in immortality than all the preaching in the land." this is what st. clare accomplished for her own generation and her influence is still a great living force in the world. what especially should attract the attention of the modern time is the perfect basis of equality on which the franciscan and dominican orders of men and of women were organized. each community had the opportunity to elect its own superiors. the rules were practically the same for the first (for men) and the second (for women) order of st. francis, except that while the first order were supposed to live on alms collected by begging from door to door, this menial obligation was not imposed upon the women, who were expected to be supported by alms brought to their convents by the faithful, and by the labor of their own hands. this equality of men and women in the monastic establishments became widespread after the thirteenth century and made itself felt in the social order of the time as a factor for feminine uplift. undoubtedly saint clare's work in the foundation of the second order of st. francis must be held responsible to no small degree for this. before her death, there were half a dozen scions of royal families in various parts of europe who had become members of her order, and literally hundreds of the daughters of the nobility, many of them of high rank, had put off their dignity and position in the world, to become poor daughters of saint clare. they did so for the peace and the happiness of the vocation, and the opportunity to seek their souls and live their lives in their own quiet way, which her convents afforded them. {opp } [illustration] st. elizabeth's cathedral (marburg) after saint clare, the best known woman of the thirteenth century is undoubtedly saint elizabeth of hungary, of whom the world knows some pretty legends, while the serious historian recognizes that she was the first settlement worker of history. as a child she wandered down from the castle walls in which she lived and saw the poor in their suffering. she felt so much for them that she stripped herself of most of her garments and finally even of her shoes in order to clothe them. when she was taken to task for this, she said that she had suffered whatever inconvenience there was in it only for a few minutes while the poor had suffered all their lives. she became { } the wife of the duke of thuringia, and there were three years of ideal happiness with her husband and her children. when he went away on the crusade she gave herself up to the care of the poor. when he died, though she was only twenty, and according to tradition one of the handsomest women of her time, she devoted herself still more to her poor and even went to live among them. she tried to teach them, as do the settlement workers of the modern time, something of the true significance of life, to bring them to realize to some degree at least, that so many of the things they so vainly desire are not worth thinking about, but that happiness consists in lopping off one's desires rather than trying vainly, as it must ever be, to satisfy them. it is no wonder that throughout all germany she came to be called "the dear st. elizabeth." literally thousands of women since her time have turned to read the story of her beautiful devotion to charity, and have been incited by her example to do more and more for the poor around them. those who know it only through kingsley's, "the saint's tragedy," though this is disfigured by many failures to understand parts of her career and her environment, can scarcely fail to realize that hers was one of the world's sublimely beautiful characters. all she attempted in the thorny paths of charity was accomplished in such a practical way that the amount of good done was almost incalculable. the simple recital of what she did as it has often been told, is the story of a great individuality that impressed itself deeply upon its generation and left the example of a precious life to act as a leaven for good in the midst of the social fermentations of succeeding generations. yet elizabeth succeeded in accomplishing all this in spite of the fact that she was born the daughter of a king and married the reigning prince of one of the most important ducal houses in germany. one would expect to find that her life had been long, so many traditions have gathered around her name. she was twenty when her husband died, and she survived him only four years. literally she had accomplished a long space in a short time and her generation in raising in her honor the charming gothic cathedral at marburg, one of the most { } beautiful in germany, was honoring itself nobly as well as her. it is the greatest monument to a woman in all the world. the next great woman of the century also belonged to a reigning family and is for obvious historical reasons better known, perhaps, than her saint contemporaries. this was blanche, daughter of the king of castile, but intimately related to the english royal family. married to louis viii of france she is known principally as the mother of louis ix. she ruled france for many years while her boy was a minor and when he came to the age, when he might ordinarily assume the reins of government, he voluntarily permitted his mother to continue her regency for some time longer. france was probably happier under her than under any ruler that the country has ever had with the possible exception of her son louis. she succeeded in suppressing to a great extent the quarrels so common among the nobility, she strengthened and centralized the power of the crown, she began the correction of abuses in the administration of justice which her son was to complete so well, she organized charity in various ways, and the court was an example to the kingdom of simple dignified life, without any abuse of power, or wealth, or passion. no wonder that when louis went on the crusade, he left his mother to reign in his stead confident that all would go well. if one needed a demonstration that women can rule well there is an excellent example in the life of blanche. personally she seems to have had not only an amiable but a deeply intellectual character. she encouraged education and beautiful book-making and the gothic architecture which was developing in france so wonderfully during her period. of course she also worshipped her boy louis, but how much her motherly tenderness was tempered with the most beautiful christian feeling can be understood from the famous expression attributed to her on good authority, that she "would rather see her boy dead at her feet, than have him commit a mortal offense against his god or his neighbor." one might almost say that it is no wonder that louis became a saint. as a matter of fact he attributed to his mother whatever of goodness there was in himself. there is a touch of humanity in the picture, however, a trait that shows, that blanche was a woman, { } though it is a fault which draws our sympathy to her even more surely than if she were the type of perfection she might have been without it. she did not get on well with her daughter-in-law and one of the trials of louis' life, as we have said, was to keep the scales evenly balanced between his mother and his wife, both of whom he loved very dearly. after blanche's life there could be no doubt that a woman, when given the opportunity, can manage men and administer government quite as well as any masculine member of the race, and the thirteenth century had given another example of its power to bring out what was best in its fortunate children. one of the most interesting women of the thirteenth century was neither a saint nor a member of the nobility, but only the wife of a simple london merchant. this was mabel rich, the mother of saint edmund of canterbury. edmund is one of the striking men of a supreme century. he had been a student at paris, and later a professor at oxford. then, he became the treasurer of the cathedral at salisbury about the time when, not a little through his influence, that magnificent edifice was receiving the form which was to make it one of the world's great churches for all time. later he was the archbishop of canterbury and while defending the rights of his church and his people, came under the ban of henry iii, and spent most of the latter years of his life in exile on the continent. edmund insisted that he owed more to his mother than to any other single factor in life. with her two boys, aged ten and fourteen, mabel rich was left to care for the worldly concerns of the household as well as for their education. when they were twelve and sixteen, with many misgivings she sent them off to the university of paris to get their education. edmund tells how besides packing their linen very carefully she also packed a hairshirt for each of them, which they were to wear occasionally according to their promise to her, to remind them that they must not look for ease and comfort in life, above all must not yield to sensual pleasures, but must be ready to suffer many little troubles voluntarily, in order that they might be able to resist temptation when severer trials came. mabel rich believed in discipline, as a factor in education, and thought that character was formed by habits of fortitude in resisting { } petty annoyances until, finally, even serious troubles were easy to bear. both of her sons proved worthy of her maternal solicitude. edmund tells how the poor around her home in london blessed her for her charity. all during his life the thought of his mother was uppermost in his mind, and in the immortality that has been given his name, because of the utter forgetfulness of self which characterized his life, his mother has been associated. unfortunately details are lacking that would show us something of the manner of living of this strong woman of the people, but we know enough to make us realize that she was a fine type of the christian mother, memory of whose goodness means more not only for her children but for all those who come in contact with her, than all the sermons and pious exhortations that they hear, and often, such is the way of human nature, even than the divine commandments or the personal conscience of those whom she loves. there were noble women among the gentlewomen of england at this time too, and though space will not let us dwell on them, at least one must be mentioned. this is the famous isabella, countess of arundel, who with a dignity which, matthew paris says, was more than that of woman, reproached henry iii ( ), when he sought to browbeat her. she made bold to tell the king, "you govern neither us nor yourself well." on this the king, with a sneer and a grin, said with a loud voice, "ho, ho, my lady countess, have the noblemen of england granted you a charter and struck a bargain with you to become their spokeswoman because of your eloquence?" she answered, "my liege, the nobles have made no charter, but you and your father have made a charter, and you have sworn to observe it inviolably, and yet many times have you extorted money from your subjects and have not kept your word. where are the liberties of england, often reduced to writing, so often granted, so often again denied?" [footnote ] [footnote : medieval england, english feudal society, from the norman conquest to the middle of the fourteenth century, by mary bateson.] the question of womanly occupations apart from their household duties will be of great interest to our generation. {opp } [illustration] marriage of the blessed virgin (giotto, padua) a hint of one form of woman's occupation has already been { } given in discussing the needlework done for the cathedrals and especially the cope of ascoli. it must not be forgotten that this was the age not alone of cathedrals but also of monasteries and of convents. in all of these convents every effort was made to have whatever was associated with the religious ceremonial as beautiful as possible. hence it was that needlework rose to a height of accomplishment such as has never been reached since according to the best authorities, and many examples of it have come down to us to confirm such an opinion. this needlework was done not only for religious purposes, however, but also as presents for kings and queens and the nobility, and such presents proved to be exemplars of artistic beauty that must have helped to raise the taste of the time. this was essentially woman's work, and in their distant castles the women of the households of the nobility occupied themselves with it to much better effect than their sisters of the modern time with the grievous burden of their so-called social duties. miss bateson [footnote : ibidem.] has given a pretty, yet piquant picture of woman at these occupations. she says:--"there are not wanting thirteenth century satires to tell the usual story of female levities, and of female devotion to the needle, to german work and pierced work, saracen work and combed work, cutout work and wool-work, and a multitude of other "works" to which the clue seems to be now wholly lost. whilst the women are thus engaged, the one who knows most reads to them, the others listen attentively, and do not sleep as they do at mass, 'pur la prise de vanite dont ont grant leesce (joy).' the 'opus anglicum' consisted of chain-stitch in circles, with hollows, made by a heated iron rod, to represent shadows. a cope of this work was made by rose de burford at edward ii's order, and sent to rome. one, known as the syon cope, passed into the possession of the nuns of syon, isleworth, and can be seen at the victoria and albert museum." another form of woman's work that came to prominence during the century was the service in hospitals. while the records of the hospitals of the holy ghost, which under innocent third's fostering care spread so widely throughout europe in this century, are mainly occupied with the institutions of { } the brothers of the holy ghost, there were many hospitals under the care of women, and indeed there was an almost universally accepted idea, that women patients and obstetrical cases should be cared for by women rather than men. it is easy to make little of the hospitals of this time but any such thought will be the result of ignorance rather than of any serious attempt to know what was actually accomplished. the sisters' hospitals soon usurped the most prominent place in the life of the time and during succeeding centuries gradually replaced those which had been originally under the control of men. it was recognized that nursing was a much more suitable occupation for the gentler sex and that there were many less abuses than when men were employed. the success of these hospitals in gradually eradicating leprosy and in keeping down the death-rate from st. anthony's fire, or erysipelas, shows how capable they were of accomplishing great humanitarian work. perhaps the most interesting feature of the story of woman's position during the thirteenth century is that at the italian universities at least, co-education was not only admitted in principle but also in practice, and many women were in attendance at the universities. in the west of europe this feature did not exist. it is a startling comment on how comparatively trivial a thing may change the course of history, that the lamentable heloise and abelard incident at the university of paris during the twelfth century, precluded all subsequent possibility of the admission of women students to the university of paris. oxford, it will be remembered, was formed by the withdrawal of students from the university of paris, and the same tradition was maintained. cambridge was a grand-daughter of the university of paris and the french and spanish universities must all be considered as standing in the relation of its direct descendants. the unfortunate experience at paris shaped the policy as to the co-education of the sexes for all these. it would have been too much to expect that university authorities would take the risks which had been so clearly demonstrated even with regard to a distinguished professor, and so co-education was excluded. it is not easy to say what proportion of women there were { } in attendance at the university of bologna during the thirteenth century. apparently it should not be difficult to take the lists of the matriculates as far as they have been preserved and by a little calculation obtain rather exact figures. italy, like most of the latin countries, differs from the teutonic regions in not being quite so exact in the distribution of names to the different sexes, that the first name inevitably determines whether the individual is male or female. it is not an unusual thing even at the present day for a man to have as a first name in italy, or france, or spain, the equivalent of our name mary. on the other hand, not a few girls are called by men's names and without the feminine termination which is so distinctive among the english speaking peoples. in the olden times this was still more the case. until very recently at least, if not now, every child born in venice was given two names at its baptism--maria and giovanni--in honor of the two great patron saints of the city and then the parents might add further names if they so desired. a matriculation list of the university of bologna then, tells very little that is absolute with regard to the sex of the matriculates. all that we know for sure is that there were women students at the university of bologna apparently from the beginning of the thirteenth century, and that some of them secured the distinction of being made professors. of one of these there is a pretty legend told, which seems to illustrate the fact that charming young women of profound intellectual qualities did not lose the characteristic modesty and thoughtfulness for others of their sex, because of their elevation to university professorship. this young woman, maria di novella, when only twenty-five became the professor of mathematics at the university of bologna. according to tradition she was very pretty and as is usual in life was not unaware of that happy accident. she feared that her good looks might disturb the thoughts of her students during her lessons and accordingly she delivered her lectures from behind a curtain. the story may, of course, be only a myth. one of the best woman educators that i know once said to me, that if the tradition with regard to her beauty were true, then she doubted the rest of the story, but then women are not always the best judges of the { } actions of other women and especially is this true when there is question of a grave and learned elderly woman passing judgment on a young and handsome professor of mathematics. the italians became so much impressed with the advisability of permitting women to study at the universities, that a certain amount of co-education has existed all down the centuries in italy and not a century has passed since the thirteenth, which has not chronicled the presence of at least one distinguished woman professor at some italian university. indeed it was doubtless the traditional position of tolerance in this matter that made it seem quite natural for women, when the renaissance period came around, to take their places beside their brothers and their cousins in the schools where the new learning was being taught. it may be rather difficult for some to understand how with this opening wedge for the higher education of women well placed, the real opportunity for widespread feminine education should only have come in our own time. this last idea, however, which would represent ours as the only generation which has given women adequate opportunities for intellectual development, is one of those self-complacent bits of flattery of ourselves and our own period that is so irritatingly characteristic of recent times. there have been at least three times in the world's history before our own when as many women as wanted them, in the class most interested in educational matters, were given the opportunities for the higher education. as a matter of fact whenever there have been novelties introduced into educational systems, women have demanded and quite naturally--since, "what a good woman wants," said a modern saint, "is the will of god"--have obtained the privilege of sharing the educational opportunities of the time. this was true in charlemagne's time when the women of the court attended the lectures in the traveling palace school the great charles founded and fostered. it was true four centuries later, as we have seen, when a great change in educational methods was introduced with the foundation of the universities. it was exemplified again when the "new learning" came in and the study of the classics took the place of the long hours spent in scholastic disputation, that had previously occupied { } so much university attention. in our own time it was the introduction of the study of the social sciences particularly, with the consequent appearance of many novelties in the educational curriculum, that once more was the signal for women asking and quite naturally obtaining educational privileges. {opp } [illustration] mosaic (st. mark's, venice, ) each of the previous experiences in the matter of feminine education has been followed by a considerable period during which there was a distinct incuriousness on the part of women in educational matters. of course that is only an analogy and though history is worth studying, only because the lessons of the past are the warnings of the future, yet this does not foretell a lessening of feminine interest in educational matters, after a few generations of experience of its vanity to make up to them for the precious special privileges of their nature, the proper enjoyment and exercise of which it is so likely to hamper. it would be interesting to know just why feminine education, after a period of efflorescence during the thirteenth century, retrograded during the next century. there have been some ungallant explanations offered, which we mention merely because of their historical interest but without any hint of their having any real significance in the matter. a distinguished german educational authority has called attention to the fact that a well-known prepared food, for which bologna is famous, is first heard of about the time that the higher education for women came into vogue at the italian universities. towards the end of the same century a special kind of pudding, since bearing the name of its native city, bologna, which might very well have taken the place of an ordinary dessert, also began to come into prominence. this german writer suggests then, that possibly the serving of meals consisting of these forms of prepared food, which did not require much household drudgery and did not necessitate the bending over the kitchen range or whatever took its place in those days, may have led the men to grumble about the effects of the higher education. after all, he adds, though the women get whatever they want, when they ask for it seriously, if it proves after a time that the men do not want them to have it, then women lose interest and care for it no longer. this, of course, must be taken with the proverbial grain of salt, though it { } illustrates certain phases of the domestic life of the time as well as affording a possible glimpse into the inner circle of the family life. the real story of woman's intellectual position in the century is to be found in its literature. how deep was the general culture of the women of the thirteenth century, in italy at least, can be judged from the sonnets of dante and his friends to their loved ones at the end of this century. some of the most beautiful poetry that was ever written was inspired by these women and like the law of hydrostatics, it is one of the rules of the history of poetry, that inspiration never rises higher than its source and that poetry addressed to women is always the best index of the estimation in which they are held, the reflection of the highest qualities of the objects to which it is addressed. anyone who reads certain of the sonnets of dante, or of his friends guido cavalcanti or gino da pistoia or dante da maiano, will find ready assurance of the high state of culture and of intellectual refinement that must have existed among the women to whom they were dedicated. this same form of reasoning will apply also with regard to the women of the south of france to whom the troubadours addressed their poetry; to those of the north of france who were greeted by the trouvères; and those of the south of germany for whom the minnesingers tuned their lyres and invoked the muses to enable them to sing their praises properly. it would seem sometimes to be forgotten that poetry generally is written much more for women than for men. everyone realizes that for one man who has read tennyson's "idyls of the king" there are probably five women to whom they have been a source of delight. when we think of the thirteenth century as not affording opportunities of intellectual culture for its women, we should ask ourselves where then did the meistersingers and the poets of england, germany and france who told their romantic tales in verse find an audience, if it was not among the women. the stories selected by the meistersingers are just those which proved so popular to feminine readers of tennyson in the nineteenth century, and the chosen subjects of interest in the stories show that men and women have not changed much during the intervening centuries. the literature of any { } period reflects the interest of the women in it and, as interest is itself an index of intellectual development, thirteenth century literature must be taken as the vivid reflection of the cultural character of the women of the time, and this is of itself the highest possible tribute to their intelligence and education. on the other hand the best possible testimony to the estimation of women during the thirteenth century, is to be found in the attitude of the men of the generations towards them, as it is clearly to be seen in the literature of the time. in the holy graal, the cid, the minnesingers and the meistersingers, woman occupies the higher place in life and it is recognized that she is the highest incentive to good, unfortunately also sometimes to evil, but always the best reward that men can have for their exertions in a great cause. the supreme tribute to woman comes at the end of the century in dante's apotheosis of her in the divine comedy. in this it is a woman who inspires, a woman who leads, a woman who is the reward of man's aspirations, and though the symbolism may be traced to philosophy, the influence of an actual woman in it all is sure beyond all doubt. nor must it be thought that it was merely in this highest flight of his imagination that this greatest of poets expressed such lofty sentiments with regard to women. anyone who thinks this does not know dante's minor poems, which contain to women in the flesh and above all to one of them, the most wonderful tributes that have ever been paid to woman. take this one of his sonnets for instance. so gentle and so fair she seems to be. my lady, when she others doth salute, that every tongue becomes, all trembling, mute, and every eye is half afraid to see; she goes her way and hears men's praises free. clothed in a garb of kindness, meek and low. and seems as if from heaven she came, to show upon the earth a wondrous mystery: to one who looks on her she seems so kind, that through the eye a sweetness fills the heart, which only he can know who doth it try. { } and through her face there breatheth from her mind a spirit sweet and full of love's true art, which to the soul saith, as it cometh, "sigh." it will be noted that though this contains the highest possible praise of the woman whom he loved, it has not a single reference to any of her physical perfections, or indeed to any of those charms that poets usually sing. we have already called attention to this, that it is not the beauty of her face or her figure that has attracted him, but the charm of her character, which all others must admire--which even women do not envy, it is so beautiful--that constitutes the supreme reason for dante's admiration. nor must it be thought that this is a unique example of dante's attitude in this matter; on the contrary, it is the constant type of his expression of feeling. the succeeding sonnet in his collection is probably quite as beautiful as the first quoted, and yet is couched in similar terms. it will be found in the chapter on dante the poet. need we say more to prove that the women of the century were worthy of the men and of the supreme time in which they lived; that they were the fit intellectual companions of perhaps the greatest generation of men that ever lived? [illustration] stone carving (amiens) { } xxi city hospitals--organized charity. while the thirteenth century was engaged in solving the problems of the higher education and of technical education for the masses, and was occupied so successfully, as we have seen, with the questions of the rights of man and the development of law and of liberty, other and more directly social and humanitarian works were not neglected. there had been hospitals in existence from even before the christian era, but they had been intended rather for the chronic ailments and as the name implies, for the furnishing of hospitality to strangers and others who had for the time no habitation, than for the care of the acutely ill. in the country places there was a larger christian charity which led people to care even for the stranger, and there was a sense of human duty that was much more binding than in the modern world. the acutely ill were not infrequently taken into the houses of even those who did not know them, and cared for with a solicitude difficult to understand in this, colder time. this was not so much typical of the times, however, as of the social conditions, since we have many stories of such events in our colonial days. in the cities, however, which began more and more to be a feature of life in the thirteenth century, though they counted their inhabitants only by a few thousands where ours count them by hundreds of thousands, the need of some other method of caring for such cases made itself distinctly felt. at the end of the twelfth and the beginning of the thirteenth centuries this need became demandingly manifest, and the consequence was a movement that proved to be of great and far-reaching practical benevolence. it is to the first pope of the thirteenth century, innocent iii., that we owe the modern city hospital as we have it at the present time, with its main purpose to care for the acutely ill who may have no one to take care of them properly, as well as for those who have been injured or { } who have been picked up on the street and whose friends are not in a position to care for them. the deliberateness with which innocent iii. set about the establishment of the mother city hospital of the world, is a striking characteristic of the genius of the man and an excellent illustration of the practical character of the century of which he is so thoroughly representative. pope innocent recognized the necessity for the existence of a city hospital in rome and by inquiry determined that the model hospital for this purpose existed down at montpelier in connection with the famous medical school of the university there. montpelier had succeeded to the heritage of the distinguished reputation in medical matters which had been enjoyed by salernum, not far from naples, during the ninth, tenth, and eleventh centuries. the shores of the mediterranean have always been recognized as possessing a climate especially suitable for invalids and with the diminution of the influence of the salernitan school, a transfer of its prestige to montpelier, where the close relationship with spain had given the medical schools the advantage of intimate contact with the medicine of the arabs, is not a matter of surprise. at montpelier the hospital arrangements made by guy de montpelier were especially efficient. the hospital of which he had charge was under the care of the members of the order of the holy spirit. pope innocent summoned guy, or guido as he was known after this, to rome and founded for him the hospital of the holy spirit in the borgo, not far from st. peter's, where it still exists. this was the mother and model hospital for the world. visitors to rome saw it, and could not fail to admire its great humanitarian work. bishops from all over the world on their official visits to the head of the church, admired the policy under which the hospital was conducted, recognized the interest of the pope in it, and went back to their homes to organize institutions of the same kind. how many of these were established in various parts of europe is hard to determine. virchow in his history of the foundations of the german hospitals, has a list of over one hundred towns in germany in which hospitals of the holy spirit, or medical institutions modeled on this hospital at rome were founded. { } many of these towns were comparatively small. most of them contained at the time less than five thousand inhabitants, so that it can be said without hesitation, that practically every town of any importance, at least in germany, came under the influence of this great philanthropic hospital movement. with regard to other countries, it is more difficult to determine the number of places in which such institutions were established. as both france and italy were, however, much more closely in touch with the holy see at this time, it would be surprising if they had not been affected as much as germany by the pope's enthusiasm in the matter. we do know that in various large cities, as in florence, siena, paris and london, there was a development of existing hospitals and the establishment of new ones, that points to a distinct community of interest in the hospital movement. at paris, the hotel dieu was moved from the petit pont, where it had been, to its present situation and received large extensions in size and in usefulness. it was at this time, particularly, that it received donations for endowment purposes that would enable it to be self-supporting. a number of bequests of property, the rent of which was to be paid to the hospital, were made, and the details of some of these bequests have an interest of their own. houses were not numbered at this time but were distinguished by various signs, usually figures of different kinds that formed part of their facade. the hotel dieu acquired the houses with the image of st. louis, with the sign of the golden lion of flanders, with the image of the butterfly, with the group of the three monkeys, with the image of the wolf, with the image of the iron lion, with the cross of gold, with the chimneys, etc. the hotel dieu, indeed, seems to have become practically a fully endowed institution during the course of the thirteenth century, for there are apparently no records of special revenues voted by the city or the king, though there are such records with regard to other places. for instance the hospital of st. louis received the right to collect a special tax on all the salt that came into the city. in england the hospital movement during the thirteenth century is evidently quite as active as in germany, at least as far as the records go. these refer mainly to london and show { } that the influence of the work of innocent iii. and his enthusiasm was felt in the english capital. the famous st. bartholomew's hospital in london had been a priory founded at the beginning of the twelfth century, which took care of the poor and the ailing, but at the beginning of the thirteenth century it became more frankly a hospital in the modern sense of the word. st. thomas' hospital, which remains to the present day one of the great medical institutions of london, was founded by richard, prior of bermondsey, in . bethlehem or bedlam, which afterwards became a hospital for the insane, was founded about the middle of the thirteenth century. the name bedlam is a corruption of bethlehem, since adopted into the english language to express a place where fools do congregate. bridewell and christ's hospital, which were the other two of the institutions long known as the five royal hospitals of london, also seem either to have been founded, or to have received a great stimulus and reorganization in the thirteenth century, but both ceased after some time to be places for the reception, of the ailing and became, one of them a prison and the other a school. the names of some of these institutions became associated with that of edward vi. about the middle of the sixteenth century. for this, however, there was no proper justification, since, at most, all that was accomplished within the reign of the boy king, was the reestablishment of institutions formerly in existence which had been confiscated under the laws of henry viii., but the necessity for whose existence had been made very clear, because of the suffering entailed upon the many ailing poor by the fact, that in their absence there was nowhere for them to go to be cared for. as gairdner points out in his history of the english church in the sixteenth century, "edward has left a name in connection with charities and education which critical scholars find to be little justified by fact." the supposed foundation of st. thomas' hospital was only the reestablishment of this institution, and even when it was granted by him to the citizens of london, this was not, as gairdner says, "without their paying for it." how much all this hospital movement owes to innocent iii. will be best appreciated from virchow's account of the german { } hospitals, the great german scientist not being one of those at all likely to exaggerate, the beneficent influence of the popes, he says: "the main cause decisive in influencing and arousing interest of the people of the time in the hospitals of the holy ghost was the papal enthusiasm in the matter. the beginning of their history is connected with the name of that pope, who made the boldest and farthest-reaching attempt to gather the sum of human interest into the organization of the catholic church. the hospitals of the holy ghost were one of the many means by which innocent iii. thought to bind humanity to the holy see. and surely it was one of the most effective. was it not calculated to create the most profound impression, to see how the mighty pope who humbled emperors and deposed kings, who was the unrelenting adversary of the albigenses, turned his eyes sympathetically upon the poor and sick, sought the helpless and the neglected on the streets, and saved the illegitimate children from death in the waters. there is something conciliating and fascinating in the fact that at the very same time at which the fourth crusade was inaugurated through his influence, the thought of founding a great organization of an essentially humane character to extend throughout all christendom, was also taking form in his soul; and that in the same year ( ) in which the new latin empire was founded in constantinople, the newly erected hospital of the santo spirito, by the old bridge across the tiber, was blessed and dedicated as the future center of this universal humanitarian organization." {opp } [illustration] hospital of the holy ghost (lÃ�beck) virchow, of course, considers innocent's action as due to the entirely interested motive of binding the catholic world to the holy see. others, however, who have studied innocent's life even more profoundly, have not considered his purpose as due to any such mean motive. hurter who wrote a history of pope innocent iii., the researches for which he began as a protestant with the idea that in the life of this pope better than anywhere else the pretensions of the papacy could be most effectively exposed, but who was so taken by the character of the man that before he completed his history he had become a catholic, looks at it in a very different way. even virchow himself quotes { } hurter's opinion, though not without taking some exceptions to it. hurter said with regard to charitable foundations in his history of pope innocent iii.: "all benevolent institutions which the human race still enjoys, all care for the deserted and needy through every stage of suffering from the first moment of birth to the return of the material part to earth, have had their origin in the church. some of them directly, some of them indirectly through the sentiments and feelings which she aroused, strengthened and vivified into action. the church supplied for them the model and sometimes even the resources; that these great humanitarian needs were not neglected and their remedies not lacking in any respect is essentially due to her influence upon human character." with regard to this virchow says that hospitals had existed among the arabs and among the buddhists in the distant east, "nevertheless," he adds, "it may be recognized and admitted, that it was reserved for the roman catholic church and above all for innocent iii., to establish institutions for the care of those suffering from diseases." a corresponding hospital movement that received considerable attention within the thirteenth century was the erection of leproseries or hospitals for the care of lepers. leprosy had become quite common in europe during the middle ages, and the contact of the west with the east during the crusades had brought about a notable increase of the disease. it is not definitely known how much of what was called leprosy at that time really belonged to the specific disease now known as lepra. there is no doubt that many affections which have since come to be considered as quite harmless and non-contagious, were included under the designation leprosy by the populace and even by physicians incapable as yet of making a proper differential diagnosis. probably severe cases of eczema and other chronic skin diseases, especially when complicated by the results of wrongly directed treatment or of lack of cleansing, were sometimes pronounced to be leprosy. certain of the severer forms of what is now known as psoriasis--a non-contagious skin disease--running a very slow course and sometimes extremely obstinate to treatment, were almost surely included under the diagnosis of leprosy. personally i have seen { } in the general hospital in vienna, a patient who had for many months been compelled by the villagers among whom he lived to confine himself to his dwelling, sustained by food that was thrown into him at the window by the neighbors who were fearful of the contagiousness of his skin disease, yet he was suffering from only a very neglected case of psoriasis. there is no doubt, however, of the existence of actual leprosy in many of the towns of the west from the twelfth to the fifteenth centuries, and the erection of these special hospitals proved the best possible prophylactic against the further spread of the disease. leprosy is contagious, but only mildly so. years of association with lepers may and usually does bring about the communication of the disease to those around them, especially if they do not exercise rather carefully certain precise precautions as to cleanliness, after personal contact or after the handling of things which have previously been in the leper's possession. as the result of the existence of these houses of segregation, leprosy disappeared during the course of the next three centuries and thus a great hygienic triumph was obtained by sanitary regulation. this successful hygienic and sanitary work, which brought about practically the complete obliteration of leprosy in the middle ages, furnished the first example of the possibility of eradicating a disease that had become a scourge to mankind. that this should have been accomplished by a movement that had its greatest source in the thirteenth century, is all the more surprising, since we are usually accustomed to think of the people of those times, as sadly lacking in any interest in sanitary matters. the significance of the success of the segregation movement was lost upon men down almost to our own time. this was, however, because it was considered that most of the epidemic diseases were conveyed by the air. they were thought infectious and due to a climatic condition rather than to contagion, that is conveyed by actual contact with the person having the disease or something that had touched him, which is the view now held. with the beginning of the crusade against tuberculosis in the latter part of the nineteenth century, however, the most encouraging factor for those engaged in it, was the history of the success of segregation methods and careful { } prevention of the spread of the disease which had been pursued against leprosy. in a word the lessons in sanitation and prophylaxis of the thirteenth century are only now bearing fruit, because the intervening centuries did not have sufficient knowledge to realize their import and take advantage of them. pope innocent iii. was not the only occupant of the papal throne whose name deserves to be remembered with benedictions in connection with the hospital movement of the thirteenth century. his successors took up the work of encouragement where he had left it at his death and did much to bring about the successful accomplishment of his intentions in even wider spheres. honorius iii. is distinguished by having made into an order the antonine congregation of vienna, which was especially devoted to the care of patients suffering from the holy fire and from various mutilations. the disease known as the holy fire seems to have been what is called in modern times erysipelas. during the middle ages it received various titles such as st. anthony's fire, st. francis' fire, and the like, the latter part of the designation evidently being due to the intense redness which characterizes the disease, and which can be compared to nothing better than the erythema consequent upon a rather severe burn. this affection was a great deal commoner in the middle ages than in later times, though it must not be forgotten that its disappearance has come mainly in the last twenty-five years. it is now known to be a contagious disease and indeed, as oliver wendell holmes pointed out over half a century ago, may readily be carried from place to place by the physician in attendance. it does not always manifest itself as erysipelas when thus carried, however, and the merit of dr. holmes' work was in pointing out the fact that physicians who attended patients suffering from erysipelas and then waited on obstetrical cases, were especially likely to carry the infection which manifested itself as puerperal fever. a number of cases of this kind were reported and discussed by him, and there is no doubt that his warning served to save many precious lives. of course nothing was known of this in the thirteenth century, yet the encouragement given to this religious order, which devoted itself practically exclusively to the care in special { } hospitals of erysipelas, must have had not a little effect in bringing about a limitation of the spread of the disease. in such hospitals patients were not likely to come in contact with many persons and consequently the contagion-radius of the disease was limited. in our own time immediate segregation of cases when discovered has practically eradicated it, so that many a young physician, even though ten years in practise, has never seen a case of it. it was so common in america during the civil war and for half a century prior thereto, that there were frequent epidemics of it in hospitals and it was generally recognized that the disease was so contagious that when it once gained a foothold in a hospital, nearly every patient suffering from an open wound was likely to be affected by it. it is interesting then to learn that these people of the middle ages attempted to control the disease by erecting special hospitals for it, though unfortunately we are not in a position to know just how much was accomplished by these means. a congregation devoted to the special care of the disease had been organized, as we have said, early in the thirteenth century. at the end of this century this was given the full weight of his amplest approval by pope boniface viii., who conferred on it the privilege of having priests among its members. it will be remembered that pope boniface viii. is said to have issued the bull which forbade the practise of dissection. the decretal in question, however, which was not a bull, only regulated, as i have shown, the abuse which had sprung up of dismembering bodies and boiling them in order to be able to carry them to a distance for burial, and was in itself an excellent hygienic measure. many orders for the care of special needs of humanity were established during the thirteenth century. it is from this period that most of the religious habits worn by women originate. these used to be considered rather cumbersome for such a serious work as the nursing and care of the sick, but in recent years quite a different view has been taken. the covering of the head, for instance, and the shearing of the hair must have been of distinct value in preventing communication of certain diseases. there has been a curious assimilation in the last few years, of the dress required to be worn by nurses in operating { } rooms to that worn by most of the religious communities. the head must be completely covered, and the garments worn are of material that can be washed. it will be recalled that the headdresses of religious, being as a rule of spotless white, must be renewed frequently and therefore must be kept in a condition of what is practically surgical cleanliness. while this was not at all the intention of those who adopted the particular style of headdress worn by religious, yet their choice has proved, in what may well be considered a providential way, to be an excellent protective for the patients against certain dangers that would inevitably have been present, if their dress had been the ordinary one of the women of their class during these many centuries of hospital nursing by religious women. the organization of charity is supposed to be a feature of social life that was reserved for these modern times. a subsequent chapter on democracy, christian socialism and national patriotism, shows how false this notion is from one standpoint; a little additional interpretation will show that the generations which organized the hospitals, took care of the lepers in such a way as to prevent their becoming sources of infection for others, and segregated such severe contagious diseases as erysipelas, not only knew how to organize charitable efforts, but were able to accomplish their purposes in this matter in such a way, that the friction of the charity organization itself absorbed as little as possible of the beneficent energy put into it, and much less than is the case in our own time. besides the monasteries were really active centers of charity organization of the most practical character. they not only gave to the people when their necessities required it, but they were active employers of labor and in times of scarcity constantly made large sacrifices in order to keep their people employed, and even the community itself went on short rations in order that the suffering in the neighborhood might not be extreme. in times of prosperity there were, no doubt, abuses in monasteries, but no one ever accused them of neglecting the poor during times of famine. while the thirteenth century was so intent upon the relief of the social needs consequent upon illness and injury, it did not neglect other forms of social endeavor. one of the crying { } evils of the thirteenth century was the fact that mariners and merchants, as well as pilgrims to the holy land, were not infrequently captured by corsairs from the northern coast of africa, and sold into slavery. at times, if there was hope of a very large ransom, news of the condition of these poor victims might find its way to their homes. as a rule, however, they were as much lost to family and friends as if they had actually been swallowed up by the sea, which was usually concluded to have been their fate. the hardships thus endured and the utter helplessness of their conditions made them fitting subjects for special social effort. the institution which was to provide relief for this sad state of affairs had its rise in a typically thirteenth century way--what, doubtless, the modern world would be apt to think of as characteristically medieval--but the result achieved was as good an example of practical benevolence as has ever been effected in the most matter-of-fact of centuries. {opp } [illustration] charity (giotto) [illustration] fortitude (giotto) [illustration] hope (giotto) shortly after the beginning of the thirteenth century two very intelligent men, whose friends honored them very much for the saintliness of their lives--meaning by saintliness not only their piety but their thoughtfulness for others before themselves--had a dream in which they saw poor captives held in slavery and asking for some one out of christian charity to come and ransom them. one of these men was john of matha, a distinguished teacher of theology at the university of paris. the other was felix of valois, more distinguished for his piety than his learning, but by no means an ignorant man. on the same night, though living at a distance from one another, they had this identical dream. having told it next day to some friends, it happened that after a time it came to their mutual knowledge that the other had had a similar vision. the circumstance seemed so striking to them that they applied to the pope for an interpretation of it. the pope, who was innocent iii., the founder of city hospitals, saw in it a magnificent opportunity for the foundation of another great christian charity. accordingly in interpreting it, he directed their thoughts toward the redemption of christian captives taken by the saracens. he has as a consequence been regarded as the founder of the order of trinitarians (a. d. ), and did, in { } fact, draft its rule. it was called, from its object, ordo de redemptione captivorum, (order for the redemption of captives), but its members were more generally known as trinitarians. they wore a white habit, having a red and blue cross on the breast. they were well received in france, where they had originated, were the recipients of large sums of money to be devoted to the objects of the order, and had large accessions to their number, among whom were many distinguished by ability and profound learning. in the year the first company of ransomed captives arrived from morocco, and one may easily imagine their joy on again regaining their freedom and beholding once more their friends and native land. the members of this order were sometimes called mathurins, from the title of the first church occupied by them in paris. they spread rapidly in southern france, through spain, italy, england, saxony, and hungary, and foundations of a similar kind were also opened for women. cerfroid, in the diocese of meaux, where the first house of the order was opened, became the residence of the general (minister generalis). there was a fine field for their labors in spain, where the moors were constantly at war with the christians. the self-sacrificing spirit of these religious, which led them to incur almost any dangers in the accomplishment of their purpose, was only equaled by their zeal in arousing interest for the poor captives. they became the accredited agents for the ransoming of prisoners, and also for their exchange and even the mahometans learned to trust and eventually to reverence them. when they could not ransom at once they thus succeeded in ameliorating the conditions in which slave prisoners were kept, and proved a great source of consolation to them. another order, having the same object in view but differing somewhat in its constitution, was founded in , by peter of nolasco, a distinguished frenchman, and raymond of pennafort the famous authority on canon law. in this, too, medieval supernaturalism evolved the usual practical results. in consequence of a vision, the order was placed under the special protection of the blessed virgin, and called the order of the blessed virgin of mercy (ordo. b. mariae de mercede). its { } members bound themselves by vow to give their fortunes and to serve as soldiers in the cause. their devotion was so ardent that for the accomplishment of their purpose they vowed if necessary to make a sacrifice of their very persons, as peter actually did in africa, for the redemption of christian captives. hence their members were divided into knights who wore a white uniform, and brothers, who took orders and provided for the spiritual wants of the community. gregory ix., admiring the heroic devotion of these intrepid men, approved the order. many thousands of captive christians who would otherwise have dragged out a miserable existence as slaves among the mahometans of north africa, were thus rescued and restored to their families and a life of freedom and happiness in europe. this was a fine practical example of abolitionism worthy of study and admiration. [illustration] hospital interior { } xxii great origins in law. perhaps the most surprising phase of thirteenth century history is that much of what is most valued and most valuable in our modern laws, especially as they concern the fundamental rights of man, is to be found clearly expressed in the great lawmaking of the thirteenth century. it can scarcely fail to astonish those who look upon the middle ages as hopelessly barren in progress, to find that human liberty in its development reached such a pass before the end of the middle ages, or that any period so long before the renaissance and the reformation so-called, could be picked out as representing a distinctive epoch in supremely liberal legislation. after careful study, the surprise is apt to be rather that there should have been comparatively so little advance since that time, seeing how much the generations of this marvelous century were able to accomplish in definitely formulating principles of human rights. the first great document in the laws of the thirteenth century is, of course, magna charta, signed in , the foundation of all the liberties of english speaking people ever since. perhaps the highest possible tribute to the great charter is the fact that it has grown in the estimation of intelligent men, rather than lost significance. in quite recent years it has become somewhat the custom to belittle its import and its influence. but it must not be forgotten that over and over again in times of national crises in england, magna charta has been confidently appealed to as a fundamental law too sacred to be altered, as a talisman containing some magic spell capable of averting national calamity. bishop stubbs said of it, that "the great charter was the first supreme act of the nation after it had realized its own identity." perhaps in nothing does its supremacy as basic legislation for national purposes so shine forth, as from the fact that it is { } not a vague statement of great principles, not a mere declaration of human rights, not a documentary rehearsal of fundamental legalities, but a carefully collected series of practical declarations for the solution of the problems that were then disturbing the peace of the kingdom, and leading to charge and countercharge of infringement of right on the part of the king and his subjects. as might have been expected from the men of the thirteenth century--from the generations who more than any other in all human history succeeded in uniting the useful with the beautiful in everything from the decoration of their churches and other great architectural structures to the ordinary objects of everyday life--it was of eminently practical character. while it is the custom to talk much of magna charta and to praise its wonderful influence there are very few people who have ever actually read its provisions. the classics are said to be books that everyone praises but no one reads, and magna charta and the constitution of the united states are documents that are joined in the same fate. a little consideration of some of the chapters of the charter will give an excellent idea of its thoroughly straightforward practicalness, though it may serve also to undeceive those who would expect to find in this primal document a lofty statement of abstract human rights, such as the men of the thirteenth century were never conscious of, since their thoughts were always in the concrete and their efforts were bent to the solution of the problems lying just before them, and not to the lifting of all the burdens that human nature has to bear. before this, of course, there had been some development of legislation to furnish the basis for what was to come in the thirteenth century. the famous constitutions of clarendon under henry ii. and the assizes of clarendon (quite a different matter) and of north hampton and the forest under henry ii., gave assurances of rights that had only existed somewhat shadily before. according to the constitutions of clarendon sworn men gave their verdict in cases from their own knowledge. this was, of course, quite a different matter from the giving of a verdict from knowledge obtained through witnesses at a trial, but the germ of the jury trial can be seen. it was not, however, until the next reign that the men of england { } did not merely wait for the free gifts of legal rights but demanded and obtained them. there was a new hitherto undreamt-of spirit abroad in the thirteenth century, by which men dared to ask for the rights they considered should be theirs. the opening chapter of magna charta states especially the subjects of the rights that are guaranteed by the document. it is not surprising then, to find that the first subject is the church and that the most extensive guarantees are made that the english church liberties shall be inviolate. churchmen had been largely concerned in the movement which secured the signing of magna charta, and then after all, as must never be forgotten, the church at this time was distinctly felt by all to be the spiritual expression of the religious aspirations of the people. over the concluding sentence of this chapter, "the grant of the unwritten liberties to all freemen of our kingdom," there has been no little discussion. there are some who would consider that it applied to all englishmen above the condition of villeins or serfs, while there are others who would limit its application practically to those nobly born in the kingdom. posterity undoubtedly came to translate it in the broader sense, so that, whatever the original intention, the phrase became as a grant eventually to all free englishmen. chapter i.: "in the first place we have granted to god, and by this our present charter confirmed for us and our heirs for ever, that the english church shall be free, and shall have her rights entire, and her liberties inviolate; and we will that it be thus observed; which is apparent from this that the freedom of elections, which is reckoned most important and very essential to the english church, we of our pure and unconstrained will, did grant, and by our charter confirm and did obtain the ratification of the same from our lord, pope innocent iii. before the quarrel arose between us and our barons, and this we will observe, and our will is that it be observed in good faith by our heirs for ever. we have also granted to all freemen of our kingdom, for us and for our heirs for ever, all the underwritten liberties, to be had and held by them and their heirs, of us and our heirs for ever." perhaps the most interesting feature of magna charta is to { } be found in the fact, that it did actually in most cases come to be applied ever so much wider than had apparently been the original intention. it was in this sense a vital document as it were, since it had within itself the power of developing so as to suit the varying circumstances for which recourse was had to it. there is no doubt at all of the good faith of the men who appealed to it, nor of their firm persuasion that the document actually intended what they claimed to find in it. modern criticism has succeeded in stripping from the original expressions many of the added meanings that posterity attached to them, but in so doing has really not lessened the estimation in which magna charta must be held. the position is indeed noteworthily analagous to that of the original deposit of faith and the development of doctrine which has taken place. higher criticism has done much to show how little of certain modern ideas was apparently contained explicitly in the original formulas of christian faith, and yet by so doing has not lessened our beliefs, but has rather tended to make us realize the vitality of the original christian tenets. as everything living in god's creation, they have developed by a principle implanted within them to suit the evolutionary conditions of man's intelligence and the developing problems that they were supposed to offer solutions for. the comparison, of course, like all comparisons, must walk a little lame, since after all magna charta is a human document, and yet the very fact that it should have presented itself under so many varying conditions, ever with new significance to succeeding generations of thinking men, is the best evidence of how nearly man's work at its best may approach that of the creator. it is an exemplification, in a word, of the creative genius of the century, a worthy compeer of the other accomplishments which have proved so enduring and so capable of making their influence felt even upon distant generations. it is of the very essence of the practicality of magna charta that among the early chapters of the important document--chapter vii.--is one that concerns widows and their property rights immediately after the death of their husbands. previous chapters had discussed questions of guardianship and inheritance, since it was especially minors who in this rude period { } were likely to suffer from the injustice of the crown, of their over-lords in the nobility, and even from their guardians. while magna charta, then, begins with the principles for the regulation of matters of property as regards children, it proceeds at once to the next class most liable to injustice because of their inability to properly defend themselves by force of arms--the widows. chapter vii.: "a widow, after the death of her husband, shall forthwith and without difficulty have her marriage portion and inheritance; nor shall she give anything for her dower or for her marriage portion, or for the inheritance which she and her husband held on the day of the death of that husband; and she may remain in the house of her husband for forty days after his death, within which time her dower shall be assigned to her." chapter viii.: "let no widow be compelled to marry, so long as she prefers to live without a husband; provided always that she gives security not to marry without our consent, if she holds of us, or without the consent of the lord of whom she holds, if she holds of another." the first of these provisions serves to show very well how early in the history of english jurisprudence a thoroughgoing respect for woman's legal rights began to have a place. the beginning thirteenth century made an excellent start in their favor. for some reason the movement for justice thus initiated did not continue, but suffered a sad interruption down almost to our own times. the second of these provisions for widows, embodied in chapter viii., sounds a little queer to the modern ear. this protection of widows from compulsion to marry is apt to seem absolutely unnecessary in these modern days. some of the unmarried are indeed prone to think, perhaps, that widows have more than their due opportunity in this matter without any necessity for protecting them from compulsion. of course it is to be understood that it was not always so much the charms of the lady herself that must be protected from compulsion, as those of the property which she inherited and the political and martial influence that she might be expected to bring her husband. in these troublous times when disputes with { } appeals to arms were extremely frequent, it was important to have the regulation, that after the death of a husband there should be no sudden unbalancing of political power because of the compelled marriage of the widow of some powerful noble. in certain subsequent chapters up to the twelfth there is question mainly of the rights of the jews, as money-lenders, to collect their debts with interest after the death of the principal to whom it was loaned. for instance, according to chapter x., the debt shall not bear interest while the heir is under age and if the debt fell to the hands of the crown, nothing but the principal was to be taken. in chapter xi. if any one died indebted to the jews his wife should have her dower and pay nothing of that debt. for children under age the same principle held and they had a right to the provision of necessaries in keeping with the condition of their father. this last clause has been perpetuated in the practice of our courts, as some consider even to the extent of an abuse, so that debtors cannot collect from the income of a young man to whom money has been left, if by so doing the income should be impaired to such an extent as to make his method of living unsuitable to the condition in life to which he was born and brought up. chapter xii. has been the subject of more discussion perhaps than any other. mckechnie, the most recent commentator on magna charta, says of it: [footnote ] [footnote : magna carta, a commentary on the great charter of king john, with an historical introduction by william sharp mckechnie, m.d., ll.b., d. phil. glasgow, james maclehose and sons, publishers to the university, .] "this is a famous clause, greatly valued at the time it was framed because of its precise terms and narrow scope (which made evasion difficult), and even more highly valued in after days for exactly opposite reasons. it came indeed to be interpreted in a broad general sense by enthusiasts who, with the fully-developed british constitution before them, read the clause as enunciating the modern doctrine that the crown can impose no financial burden whatsoever on the people without consent of parliament." readers may judge for themselves from the tenor of the { } chapter, how wide a latitude in interpretation it not only permits, but invites. chapter xii.: "no scutage nor aid shall be imposed in our kingdom, unless by common counsel of our kingdom, except for ransoming our person, for making our eldest son a knight, and for once marrying our eldest daughter; and for these there shall not be levied more than a reasonable aid. in like manner it shall be done concerning aids from the citizens of london." there is no doubt that it is hard to read in this chapter all that has been found in it by enthusiastic appellants to magna charta at many times during the succeeding centuries. as a matter of fact, however, within half a century after it had been promulgated, it was appealed to confidently as one of the reasons why an english parliament should meet if the king required special levies of money for the purpose of carrying on war. it was during the sixth and seventh decades of the thirteenth century that the great principle of english legislation: "there shall be no taxation without representation"--which six centuries later was to be appealed to by the american colonies as the justification for their war for independence, gradually came to be considered as a fundamental principle of the relationship between the government and the people. that it had its origin in magna charta there seems no doubt, and it is only another example of that unconscious development of a vital principle which, as we know from history, took place so often with regard to chapters of the great charter. undoubtedly one of the most important chapters of magna charta is the very brief one, no. , which concerns itself with the holding of a court of common pleas. the whole of the chapter is, "common pleas shall not follow our court but shall be held in some fixed place." this represented a distinct step in advance in the dispensing of justice. it is a little bit hard for us to understand, but all departments of government were originally centered in the king and his household--the court--which attended to royal and national business of every kind. as pointed out by mr. mckechnie in his magna charta, the court united in itself the functions of the modern cabinet of the administrative department--the home office, the foreign office and the admiralty, and of the various legal tribunals. it { } was the parent of the court at st. james and the courts at westminster. almost needless to say, it is from the fact that the dispensing of justice was a function of royalty, that the places of holding trials are still called courts. according to this chapter of magna charta, thereafter ordinary trials, common pleas, did not have to follow the court, that is the royal household, in its wanderings through various parts of the kingdom, but they were held at an appointed place. in the days of henry ii. the entire machinery of royal justice had to follow the monarch as he passed, sometimes on the mere impulse of the moment, from one of his favorite hunting-seats to another. crowds thronged after him in hot pursuit, since it was difficult to transact business of moment before the court without being actually present. this entailed almost intolerable delay, extreme annoyance and great expense upon litigants, who brought their pleas for the king's decision. there is an account of the hardships which this system inflicted upon suitors told of one celebrated case. richard d'anesty gives a graphic record of his journeyings in search of justice throughout a period of five years, during which he visited in the king's wake most parts of england, normandy, aquitaine, and anjou. ultimately successful he paid dearly for his legal triumph. he had to borrow at a ruinous rate of interest in order to meet his enormous expenses, mostly for traveling, and was scarcely able to discharge his debts. all litigation then, that did not directly involve the crown or criminal procedures, could be tried thereafter by a set of judges who sat permanently in some fixed spot, which though not named was probably intended from the beginning to be westminster. hence it has been said by distinguished english jurists that magna charta gave england a capital. on the other hand chapter xxiv. insured justice in criminal cases by reserving these pleas to judges appointed by the crown. this short chapter reads: "no sheriff, constable, coroner, or others of our bailiffs shall hold pleas of our crown." this last expression did not necessarily mean matters concerned with royal business as might be thought, but had in king john's time come to signify criminal trials of all kinds. it is easy to understand that those accused of crime would look confidently for { } justice to the representative of the central government, while they dreaded the jurisdiction of the less responsible officials resident in the counties, who had a wide-spread reputation for cruelty and oppression, and for a venality that it was hard to suppress. it would seem as though these quotations would serve to make even the casual reader appreciate how thoroughly magna charta deserves the reputation which it has borne now for nearly seven centuries, of an extremely valuable fundamental document in the history of the liberties of the english speaking people. some of the subsequent chapters may be quoted without comment because they show with what careful attention to detail the rights of the people were guaranteed by the charter, and how many apparently trivial things were considered worthy of mention. we may call attention to the fact that in chapters forty-one and forty-two there are definite expressions of guarantee for the rights even of aliens, which represent a great advance over the feelings in this respect that had animated the people of a century or so before, and foreshadow the development of that international comity which is only now coming to be the distinguishing mark of our modern civilization. "a freeman shall not be amerced for a small offence, except in accordance with the degree of the offence; and for a grave offence he shall be amerced in accordance with the gravity of his offence, yet saving always his 'contentment'; and a merchant in the same way, saving his wares; and a villein shall be amerced in the same way, saving his wainage--if they have fallen into our mercy; and none of the aforesaid amercements shall be imposed except by the oath of honest men of the neighborhood. "if any freeman shall die intestate, his chattels shall be distributed by the hands of the nearest kinsfolk and friends, under the supervision of the church, saving to everyone the debts which the deceased owed to him. "no constable or other bailiff of ours shall take corn or other provisions from anyone without immediately tendering money therefor, unless he can have postponement thereof by permission of the seller. "no sheriff or bailiff of ours, or any other person shall take { } the horses or carts of any freeman for transport duty, against the will of the said freeman. "all kydells for the future shall be removed altogether from the thames and medway, and throughout all england, except upon the sea coast. "nothing in the future shall be taken or given for a writ of inquisition of life or limbs, but freely it shall be granted, and never denied. "no bailiff for the future shall put any man to his 'law' upon his own mere word of mouth, without credible witnesses brought for this purpose. "no freeman shall be arrested or detained in prison, or deprived of his freehold, or outlawed, or banished, or in any way molested, and we will not set forth against him, nor send against him, unless by the lawful judgment of his peers and by the law of the land. "to no one will we sell, to no one will we refuse or delay, right or justice. "all merchants shall have safe and secure exit from england, and entry to england, with the right to tarry there and to move about as well by land as by water, for buying and selling by the ancient and right customs, quit from all evil tolls, except (in time of war) such merchants as are of the land at war with us. and if such are found in our land at the beginning of the war, they shall be detained without injury to their bodies or goods, until information be received by us, or by our chief justiciar, how the merchants of our land found in the land at war with us are treated and if our men are safe there, the others shall be safe in our land. "it shall be lawful in future for any one (excepting always those imprisoned or outlawed in accordance with the law of the kingdom, and natives of any country at war with us, and merchants, who shall be treated as is above provided) to leave our kingdom, and to return, safe and secure by land and water, except for a short period in time of war, on grounds of public policy--reserving always the allegiance due to us. "we will appoint as justices, constables, sheriffs or bailiffs only such as know the law of the realm and mean to observe it well. { } "we shall have, moreover, the same respite and the same manner in rendering justice concerning the disafforestation or retention of those forests which henry our father and richard our brother afforested and concerning the wardship of lands which are of the fief of another (namely, such wardships as we have hitherto had by reason of a fief, which any one held of us by knight's service) and concerning abbeys founded on other fiefs than our own, in which the lord of the fee claims to have right; and when we have returned, or if we desist from our expedition, we will immediately grant full justice to all who complain of such things. "all fines made with us unjustly and against the law of this land, and all amercements imposed unjustly and against the law of this land, shall be entirely remitted, or else it shall be done concerning them according to the decision of the five and twenty barons of whom mention is made below, in the clause for securing the peace, or according to the judgment of the majority of the same, along with the aforesaid stephen archbishop of canterbury, if he can be present, and such others as he may wish to bring with him for this purpose, and if he cannot be present the business shall nevertheless proceed without him, provided always that if any one or more of the aforesaid five and twenty barons are in a similar suit, they shall be removed as far as concerns this particular judgment, others being substituted in their places after having been selected by the rest of the same five and twenty for this purpose only, and after having been sworn. "moreover, all the aforesaid customs and liberties, the observance of which we have granted in our kingdom as far as pertains to us towards our men, shall be observed by all of our kingdom, as well by clergy as by laymen, as far as pertains to them towards their men. "and, on this head, we have caused to be made out letters patent of stephen, archbishop of canterbury, henry, archbishop of dublin, the bishops aforesaid, and master pandulf, as evidence of this clause of security and of the aforesaid concessions." these last provisions show how closely the church was bound up with the securing and maintenance of the rights of { } the english people. the clauses we have quoted just before, need no comment to show how sturdily the spirit of liberty strode abroad even at the beginning of the thirteenth century, for magna charta was signed in . the rest of the century was to see great advances in liberty and human rights, even beyond the guarantees of the great charter. magna charta, glorious as it was, was only the beginning of that basic legislation which was to distinguish the thirteenth century in england. about the middle of the century bracton began his collection of the laws of the land which has since been the great english classic of the common law. his work was accomplished while he was the chief justiciary during the reign of henry iii. for many years before he had occupied various judicial positions, as justice itinerant of the counties of nottingham and derby and for seventeen years his name appears as one of the justices of the aula regis. this experience put him in an eminently fitting position to be the mouthpiece of english practice and law applications, and his book was at once accepted as an authority. it is a most comprehensive and systematic work in five volumes, bearing the title de legibus et consuetudinibus angliae, and was modeled after the institutes of justinian. it was during the reign of edward i., the english justinian as he has been called, that the english common law came to its supreme expression, and this monarch has rightly been placed among the great benefactors of mankind for his magnanimous generosity in securing the legal rights of his subjects and framing english liberties for all time. not a little of edward's greatness as a law-maker and his readiness to recognize the rights of his subjects, with his consequent willingness to have english law arranged and published, must be attributed to his connection during his earlier years as prince of wales with the famous simon de montfort. to this man more than to any other the english speaking people owe the development of those constitutional rights, which gradually came to be considered inalienably theirs during the thirteenth century. he is undoubtedly one of the very great characters of history and the thirteenth century is by so much greater for having been the scene of his labors, during so many years, for the { } establishment of constitutional limitations to the power of the monarch, and the uplifting of the rights of subjects not only among the nobility, but also among the lower classes. it was in edward's time that the english common law was fashioned into the shape in which it was to exist for many centuries afterwards. how true this is may perhaps best be judged by the fact that even the laws with regard to real estate have not been changed in essence since that time, though medieval titles to land would seem to be so different to those of the present day. according to the encyclopedia britannica the changes which have been made since that time have been mainly due to the action of equity and legislation, the latter sometimes interpreted by the courts in a manner very different from the intention of parliament. the same authority is responsible for the statement that the reign of edward i., is notable for three leading real estate statutes which are still law. one of these was with regard to mortmain, while the important statute known as _quia emptores_ (the eighteenth of chapter i. of the laws of edward i.) had the practical effect of making the transfer of land thenceforward, more of a commercial and less of a legal transaction. it is to this same period that is owed the writ _elegit_ which introduced the law practice of a creditor's remedy over real estate. how little was accomplished in the matter of law-making in subsequent centuries, may be gathered from the fact that mr. james williams who writes the article on real estate in the encyclopedia britannica ninth edition, says that from to the reign of henry viii., that is down to the sixteenth century, there is no statute of the first importance dealing with real estate. in a word, then, it may be said that these law-makers of the thirteenth century anticipated most of the legal difficulties of the after-time. their statutory provisions, as in the case of the chapters of magna charta, seemed originally only to have a narrow application to certain urgent legal questions of the time, but proved eventually to contain in themselves the essence of legal principles that could be applied in circumstances such as the original law-maker had not even imagined. this is indeed the typical triumph of the century in every line of endeavor, that while apparently it devoted itself only to the { } narrow problems of its own time, its solutions of them whether in art and architecture or decoration, in literary expression or poetic effectiveness, in educational methods or social uplift, always proved so complete, so thoroughly human in the broadest sense of that word and so consonant with development, that their work did not have to be done over again. no greater praise than this could be bestowed. [illustration] spire of st. elizabeth's (marburg) { } xxiii justice and legal development. it must not be thought because we have devoted so much time to the triumphs of english law-making in the thirteenth century that, therefore, there is little or nothing to be said about this same admirable feature of the time in other countries. as a matter of fact every nation in europe saw the foundation of its modern legal system laid, and was responsive witness to the expression of the first principles of popular rights and popular liberties. montalembert in his life of st. elizabeth of hungary [footnote ] makes no mention in the introduction which is really a panegyric of the thirteenth century, of the progress of english law-making, and yet considers that he is able to bring together enough evidence to show that legislation had its acme of development just at this time. his paragraph on the subject will serve as the best possible preface to the scant treatment of continental law-making and enforcement of justice in this period, that our limited space will allow. he says: [footnote : life of st. elizabeth of hungary by the count de montalembert, translated by francis deming hoyt, new york, longman's, green and company, .] "legislation never, perhaps, had a more illustrious period. on the one hand, the popes, supreme authorities in matters of law as well as of faith, gave to canon law the fullest development possible to this magnificent security of christian civilization; sat themselves as judges with exemplary assiduity, published immense collections, and founded numerous schools. on the other hand, that period gave birth to most of the national legislation of the various states of europe; the great _mirrors_ of swabia and saxony, the first laws published in the german language by frederick ii. at the diet of mentz, and the code given by him to sicily; in france, the institutes of st. louis, together with the _common law_ of pierre des fontaines, { } and the _statutes of beauvoisis_ of philip of beaumanoir; and lastly the french version of the _assizes of jerusalem_, in which is to be found the most complete résumé now extant of christian and chivalric law. all these precious monuments of the old christian organization of the world are preserved in the native languages of the various people, and are distinguished, less even by this fact than by their generous and pious spirit, from that pernicious roman law, the progress of which was destined soon to change all the principles of the former." most of montalembert's paragraph refers to the law-making in france with which he is naturally more familiar. he has supplied ample material for consultation for those who wish to follow out this interesting theme further. even more significant, however, than the law-making in france, were the new ideas with regard to the enforcement in law that came in during the reign of louis ix. we have not had to wait until this generation to realize, that as a rule it is not the absence of law so much as the lack of enforcement of such laws as exist, that gives rise to many of the injustices between men. st. louis made it his business to bring about the enforcement of the laws with proper construction of their terms in such a way as to secure the rights of all. he himself sat under the famous old oak of versailles as a court of appeals, reviewing especially the cases of the poor. it soon came to be known, that it would be a sad occasion for any and every court official who was found to have given judgment against the poor because of partiality or the yielding to unlawful influence. on the other hand, in order to keep the right of appeal from being abused, punishments were meted out to those who made appeals without good reason. finding that he was unable to hear so many causes as were appealed to him, louis chose stephen boileau to act as chief justice and committed the care of proper legal enforcement with confidence into his hands. boileau had become famous by having condemned some very near relatives, under circumstances such that relationship might have been expected to weigh down the wrong side of the scales of justice, and in a few years he enhanced his reputation by the utter disregard of all motives in the settlement of suits at law, except those of { } the strictest justice. how much louis himself did in order to safeguard the rights of the poor can be judged from the famous incident told by all his biographers, in which he risked the enmity of the most powerful among his barons, in order to secure the punishment of one of them who had put two students to death. this was the first time that the rights of men, as men, were asserted and it constitutes the best possible testimony to the development of law and true liberty in france. "three young nobles of the county of flanders were surprised, together with the abbot of st. nicholas, in a wood pertaining to coucy, with bows and arrows. although they had neither dogs nor hunting implements, they were found guilty of having gone out to hunt and were hanged. the abbot and several women of their families made complaint to the king, and enguerrard was arrested and taken to the louvre. the king summoned him before him; he appeared, having with him the king of navarre, the king of burgundy, the counts of bar, soissons, brittany, and blois, the archbishop of rheims, sire john of thorote, and nearly all the great men in the kingdom. the accused said that he wished to take counsel, and he retired with most of the seigneurs who had accompanied him, leaving the king alone with his household. when he returned, john of thorote, in his name, said that he would not submit to this inquiry, since his person, his honour, and his heritage were at stake, but that he was ready to do battle, denying that he had hanged the three young men, or ordered them to be hanged. his only opponents were the abbot and the women, who were there to ask for justice. the king answered that in causes in which the poor, the churches, and persons worthy of pity, took part, it was not fitting to decide them in battle; for it was not easy to find anyone to fight for such sorts of people against the barons of the kingdom. he said that his action against the accused was no new thing, and he alleged the example of his predecessor philip augustus. he therefore agreed to the request of the complainants, and caused enguerrard to be arrested by the sergeants and taken to the louvre. all prayers were useless; st. louis refused to hear them, rose from his seat, and the barons went away astonished and confused. { } "they did not, however, consider that they were beaten. they again came together; the king of navarre, the count of brittany, and with them the countess of flanders, who ought rather to have intervened for the victims. it was as if they had conspired against the king's power and honour; for they were not content to implore coucy's release, but asserted that he could not be kept in prison. the count of brittany maintained that the king had no right to institute inquiries against the barons of his kingdom in matters which concerned their persons, their heritage or their honour. the king replied, 'you did not speak thus in former times when the barons in direct dependence upon you came before me with complaints against yourself, and offered to sustain them in battle. you then said that to do battle was not in the way of justice.' the barons put forward a final argument, namely, that according to the customs of the kingdom, the king could only judge the accused and punish him in person after an inquiry to which he had refused to submit. the king was resolute, and declared that neither the rank of the guilty man nor the power of his friends should prevent him from doing full justice. coucy's life was, however, spared. the fact that he had not been present at the judgment, nor at the execution, prevailed in his favour. by the advice of his counsellors, the king condemned him to pay livres parisis, which, considering the difference in the purchasing power of money, may be estimated at considerably more than , pounds, and he sent this sum to st. john of acre for the defense of palestine. the wood in which the young men were hanged was confiscated to the abbey of st. nicholas. the condemned man was also constrained to found three perpetual chapelries for the souls of his victims, and he forfeited jurisdiction over his woods and fish ponds, so that he was forbidden to imprison or execute for any offense which had to do with them. since enguerrard's defender, john of thorote, had in his anger told the barons that the king would do well to hang them all, the king, who had been told of this, sent for him and said, 'how comes it, john, that you have said i should hang my barons? i certainly will not have them hanged, but i will punish them when they do amiss.' john of thorote denied that he had said this, and offered to { } justify himself on the oath of twenty or thirty knights. the king would not carry the matter further, and let him go." one of the best evidences of the development of the spirit of law in germany during this time is the establishment of the famous fehmic courts, or vehmgerichte, which achieved their highest importance during the thirteenth century. as with regard to the universities, there is a tradition that carries the origin of these courts back to the time of charlemagne. they are much more likely to have been developments out of the relics of the ancient free courts of the old teutonic tribe. the first definite knowledge of their existence cannot be traced much earlier than a decade or two before the thirteenth century. they had their principal existence in westphalia. practically the whole country between the rhine and the weser was ruled to a subordinate degree by these fehmic courts. during the thirteenth century they were used only in the most beneficial and liberal spirit, supplying a means of redress at a time when the public administration of justice was almost completely in abeyance. as a matter of fact, before their establishment disregard for authority to the extent of utter lawlessness prevailed in this part of germany. {opp } [illustration] city gate (neubrandenburg) [illustration] rathhaus (stralsund) the significance of these courts has sometimes been missed. they arose, however, out of the justice loving spirit of the people themselves and were meant to supply legal enforcements when the regularly constituted authorities were unable to secure them. they remind one very much of the vigilance committees, which in our own country, in the cities of the distant west, bravely and with the admirable prudence of the race, have so often supplied the place of regular courts and have brought justice and order out of the chaos of lawlessness. the last place most people would expect their prototypes, however, would be here in the germany of the thirteenth century. how much these vehmgerichte accomplished during the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries it would be difficult to say. they represent an outgrowth of the spirit of the people themselves, that constitutes another striking feature of the practical side of the generations of the thirteenth century. they had much more to do with bringing about the development of the modern acute sense of justice among the teutonic peoples { } than is usually thought. they are the german expression of the same feelings that in england dictated trial by jury, and secured for the english speaking people of all time the precious privileges of even-handed justice and the right to be judged by one's peers. it was not alone in the western countries of europe that great advances were made in liberty. the democratic spirit that was abroad made itself felt everywhere and the foundations of rights for the people were laid even in central europe, in countries which ordinarily are thought of at this time as scarcely more than emerging from barbarism. hungary may be cited as an example. andrew ii. is usually set down by narrow-minded historians as having been entirely too visionary in his character, and the fact that he led the fifth crusade, apparently even more fruitless than were most of the others, is supposed to be an additional proof of this. even duruy in his history of the middle ages says of him, "he organized a state of anarchy by decreeing his golden bull, that if the king should violate the privileges of the nobility, they should be permitted to resist him by force and such resistance should not be treated as rebellion." as a matter of fact, his people were thus granted a constitution more liberal even than that of magna charta, but containing quite similar provisions in many respects, and the curious historical analogy is heightened when we recall that at the two ends of civilized europe these constitutions were given in the same decade. one cannot help but wonder whether the saxon elements which were in both peoples, for many saxon and frisian colonists had been induced to settle in certain parts of transylvania just half a century before, did not have much to do with this extremely interesting development in hungary, so like the corresponding evolution of the democratic spirit among their western kinsfolk. in poland the development in law came a little later but evidently as the result of the same factors that were at work during the thirteenth century. casimir the great, who was born shortly after the close of the thirteenth century, gave wise laws to poland which have constituted the basis of polish law ever since. at this time poland was one of the most important countries in europe. casimir, besides giving laws to { } his people, also founded a university for them and in every way encouraged the development of such progress as would make his subjects intelligently realize their own rights and maintain them, apparently foreseeing that thus the king would be better able to strengthen himself against the many enemies that surrounded him in central europe. how much the great popes of the century accomplished for the foundation and development of law, can only be appreciated by those who realize the extent of their contributions to the codification of canon law. it was the arrangement of this in definite shape that put the civil jurists of the time at work setting their house in order. innocent iii., who is deservedly called _pater juris_, devoted a great deal of his wonderful energy and genius to the arrangement of canon law. this placed for the first time the canon law on an absolutely sure footing and filled up many gaps that formerly existed. gregory ix. commissioned his chaplain, the famous raymond of pennafort, who had been a professor of canon law in the university of bologna, to codify all the decretals since the time of gratian. this work was officially promulgated in , four years of labor having been devoted to it. the laws are in the form of decisions pronounced in cases submitted to the pope from all parts of christendom, including many from the distant east and not a few from england and scotland. gregory's decretals were published in five books; a supplement under the name of the sixth book was published under pope boniface viii. in . in this for the first time abstract rules of law are laid down extracted from actual judgments. a compendium of roman law was added so as to approximate canon and civil procedure. this gives the best possible idea of how deeply the popes and the authorities in canon law of the century were laying the foundations of canonical practise and procedure for all times. the origins of modern law are to be found here, and yet not, as might be anticipated because of the distance in time, in such a confused or unmanageable fashion that they are not worth while consulting, but on the contrary with such clarity and distinctness and with such orderly arrangement, that they have been the subjects of study on the part of distinguished { } jurists for most of the centuries ever since, and have never lost their interest for the great lawyers and canonists, who prefer to know things from the foundation rather than accept them at second hand. some of the commentaries, or glosses as they were called, on canon law serve to give an excellent idea of the legal ability as well as the intellectual acumen of the canon lawyers of the century. the system of teaching was oral, and careful study was devoted to original authorities in law. explanatory notes were added by the professors to their copies of the text. when later these texts were given out or lent for transcription, the notes were also copied, usually being written in the margin. after a time the commentary, however, proved to be, for students at least, as important as the text and so was transcribed by itself and was called an apparatus, that is a series of mechanical helps, as it were, to the understanding of the text. of the names of some of the most distinguished glossatores the memory has been carefully preserved because they produced so much effect on legal teaching. the gloss written on gratian by joannes teutonicus (john the german), probably during the first decade of the thirteenth century, was revised and supplemented by bartholomew of brescia about the middle of the thirteenth century. some ten years later bernard of parma wrote a commentary on the decretals of gregory. all of these are important fundamental works in canon law, and they were of very great influence in bringing out the principles of law and showing the basis on which they were founded. it is almost needless to say that they aroused additional interest and made the subject much more easy of approach than it had been. the fact that all of these magnificent contributions to the science and literatures of law should have been made during our thirteenth century, serves only to emphasize the fact that everything that men touched during this period was sure to be illuminated by the practical genius of the time, and put into a form in which for many centuries it was to be appealed to as a model and an authority in its own line. how much of legal commentary writing there was besides these, can be readily understood from the fact that these represent the activity only of the university of bologna { } which was, it is true, the greatest of universities in its law department, but it must not be forgotten that many other universities throughout europe also had distinguished professors of law at this time. all this would seem to be of little interest for the secular law-making of the period, but it must not be forgotten that civil law was closely related to canon law at all times and that the development of canon law always meant a renewed evolution of the principles, and practise, and procedure of the civil law. in such countries as scotland, indeed, the canon law formed the basis of the civil jurisprudence and its influence was felt even for centuries after the so-called reformation. on the other hand it must not be forgotten that the popes and the ecclesiastics helped to fight the battles of the middle and lower classes against the king and the nobility in practically every country in europe. a very striking example of this is to be found in the life of that much misunderstood pope boniface viii., the last pope of the century, who had received his legal training at bologna, and who was one of the great jurists of his time. circumstances differ so much, however, and obscure realities to such a degree, that at the present time we need the light of sympathetic interpretation to enable us to realize what boniface accomplished. {opp } [illustration] portrait of pope boniface viii. (giotto, rome) he did much to complete in his time that arrangement and codification of canon law which his predecessors during the thirteenth century had so efficiently commenced. like innocent iii. he has been much maligned because of his supposed attempt to make the governments of the time subservient to the pope and to make the church in each nation independent of the political government. with regard to the famous bull clericis laicos, "thrice unhappy in name and fortune" as it has been designated, much more can be said in justification than is usually considered to be the case. indeed the rev. dr. barry, whose "story of the papal monarchy" in the stories of the nations series has furnished the latest discussion of this subject, does not hesitate to declare that the bull far from being subversive of political liberties or expressive of too arrogant a spirit on the part of the church, was really an expression of a great principle that was to become very prominent in { } modern history, and the basis of many of the modern declarations of rights against the claims of tyranny. he says in part: "imprudent, headlong, but in its main contention founded on history, this extraordinary state-paper declared that the laity had always been hostile to the clergy, and were so now as much as ever. but they possessed no jurisdiction over the persons, no claims on the property of the church, though they had dared to exact a tenth, nay, even a half, of its income for secular objects, and time-serving prelates had not resisted. now, on no title whatsoever from henceforth should such taxes be levied without permission of the holy see. every layman, though king or emperor, receiving these moneys fell by that very act under anathema; every churchman paying them was deposed from his office; universities guilty of the like offense were struck with interdict. "robert of winchelsea, langton's successor as primate, shared langton's views. he was at this moment in rome, and had doubtless urged boniface to come to the rescue of a frightened, down-trodden clergy, whom edward i. would not otherwise regard. in the parliament at bury, this very year, the clerics refused to make a grant. edward sealed up their barns. the archbishop ordered that in every cathedral the pope's interdiction should be read. hereupon the chief-justice declared the whole clergy outlawed; they might be robbed or murdered without redress. naturally, not a few gave way; a fifth, and then a fourth, of their revenue was yielded up. but archbishop robert alone, with all the prelates except lincoln against him, and the dominicans preaching at paul's cross on behalf of the king, stood out, lost his lands, and was banished to a country parsonage. war broke out in flanders. it was the saving of the archbishop. at westminster edward relented and apologized. he confirmed the two great charters; he did away with illegal judgments that infringed them. next year the primate excommunicated those royal officers who had seized goods or persons belonging to the clergy, and all who had violated magna charta. the church came out of this conflict exempt, or, more truly a self-governing estate of the realm. it must be considered as { } having greatly concurred towards the establishment of that fundamental law invoked long after by the thirteen american colonies, 'no taxation without representation,' which is the corner stone of british freedom." we have so often heard it said that there is nothing new under the sun, that finally the expression has come to mean very little, though its startling truth sometimes throws vivid light on historical events. certainly the last place in the world that one would expect to find if not the origin, for all during the thirteenth century this great principle had been gradually asserting itself, at least, a wondrous confirmation of the principle on which our american revolution justified itself, would be in a papal document of the end of the thirteenth century. here, however, is a distinguished scholar, who insists that the colonists' contention that there must be no taxes levied unless they were allowed representation in some way in the body which determined the mode and the amount of taxation, received its first formal justification in history at the hands of a roman pontiff, nearly five centuries before the beginning of the quarrel between the colonies and the mother country. the passage serves to suggest how much of what is modern had its definite though unsuspected origin, in this earlier time. [illustration] decoration thirteenth century psalter ms. { } xxiv democracy, christian socialism and nationality. democracy is a word to conjure with but it is usually considered that the thing it represents had its origin in the modern world much later than the period with which we are occupied. the idea that the people should be ready to realize their own rights, to claim their privileges and to ask that they should be allowed to rule themselves, is supposed ordinarily to be a product of the last century or two. perhaps in this matter more than any other does the thirteenth century need interpretation to the modern mind, yet we think that after certain democratic factors and developments in the life of this period are pointed out and their significance made clear, it will become evident that the foundations of our modern democracy were deeply laid in the thirteenth century, and that the spirit of what was best in the aspiration of people to be ruled by themselves, for themselves, and of themselves had its birth in this precious seed time of so much that is important for our modern life. lest it should be thought that this idea of the development of democracy has been engendered merely in the enthusiastic ardor of special admiration for the author's favorite century, it seems well to call attention to the fact that historians in recent years have very generally emphasized the role that the thirteenth century played in the development of freedom. a typical example may be quoted from the history of anglo-saxon freedom by professor james k. hosmer, [footnote ] who does not hesitate to say that "while in england representative government was gradually developing during this century, in germany the cities were beginning to send deputies to the imperial parliament and the emperor, frederick ii., was allowing a certain amount of representation in the { } government of sicily. in spain, alfonso the wise, of castile, permitted the cities to send representatives to the cortez, and in france this same spirit developed to such a degree that a representative parliament met at the beginning of the fourteenth century." in none of these countries, however, unfortunately did the spirit of representative government continue to develop as in england and in many of them the privileges obtained in the thirteenth century were subsequently lost. [footnote : scribners, new york, .] certain phases of the rise of the democratic spirit have already been discussed, and the reader can only be referred to them now with the definite idea of recognizing in them the democratic tendencies of the time. what we have said about the trade guilds constitutes one extremely important element of the movement which will be further discussed in this chapter. after this comes the guild merchant in its various forms. after all the hanseatic league was only one manifestation of these guilds. its widespread influence in awakening in people's minds the realization that they could do for themselves much more, and secure success in their endeavors much better by their own united efforts, than by anything that their accepted political rulers could do or at least would do for them, will be readily appreciated by all who read that chapter. hansa must have been a great enlightener for the teutonic peoples. the history of the league shows over and over again their political rulers rather interfering with than fostering their commercial prosperity. these rulers were always more than a little jealous of the wealth which the citizens of these growing towns in their realm were able to accumulate, and they showed it on more than one occasion. the history of the hansa towns exhibits the citizens doing everything to dissemble the feelings of disaffection that inevitably came to them as the result of their appreciation of the fact, that they could rule themselves so much better than they were being ruled, and that they could accomplish so much more for themselves by their commercial combination with other cities than had ever been done for them by these hereditary princes, who claimed so much yet gave so little in their turn. the training in self-government that came with the { } necessities for defense as well as for the protection of commercial visitors from other cities in the league, who trustfully came to deal with their people, was an education in democracy such as could not fail to bring results. the rise of the free cities in germany represents the growth of the democratic spirit down to our own time, better than any other single set of manifestations that we have. the international relations of these cities did more, as we have said, to broaden men's minds and make them realize the brotherhood of man in spite of national boundaries than any other factor in human history. commerce has always been a great leveler and such it proved to be in these early days in germany, only it must not be thought that these german cities had but faint glimmerings of the great purpose they were engaged in, for seldom has the spirit of popular government risen higher than with them. how clearly the teutonic mind had grasped the idea of democracy can be best appreciated perhaps from the attitude of the swiss in this matter. these hardy mountaineers whose difficult country and rather severe climate separate them effectually from the other nations, soon learned the advisability of ruling themselves for their own benefit. before the end of the thirteenth century they had formed a defensive and offensive union among themselves against the hapsburgs, and though for a time overborne by the influence of this house after its head ascended the imperial throne, immediately on rudolph's death they proceeded to unite themselves still more firmly together. they then formed the famous league of which represents so important a step in the democracy of modern times. the formal document which constituted this league a federal government deserves to be quoted. it is the first great declaration of independence, and its ideas were to crop out in many another declaration in the after times. it is an original document in the strictest sense of the word. it runs as follows: "know all men that we, the people of the valley of uri, the community of the valley of schwiz, and the mountaineers of the lower valley, seeing the malice of the times, have solemnly agreed and bound ourselves by oath to aid and defend each other with all our might and main, with our lives and property, { } both within and without our boundaries each at his own expense, against every enemy whatever who shall attempt to molest us, either singly or collectively. this is our ancient covenant. whoever hath a lord let him obey him according to his bounden duty. we have decreed that we shall accept no magistrate in our valleys who shall have obtained his office for a price, or who is not a native or resident among us. every difference among us shall be decided by our wisest men; and whoever shall reject their award shall be compelled by the other confederates. whoever shall wilfully commit a murder shall suffer death, and he who shall attempt to screen the murderer from justice shall be banished from our valleys. an incendiary shall lose his privileges as a free member of the community, and whoever harbors him shall make good the damage. whoever robs or molests another shall make full restitution out of the property he possesses among us. everyone shall acknowledge the authority of a chief magistrate in either of the valleys. if internal quarrels arise, and one of the parties shall refuse fair satisfaction, the confederates shall support the other party. this covenant for our common weal, shall, god willing, endure forever." in england democracy was fostered in the guilds, which, as we have already seen in connection with the cathedrals, proved the sources of education and intellectual development in nearly every mode of thought and art. the most interesting feature of these guilds was the fact that they were not institutions suggested to the workmen and tradesmen by those above them, but were the outgrowth of the spirit of self help and organization which, came over mankind during this century. at the beginning they were scarcely more than simple beneficial associations meant to be aids in times of sickness and trial, and to make the parting of families and especially the death of the head of the family not quite so difficult for the survivors, since affiliated brother workmen remained behind who would care for them. during this century, however, the spirit of democracy, that is the organized effort of the people to take care of themselves, better their conditions, and add to their own happiness, led to the development of the guilds in a fashion that it is rather difficult for generations of the modern time to { } understand, for our trades' unions do not, as yet at least, present anything that quite resembles their work in our times. it was because of the effective social work of these guilds that urbain gohier, the well-known french socialist and writer on sociological subjects, was able to say not long ago in the north american review: "when the workmen of the european continent demand 'the three eights'--eight hours of work, eight hours of rest and refreshment, physical and mental, and eight hours of sleep--some of them are aware of the fact that this reform already exists in the anglo-saxon countries; but all are ignorant of this other fact that, during the middle ages, in an immense number of labor corporations and cities, a work-day was often only nine, eight and even seven hours long. nor have they ever been told that every saturday, and on the eve of over two dozen holidays, work was stopped everywhere at four o'clock." the saturday half holiday began it may be said even earlier, namely at the vesper hour which according to medieval church customs was some time between two and three p. m. and the same was true on the vigils, as the eves of the important church festivals were called. the only possible way to give a reasonably good idea of the spirit of the old-time guilds which succeeded in accomplishing such a wonderful social revolution, is to quote some of their rules, which serve to show their intents and purposes at least, even though they may not always have fulfilled their aims. their rules regard two things particularly--the religious and the social functions of the guild. there was a fine for absence from the special religious services held for the members but also a fine of equal amount for absence from the annual banquet. in this they resemble the rules of the religious orders which were coming to be widely known at the end of the twelfth and the beginning of the thirteenth century, and according to which the members of the religious community were required quite as strictly to be present at daily recreation, that is, at the hour of conversation after meals, as at daily prayer. an interesting phase of the social rules of the guild is that a member was expected to bring his wife with him, or if not his wife then his sweetheart. they were franker in these matters { } in this simpler age and doubtless the custom encouraged matrimony a little bit more than our modern colder customs. as giving a fair idea of the ordinances of the pre-reformation guilds in their original shape the rules of the guild of st. luke at lincoln, may be cited. st. luke had been chosen as patron because according to tradition he was an artist as well as an evangelist. the patron saint was chosen always so that he might be a model of life as well as a protector in heaven. its members were the painters, guilders, stainers, and alabaster men of the city. the first rule provides that on the sunday next after the feast of st. luke all the brothers and sisters of the guild shall, with their officers, go in procession from an appointed place, carrying a great candle, to the cathedral church of lincoln, and there every two of the brethren and sisters shall offer one half-penny or more after their devotion, and then shall offer the great candle before an image of st. luke within the church. and any who were absent without lawful cause shall forfeit one pound of wax to the sustentation of the said great candle. on the same sunday, "for love and amity and good communication to be had for the several weal of the fraternity," the guildmen dined together, every brother paying for himself and his wife, or sweetheart, the sum of four pence. absentees were fined one pound of wax towards the aforesaid, candle. the third rule provided that four "mornspeeches"--that its business meetings--should be held each year, "for ordering and good rule to be had and made amongst them." absentees from a mornspeech forfeited one pound of wax to st. luke's candle. another rule provided that the decision of ambiguities or doubts about the forfeitures prescribed should be referred to the mayor and four aldermen of the city. rules to , and also , regulate the taking of apprentices and the setting up in trade; forbid the employing of strangers; provide for the settlement of disputes and the examination of work not sufficiently done after the sample. already the tendency to limit the number of workmen that might be employed which was later to prove a stumbling block to artistic progress is to be noted. on the other hand the effort to keep work up to a certain standard, which was to mean so much for artistic { } accomplishment in the next few generations must be noted as a compensatory feature of the guild regulations. {opp } [illustration] doorway (lincoln) [illustration] nave (durham cathedral) [illustration] broken arch (st. mary's, york, climax of gothic) rule directs that "when it shall happen any brother or sister of the said fraternity to depart and decease from the world, at his first mass the gracemen and wardens (skyvens) for the time being shall offer of the goods and chattels of the said fraternity, two pence; and at his eighth day, or thirtieth day, every brother and sister shall give to a poor creature a token made by the dean, for which tokens every brother and sister shall pay the dean a fixed sum of money, and with the money thus raised he shall buy white bread to give to the poor creatures" holding the tokens, the bread to be distributed at the church of the parish in which the deceased lived. this twelfth rule with regard to the manner of giving charity is particularly striking, because it shows a deliberate effort to avoid certain dangers, the evil possibilities of which our modern organized charity has emphasized. according to this rule of the guild of st. luke's at lincoln, all the members were bound to give a certain amount in charity, for the benefit of a deceased member. this was not, however, by direct alms, but by means of tokens for which they paid a fixed price to the dean, who redeemed the tokens when they were presented by the deserving poor. this guaranteed that each member would give the fixed sum in charity and at the same time safeguarded the almsgiving from any abuses, since the member of the guild himself would be likely to know something of the poor person and his deservingness, and if not there was always the question of the dean being informed with regard to the needs of the case. all of this was accomplished, however, without hurting the feelings of the recipients of the charity, since they felt that it was done not for them but for the benefit of a deceased member. how much the guilds came to influence the life of the people during the next two centuries may be best appreciated from their great increase in number and wealth. in england, it is computed that at the beginning of the sixteenth century there were thirty thousand of these institutions spread over the country. the county of norfolk alone had nine hundred, of which number the small town of { } wymondham had at least eleven still known by names, one--the guild of holy trinity, wymondham--being possessed of a guild-hall of its own, whilst it and the other guilds of the town are said to have been "well endowed with lands and tenements." in bury st. edmunds, suffolk, there were twenty-three guilds; boston, lincolnshire, had fourteen, of which the titles and other particulars are known, whilst in london their number must have been very great. of the london trade guilds, stow, the elizabethan antiquary, records the names of sixty of sufficient importance to entitle their representatives to places at the civic banquets in the reign of henry viii. many of them are still in existence, having been spared at the time of the reformation on the plea that they were trading or secular associations. fifteen of the largest of them--including the merchant tailors, the goldsmiths and the stationers--have at the present time an annual income of over $ , each. the reasons for their popularity can be readily found in the many social needs which they cared for. socialistic cooperation has, perhaps, never been carried so far as in these medieval institutions which were literally "of the people, by the people, and for the people." often their regulation made provisions for insurance against poverty, fire, and sometimes against burglary. frequently they provided schoolmasters for the schools. their funds they loaned out to needy brethren in small sums on easy terms, whilst trade and other disputes likely to give rise to ill-feeling and contention were constantly referred to the guilds for arbitration. one of the rules of the guild of our lady at wymondham thus ordains, that for no manner of cause should any of the brothers or sisters of the fraternity go to law till the officers of the guild had been informed of the circumstances and had done their best to settle the dispute and restore "unity and love betwixt the parties." to assist at the burial of deceased brethren, and to aid in providing for the celebration of obits for the repose of their souls, were duties incumbent on all, defaulters without good excuse being subject to fines and censure. it must not be thought that these tendencies to true democracy were confined to the trades guilds, however. the historian of the merchant guilds has demonstrated that they had the { } same spirit and this was especially true for the great guild merchant. he says: "to this category of powerful affinities must be added the gild merchant. the latter was from the outset a compact body emphatically characterized by fraternal solidarity of interests, a protective union that naturally engendered a consciousness of strength and a spirit of independence. as the same men generally directed the counsels of both the town and the gild, there would be a gradual, unconscious extension of the unity of the one to the other, the cohesive force of the gild making itself felt throughout the whole municipal organism. but the influence of the fraternity was material as well as moral. it constituted a bond of union between the heterogeneous sokes (classes of tenants) of a borough; the townsmen might be exclusively amenable to the courts of different lords, but, if engaged in trade within the town, they were all members of one and the same gild merchant. the independent regulation of trade also accustomed the burgesses to self-government, and constituted an important step toward autonomy; the town judiciary was always more dependent upon the crown or mesne lord than was the gild merchant." because of the supreme interest in everything connected with shakespeare, the existence of one of the most important guilds in stratford, has led to the illustration of guilds' works there better than for any english town during this period. the guild of the holy cross was the most important institution of stratford and enthusiastic shakespeare scholars have applied themselves to find out every detail of its history as far as it is now available, in order to make clear the conditions--social and religious--that existed in the great dramatist's birthplace. halliwell, in his descriptive calendar of the records of stratford on avon, and sidney lee, in his stratford on avon in the time of the shakespeares, have gathered together much of this information:--"the guild has lasted, wrote its chief officer in , for many, many years and its beginning was from time whereunto the memory of man reaches not." bowden, in his volume on the religion of shakespeare, has a number of the most important details with regard to stratford's guild. the earliest extant documents with regard to it are from the { } reign of henry iii., - , and include a deed of gift by one william sede, of a tenement to the guild, and an indulgence granted october th, , by giffard, bishop of wooster, of forty days to all sincere penitents who after having duly confessed had conferred benefits on the guild. by the close of the reign of edward i., at the beginning of the fourteenth century, the guild was wealthy in houses and lands, and the foundation was laid of its chapel and almshouses which, with the hall of meeting--the "rode or reed hall"--stood where the guild hall is at the present day. edward iii. and richard ii., during the fourteenth century, confirmed the rights of the guild and even added to its privileges. though it was a purely local institution, the fame of its good works had spread so wide during these next centuries that affiliation with it became a distinction, and the nobility were attracted to its ranks. george, duke of clarence, brother of edward, with his wife and children, and the earl of warwick, and the lady margaret were counted among its members, and merchants of distant towns counted it an honor to belong to it. later, also, judge littleton, one of the famous founders of english law, was on its roll of membership. the objects of the guild were many and varied and touched the social life of stratford at every point. the first object was mutual prayer. the guild maintained five priests or chaplains who were to say masses daily, hour by hour, from six to ten o'clock for its members, it being expected that some of them would be present at each of the masses. out of the fees of the guild one wax candle was to be kept alight every day throughout the year at every mass in the church before the rood, or cross, "so that god and our blessed virgin and the venerated cross may keep and guard all the brethren and sisters of the guilds from every ill." the second object was charity, under which was included all the various works of mercy. the needs of any brother or sister who had fallen into poverty or been robbed were to be provided for "as long as he bears himself rightly towards the brethren." when a brother died all the brethren were bound to follow the body to the church and to pray for his soul at its burial. the guild candle and eight smaller ones were to be kept burning by the body from the { } time of death till the funeral. when a poor man died in the town the brethren and sisters were, for their soul's health, to find four wax candles, a sheet, and a hearse cloth for the corpse. this rule also applied in the event of a stranger's death, if the stranger had not the necessary means for burial. nor were the efforts of the guild at stratford devoted solely to the alleviation of the ills of mankind and the more serious purposes of life. once a year, in easter week, a feast of the members was held in order to foster peace and true brotherly love among them. at this time offerings were made for the poor in order that they too might share in the happiness of the festival time. there was attendance at church before the feasting and a prayer was offered by all the "brethren and sisters that god and our blessed virgin and the venerated cross in whose honor we have come together will keep us from all ills and sins." this frequent reference to the cross will be better understood if it is recalled that the guild at stratford bore the name of the guild of the holy cross, and the figure of the crucified one was one of its most respected symbols and was always looked upon as a special object of veneration on the part of the members. the thoroughly progressive spirit of the guild at stratford will perhaps be best appreciated by the modern mind from the fact, that to it the town owed the foundation of its famous free school. during the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries the study of grammar, and of the various theoretical branches, was not considered the essential part of an education. gradually, however, there had arisen the feeling that all the children should be taught the ground-work of the vulgar tongue, and that those whose parents wished it should receive education in latin also; hence the establishment of grammar schools, that at stratford being founded for the children of the members of the guild about the middle of the fifteenth century. this was only the normal development of the earlier spirit of the guild which enabled it to meet the growing social needs of the time. it was at this school, as reconstituted under edward vi., that shakespeare was educated, and the reestablishment by edward was only in response to the many complaints which arose because of the absence of the school after its suppression by { } henry viii. the fact that shakespeare was educated at an edward vi. grammar school, has often given occasion for commentators to point out that it was practically the reformation in england which led to the establishment of free schools. any such suggestion, however, can be made only in complete ignorance of the preexisting state of affairs in which the people, by organization, succeeded in accomplishing so much for themselves. as a matter of fact the guild at stratford, as in most of the towns in england--for we have taken this as an example only because it is easier to get at the details of its history--was the most important factor in the preservation of social order, in the distribution of charity, in the providing of education, and even the maintenance of the security of the life and property of its inhabitants. when it was dissolved, in , stratford found itself in a chaotic state and had to petition edward vi. to reconstitute the guild as a civil corporation, which he did by charter in . after this consideration of the guilds and their purpose and success, it is no wonder that we should declare that the wind of the spirit of democracy was blowing in england and carrying away the old landmarks of absolute government. it is to the spirit thus fostered that must be attributed the marvelous progress in representative government, the steps of which we recall. in , all england united against the odious john lackland and obliged him to grant the magna charta--a declaration of national liberty. in , the provisions of oxford, under henry iii., established, for the moment, the stated recurrence of the great national council of parliament. in , under the same prince, the earl of leicester admitted to parliament the knights of the shire and the representatives of the townspeople, who formed later the lower house, or house of commons, while those personally summoned to attend by the king from the great nobles formed the upper house, or house of lords. beginning with the year , in the reign of edward i., the attendance of the county and town members became { } regular, making parliament really representative of the country. in , in the reign of edward ii., parliament revealed its possible strength by putting conditions on its vote for taxes. there were other factors at work, however, and one of them at least, because of its importance, deserves to be recalled here. in the chapter on great beginnings of modern commerce we call attention to the fact, that the crusades were responsible to a great degree for the spirit of enterprise which led to the formation of the lombard league of cities, and later to the great hanseatic league, which seems to have taken at least its incentive from the southern confederation. in the chapter on louis ix. we point out that the crusades, and his connection with them, far from being blots on louis's career must rather be considered as manifestations of the great heart of the time which was awakening to all needs, and had its religious aspirations stirred so deeply that men were ready to give up everything in order to follow an idea. one thing is certain, the crusades did more to set ferments at work in the social organization of europe than would have been possible by any other movement. these ferments brought about two results, one the uplift of the common people, the other the centralization of power in the hands of the kings with the gradual diminution of the influence of the nobility. while fostering the spirit of democracy on the one hand, they gave birth to the spirit of nationality and to all that this has accomplished in modern history. storrs, in his life of st. bernard, recently issued, has given expression to this thought in a very striking fashion. he says: "it used to be the fashion to regard the crusades as mere fantastic exhibitions of a temporary turbulent religious fanaticism, aiming at ends wholly visionary, and missing them, wasting the best life of europe in colossal and bloody undertakings, and leaving effects only of evil for the time which came after. more reasonable views now prevail; and while the impulse in which the vast movement took its rise is recognized as passionate and semi-barbaric, it is seen that many effects followed which were beneficial rather than harmful, which could not perhaps have been at the time in other ways realized. as i have already suggested, properties were to an important { } extent redistributed in europe, and the constitutions of states were favorably affected. lands were sold at low prices by those who were going on the distant expeditions, very probably, as they knew, never to return; and horses and armor, with all martial equipments, were bought at high prices by the jews, who could not hold land, and the history of whom throughout the middle ages is commonly traced in fearful lines of blood and fire, but who increased immeasurably their movable wealth through these transfers of property. communes bought liberties by large contributions to the needs of their lord; and their liberties, once secured, were naturally confirmed and augmented, as the years went on. the smaller tended to be absorbed in the larger; the larger often to come more strictly under royal control, thus increasing the power of the sovereign--which meant at the time, general laws, instead of local, a less minutely oppressive administration, the furtherance of the movement toward national unity. it is a noticeable fact that italy took but a comparatively small part in the crusades; and the long postponement of organic union between different parts of the magnificent peninsula is not without relation to this. the influence which operated elsewhere in europe to efface distinction of custom and language in separate communities, to override and extinguish local animosities, to make scattered peoples conscious of kinship, did not operate there; and the persistent severance of sections from each other, favored, of course, by the run of the rivers and the vast separating walls of the apenines, was the natural consequence of the want of this powerful unifying force." [footnote ] [footnote : storrs, "bernard of chairvaux," new york (scribners), , pp. - . ] as a matter of fact very few people realize how much was accomplished for the spirit of democracy, for liberty, for true progress, as regards the rights of men of all classes, and for the feeling of the brotherhood of man itself, by the crusades. a practical money-making age may consider them examples of foolish religious fanaticism, but those who have studied them most profoundly and with most sympathy, who are deeply interested in the social amelioration which they brought about, and, above all, those who look at them in the higher poetic { } spirit of what they did to lift man above the sordid cares of everyday life, see them in a far different way. charles kingsley sang in the poem of the saints tragedy: "tell us how our stout crusading fathers fought and bled for god and not for gold." but quite apart from the poetry of them, from the practical side much can be said which even the most matter of fact of men will appreciate. here, for instance, are a series of paragraphs from the history of the middle ages by george washington greene, which he confesses to have taken chiefly from the french, [footnote ] which will make clear something of the place these great expeditions should be considered as holding in the history of democracy and of liberty: [footnote : new york, appleton, .] "christendom had not spent in vain its treasures and its blood in the holy wars. its immense sacrifices were repaid by immense results, and the evils which these great expeditions necessarily brought with them were more than compensated for by the advantages which they procured for the whole of europe. "the crusades saved europe from the mussulman invasion and this was their immediate good. their influence was felt, too, in a manner less direct, but not less useful. the crusades had been preached by a religion of equality in a society divided by odious distinctions. all had taken part in them, the weak as well as the strong, the serf and the baron, man and woman, and it was by them that the equality of man and woman, which christianity taught, was made a social fact. st. louis declared that he could do nothing without the consent of his queen, his wife. it was from this period that we must date that influence of woman which gave rise to chivalric courtesy, the first step towards refinement of manners and civilization. the poor, too, were the adopted children of the christian chivalry of the crusades. the celebrated orders of palestine were instituted for the protection of poor pilgrims. the knights of the hospitals called the poor their masters. surely no lesson was more needed by these proud barons of the middle ages than that of charity and humility. { } "these ideas were the first to shake the stern despotism of feudality, by opposing to it the generous principles of chivalry which sprang all armed from the crusades. bound to the military orders by a solemn vow--and in the interests of all christendom--the knight felt himself free from feudal dependence, and raised above national limits, as the immediate warrior and servant of the united christendom and of god. chivalry founded not upon territorial influence, but upon personal distinction, necessarily weakened nobility by rendering it accessible to all, and diminishing the interval which separated the different classes of society. every warrior who had distinguished himself by his valor could kneel before the king to be dubbed a knight, and rise up the equal, the superior even, of powerful vassals. the poorest knight could sit at the king's table while the noble son of a duke or prince was excluded, unless he had won the golden spurs of knighthood. another way by which the crusades contributed to the decay of feudalism was by favoring the enfranchisement of serfs, even without the consent of their masters. whoever took the cross became free, just as every slave becomes free on touching the soil of england or france. "the communities whose development is to be referred to the period of the crusades, multiplied rapidly; the nobility gladly granting charters and privileges in exchange for men and money. with the communities the royal power grew, and that of the aristocracy decreased. the royal domain was enlarged, by the escheating of a great number of fiefs which had been left vacant by the death of their lords. the kings protected the communities, favored their enfranchisement, and employed them usefully against insubordinate vassals. the extension of the royal power favored the organization of the nation, by establishing a principle of unity, for till then, and with that multitude of masters, the nation had been little else than an agglomeration of provinces, strangers to one another, and destitute of any common bond or common interest. the great vassals, themselves, often united under the royal banner, became accustomed during these distant expeditions to submission and discipline, and learned to recognize a legitimate authority; and if they lost by this submission a part of their { } personal power, they gained in compensation the honorable distinctions of chivalry. "but it was not the national feeling alone which was fostered by the crusades. relations of fraternity, till then wholly unknown, grew up between different nations, and softened the deep-rooted antipathy of races. the knights, whom a common object united in common dangers, became brothers in arms and formally formed permanent ties of friendship. that barbarous law which gave the feudal lord a right to call every man his serf who settled in his domains was softened. stranger and enemy seemed to be synonymous, and 'the crusaders,' say the chroniclers of the times, 'although divided by language, seemed to form only one people, by their love for god and their neighbor.' and without coloring the picture too warmly, and making all due allowance for the exaggerations which were so natural to the first recorders of such a movement, we may say that human society was founded and united and europe began to pass from the painful period of organization, to one of fuller and more rapid development." here in reality modern democracy had its rise, striking its roots deep into the disintegrating soil of the old feudalism whence it was never to be plucked, and though at times it languished it was to remain ever alive until its luxuriant growth in recent times. [illustration] animals from bestiarium, thirteenth century ms. { } xxv great explorers and the foundation of geography. geography is usually considered to be quite a modern subject. the idea that great contributions were made to it in the thirteenth century would ordinarily not be entertained. america was discovered at the end of the fifteenth century. knowledge of the east was obtained during the sixteenth century. africa was explored in the nineteenth and a detailed knowledge of asia came to us in such recent years that the books are still among the novelties of publication. our knowledge of persia, of northern india, of thibet, and of the interior of china are all triumphs of nineteenth century enterprise and exploration. as a matter of fact, however, all portions of the east were explored, the capital and the dominions of jenghis khan described, lhasa was entered and the greater part of china thoroughly explored by travelers of the thirteenth century, whose books still remain as convincing evidence of the great work that they accomplished. this chapter of thirteenth century accomplishment is, indeed, one of the most interesting and surprising in the whole story of the time. it is usually considered that the teaching, supposed to have been more or less generally accepted, that the antipodes did not exist, prevented any significant development of geography until comparatively modern times. while the question of the existence of antipodes was discussed in the schools of the middle ages, and especially of the thirteenth century when men's minds were occupied with practically all of the important problems even of physical science, and while many intelligent men accepted the idea that there could not be inhabitants on the other side of the world because of physical difficulties which supposedly made it impossible, it would be a mistake to think that this idea was universally accepted. we have already called attention to the fact in the chapter on "what was taught at the { } universities," that albertus magnus, for instance, ridiculed the notion that men could not live with their heads down, as was urged against the doctrine of the existence of antipodes, by suggesting very simply that for those on the other side of the earth what we call down was really not down but up. this expresses, of course, the very heart of the solution of the supposed difficulty. as a matter of fact it seems clear that many of the great travelers and explorers of the later middle ages harbored the notion that the earth was round. as we shall note a little later in mentioning sir john mandeville's work, the writer, whomever he was who took that pseudonym, believed thoroughly in the rotundity of the earth and did not hesitate to use some striking expressions--which have been often quoted--that he had heard of travelers who by traveling continually to the eastward had come back eventually to the point from which they started. while in the schools, then, the existence of antipodes may have been under discussion, there was a practical acceptance of their existence among those who were better informed with regard to countries and peoples and all the other topics which form the proper subject matter of geography. it must be realized, moreover, that though the existence of the antipodes is an important matter in geography, at this early period it was a mere theory, not a condition antecedent to progress. it was really a side issue as compared with many other questions relating to the earth's surface and its inhabitants with which the medieval mind was occupied. to consider that no knowledge of geography could be obtained until there was a definite acceptance of the right view of the earth's surface, would be to obliterate much precious knowledge. the argument as to the existence of antipodes, as it was carried on, was entirely outside of geography properly so-called. it never influenced in the slightest degree the men who were consciously and unconsciously laying deep and broad the foundations of modern geography. to consider such a matter as vital to the development of as many sided a subject as geography, illustrates very typically the narrowness of view of so many modern scholars, who apparently can see the value of nothing which does not entirely accord with modern knowledge. the really { } interesting historian of knowledge, however, is he who can point out the beginnings of what we now know, in unexpected quarters in the medieval mind. as the story of these travels and explorations is really a glorious chapter in the history of the encouragement of things intellectual, as well as an interesting phase of an important origin whose foundations were laid broad and deep in the thirteenth century, it must be told here in some detail. our century was the great leader in exploration and geography as in so many other matters in which its true place is often unrecognized. the people of the time are usually considered to have had such few facilities for travel that they did not often go far from home, and that what was known about distant countries, therefore, was very little and mainly legendary. nothing could be more false than any such impression as this. the crusades during the previous century had given the people not only a deep interest in distant lands, but the curiosity to go and see for themselves. pilgrimages to the holy land were frequent, ecclesiastics often traveled at least as far as italy, and in general the tide of travel in proportion to the number of population must have been not very much less in amount than in our own day. after the establishment of the religious orders, missionary expeditions to the east became very common and during the thirteenth century, as we shall see, the franciscans particularly, established themselves in many parts of the near east, but also of the far east, especially in china. many of those wrote accounts of their travels, and so the literature of travel and exploration during the thirteenth century is one of the most interesting chapters of the literature of these times, while the wonderfully deep foundations that were laid for the science of geography, are worthy to be set beside the great origins in other sciences and in the arts, for which the century is so noteworthy. to most people it will come as a distinct surprise to learn that the travelers and explorers of the thirteenth century--merchants, ambassadors, and missionaries--succeeded in solving many of the geographical problems that have been of deepest interest to the generations of the last half of last century. { } the eastern part of asia particularly was traveled over and very thoroughly described by them. even the northern part of india, however, was not neglected in spite of the difficulties that were encountered, and thibet was explored and lhasa entered by travelers of the thirteenth century. of china as much was written as had been learned by succeeding generations down practically to our own time. this may sound like a series of fairy-tales instead of serious science, but it is the travelers and explorers of the modern time who have thought it worth while to comment on the writings of these old-time wanderers of the thirteenth century, and who have pointed out the significance of their work. these men described not only the countries through which they passed, but also the characters of the people, their habits and customs, their forms of speech, with many marvelous hints as regards the relationship of the different languages, and even something about the religious practises of these countries and their attitude toward the great truths of christianity when they were presented to them. undoubtedly one of the greatest travelers and explorers of all times was marco polo, whose book was for so long considered to be mainly made up of imaginary descriptions of things and places never seen, but which the development of modern geographical science by travels and expeditions has proved to be one of the most valuable contributions to this department of knowledge that has ever been made. it took many centuries for marco polo to come to his own in this respect but the nineteenth and twentieth centuries have almost more than made up for the neglect of their predecessors. marco polo suffered the same fate as did herodotus of whom voltaire sneered "father of history, say, rather, father of lies." so long as succeeding generations had no knowledge themselves of the things of which both these great writers had written, they were distrusted and even treated contemptuously. just as soon, however, as definite knowledge began to come it was seen how wonderfully accurate both of them were in their descriptions of things they had actually seen, though they admitted certain over-wonderful stories on the authority of others. herodotus has now come to be acknowledged as { } one of the greatest of historians. in his lives of celebrated travelers, james augustus st. john states the change of mind with regard to marco polo rather forcibly: "when the travels of marco polo first appeared, they were generally regarded as fiction; and as this absurd belief had so far gained ground, that when he lay upon his death bed, his friends and nearest relatives, coming to take their eternal adieu, conjured him as he valued the salvation of his soul, to retract whatever he had advanced in his book, or at least many such passages as every person looked upon as untrue; but the traveler whose conscience was untouched upon that score, declared solemnly, in that awful moment, that far from being guilty of exaggeration, he had not described one-half of the wonderful things which he had beheld. such was the reception which the discoveries of this extraordinary man experienced when first promulgated. by degrees, however, as enterprise lifted more and more the veil from central and eastern asia the relations of our traveler rose in the estimation of geographers; and now that the world--though containing many unknown tracts--has been more successfully explored, we begin to perceive that marco polo, like herodotus, was a man of the most rigid veracity, whose testimony presumptuous ignorance alone can call in question." there is many a fable that clings around the name of marco polo, but this distinguished traveler needs no fictitious adornments of his tale to make him one of the greatest explorers of all time. it is sometimes said that he helped to introduce many important inventions into europe and one even finds his name connected with the mariner's compass and with gunpowder. there are probably no good grounds for thinking that europe owes any knowledge of either of these great inventions to the venetian traveler. with regard to printing there is more doubt and polo's passage with regard to movable blocks for printing paper money as used in china may have proved suggestive. there is no need, however, of surmises in order to increase his fame for the simple story of his travels is quite sufficient for his reputation for all time. as has been well said most of the modern travelers and explorers have only been developing what polo indicated at least in outline, and they have been { } scarcely more than describing with more precision of detail what he first touched upon and brought to general notice. when it is remembered that he visited such cities in eastern turkestan as kashgar, yarkand, and khotan, which have been the subject of much curiosity only satisfied in quite recent years, that he had visited thibet, or at least had traveled along its frontier, that to him the medieval world owed some definite knowledge of the christian kingdom of abyssinia and all that it was to know of china for centuries almost, his merits will be readily appreciated. as a matter of fact there was scarcely an interesting country of the east of which marco polo did not have something to relate from his personal experiences. he told of burmah, of siam, of cochin china, of japan, of java, of sumatra, and of other islands of the great archipelago, of ceylon, and of india, and all of these not in the fabulous dreamland spirit of one who has not been in contact with the east but in very definite and precise fashion. nor was this all. he had heard and could tell much, though his geographical lore was legendary and rather dim, of the coast of zanzibar, of the vast and distant madagascar, and in the remotely opposite direction of siberia, of the shores of the arctic ocean, and of the curious customs of the inhabitants of these distant countries. how wonderfully acute and yet how thoroughly practical some of polo's observations were can be best appreciated by some quotations from his description of products and industries as he saw them on his travels. we are apt to think of the use of petroleum as dating from much later than the thirteenth century, but marco polo had not only seen it in the near east on his travels, but evidently had learned much of the great rock-oil deposits at baku which constitute the basis for the important russian petroleum industry in modern times. he says: "on the north (of armenia) is found a fountain from which a liquor like oil flows, which, though unprofitable for the seasoning of meat, is good for burning and for anointing camels afflicted with the mange. this oil flows constantly and copiously, so that camels are laden with it." he is quite as definite in the information acquired with regard, to the use of coal. he knew and states very confidently that { } there were immense deposits of coal in china, deposits which are so extensive that distinguished geologists and mineralogists who have learned of them in modern times have predicted that eventually the world's great manufacturing industries would be transferred to china. we are apt to think that this mineral wealth is not exploited by the chinese, yet even in marco polo's time, as one commentator has remarked, the rich and poor of that land had learned the value of the black stone. "through the whole province of cathay," says polo, "certain black stones are dug from the mountains, which, put into the fire, burn like wood, and being kindled, preserve fire a long time, and if they be kindled in the evening they keep fire all the night." another important mineral product which even more than petroleum or coal is supposed to be essentially modern in its employment is asbestos. polo had not only seen this but had realized exactly what it was, had found out its origin and had recognized its value. curiously enough he attempts to explain the origin of a peculiar usage of the word salamander (the salamander having been supposed to be an animal which was not injured by fire) by reference to the incombustibility of asbestos. the whole passage as it appears in the romance of travel and exploration deserves to be quoted. while discoursing about dsungaria, polo says: "and you must know that in the mountain there is a substance from which salamander is made. the real truth is that the salamander is no beast as they allege in our part of the world, but is a substance found in the earth. everybody can be aware that it can be no animal's nature to live in fire seeing that every animal is composed of all the four elements. now i, marco polo, had a turkish acquaintance who related that he had lived three years in that region on behalf of the great khan, in order to procure these salamanders for him. he said that the way they got them was by digging in that mountain till they found a certain vein. the substance of this vein was taken and crushed, and when so treated it divides, as it were, into fibres of wool, which they set forth to dry. when dry these fibres were pounded in a copper mortar and then washed so as to remove all the earth and to leave only the fibres, like { } fibres of wool. these were then spun and made into napkins." needless to say this is an excellent description of asbestos. it is not surprising, then, that the twentieth century so interested in travel and exploration should be ready to lay its tributes at the feet of marco polo, and that one of the important book announcements of recent years should be that of the publication of an annotated edition of marco polo from the hands of a modern explorer, who considered that there was no better way of putting definitely before the public in its true historical aspect the evolution of modern geographical knowledge with regard to eastern countries. it can scarcely fail to be surprising to the modern mind that polo should practically have been forced into print. he had none of the itch of the modern traveler for publicity. the story of his travels he had often told and because of the wondrous tales he could unfold and the large numbers he found it frequently so necessary to use in order to give proper ideas of some of his wanderings, had acquired the nickname of marco millioni. he had never thought, however, of committing his story to writing or perhaps he feared the drudgery of such literary labor. after his return from his travels, however, he bravely accepted a patriot's duty of fighting for his native country on board one of her galleys and was captured by the genoese in a famous sea-fight in the adriatic in . he was taken prisoner and remained in captivity in genoa for nearly a year. it was during this time that one rusticiano, a writer by profession, was attracted to him and tempted him to tell him the complete story of his travels in order that they might be put into connected form. rusticiano was a pisan who had been a compiler of french romances and accordingly polo's story was first told in french prose. it is not surprising that rusticiano should have chosen french since he naturally wished his story of polo's travels to be read by as many people as possible and realized that it would be of quite as much interest to ordinary folk as to the literary circles of europe. how interesting the story is only those who have read it even with the knowledge acquired by all the other explorers since his time, can properly appreciate. it lacks entirely the egotistic quality that usually characterizes an explorer's account of his travels, and, indeed, { } there can scarcely fail to be something of disappointment because of this fact. no doubt a touch more of personal adventure would have added to the interest of the book. it was not a characteristic of the thirteenth century, however, to insist on the merely personal and consequently the world has lost a treat it might otherwise have had. there is no question, however, or the greatness of polo's work as a traveler, nor of the glory that was shed by it on the thirteenth century. like nearly everything else that was done in this marvelous century he represents the acme of successful endeavor in his special line down even to our own time. it has sometimes been said that marco polo's work greatly influenced columbus and encouraged him in his attempt to seek india by sailing around the globe. of this, however, there is considerable doubt. we have learned in recent times, that a very definite tradition with regard to the possibility of finding land by sailing straight westward over the atlantic existed long before columbus' time. [footnote ] polo's indirect influence on columbus by his creation of an interest in geographical matters generally is much clearer. there can be no doubt of how much his work succeeded in drawing men's minds to geographical questions during the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries. [footnote : my learned friend, father deroo, of portland, ore., who has written two very interesting volumes on the history of america before columbus, does not hesitate to say that columbus may even have met in his travels and spoken with sailors who had touched on some portions of the american continent, and that, of course, the traditions with regard to greenland were very clear.] after marco polo, undoubtedly, the most enterprising explorer and interesting writer on travel in the thirteenth century was john of carpini, the author of a wonderful series of descriptions of things seen in northern asia. like so many other travelers and explorers at this time john was a franciscan friar, and seems to have been one of the early companions and disciples of st. francis of assisi, whom he joined when he was only a young man himself. before going on his missionary and ambassadorial expedition he had been one of the most prominent men in the order. he had much to do with its { } propagation among the northern nations of europe, and occupied successively the offices of custos or prior in saxony and of provincial in germany. he seems afterwards to have been sent as an organizer into spain and to have gone even as far as the barbary coast. it is not surprising, then, that when, in , pope innocent iv. (sometime after the mongol invasion of eastern europe and the disastrous battle of legamites which threatened to place european civilization and christianity in the power of the tartars) resolved to send a mission to the tartar monarch, john of carpini was selected for the dangerous and important mission. at this time friar john was more than sixty years of age, but such was the confidence in his ability and in his executive power that everything on the embassy was committed to his discretion. he started from lyons on easter day, . he sought the counsel first of his old friend wenceslaus, king of bohemia, and from that country took with him another friar, a pole, to act as his interpreter. the first stage in his journey was to kiev, and from here, having crossed the dnieper and the don to the volga, he traveled to the camp of batu, at this time the senior living member of jenghis khan's family. batu after exchanging presents allowed them to proceed to the court of the supreme khan in mongolia. as col. yule says, the stout-hearted old man rode on horseback something like three thousand miles in the next hundred days. the bodies of himself and companion had to be tightly bandaged to enable them to stand the excessive fatigue of this enormous ride, which led them across the ural mountains and river past the northern part of the caspian, across the jaxartes, whose name they could not find out, along the dzungarian lakes till they reached the imperial camp, called the yellow pavilion, near the orkhon river. there had been an interregnum in the empire which was terminated by a formal election while the friars were at the yellow pavilion, where they had the opportunity to see between three and four thousand envoys and deputies from all parts of asia and eastern europe, who brought with them tributes and presents for the ruler to be elected. { } it was not for three months after this, in november, that the emperor dismissed them with a letter to the pope written in latin, arabic, and mongolian, but containing only a brief imperious assertion that the khan of the tartars was the scourge of god for christianity, and that he must fulfill his mission. then sad at heart, the ambassadors began their homeward journey in the midst of the winter. their sufferings can be better imagined than described, but friar john who does not dwell on them much tells enough of them to make their realization comparatively easy. they reached kiev seven months later, in june, and were welcomed there by the slavonic christians as though arisen from the dead. from thence they continued their journey to lyons where they delivered the khan's letter to the pope. friar john embodied the information that he had obtained in this journey in a book that has been called liber tartarorum (the book of the tartars or according to another manuscript, history of the mongols whom we call tartars). col. yule notes that like most of the other medieval monks' itineraries, it shows an entire absence of that characteristic traveler's egotism with which we have become abundantly familiar in more recent years, and contains very little personal narrative. we know that john was a stout man and this in addition to his age when he went on the mission, cannot but make us realize the thoroughly unselfish spirit with which he followed the call of holy obedience, to undertake a work that seemed sure to prove fatal and that would inevitably bring in its train suffering of the severest kind. of the critical historical value of his work a good idea can be obtained from the fact, that half a century ago an educated mongol, galsang gombeyev, in the historical and philological bulletin of the imperial academy of st. petersburg, reviewed the book and bore testimony to the great accuracy of its statements, to the care with which its details had been verified, and the evident personal character of all its observations. friar john's book attracted the attention of compilers of information with regard to distant countries very soon after it was issued, and an abridgment of it is to be found in the encyclopedia of vincent of beauvais, which was written shortly { } after the middle of the thirteenth century. at the end of the sixteenth century hakluyt published portions of the original work, as did borgeron at the beginning of the seventeenth century. the geographical society of paris published a fine edition of the work about the middle of the nineteenth century, and at the same time a brief narrative taken down from the lips of john's companion. friar benedict the pole, which is somewhat more personal in its character and fully substantiates all that friar john had written. as can readily be understood the curiosity of his contemporaries was deeply aroused and friar john had to tell his story many times after his return. hence the necessity he found himself under of committing it to paper, so as to save himself from the bother of telling it all over again, and in order that his brother franciscans throughout the world might have the opportunity to read it. col. yule says "the book must have been prepared immediately after the return of the traveler, for the friar salimbene, who met him in france in the very year of his return ( ) gives us these interesting particulars: 'he was a clever and conversable man, well lettered, a great discourser, and full of diversity of experience. he wrote a big book about the tartars (sic), and about other marvels that he had seen and whenever he felt weary of telling about the tartars, he would cause this book of his to be read, as i have often heard and seen. (chron. fr. salembene parmensis in monum. histor. ad provinceam placent: pertinentia, parma ).'" another important traveler of the thirteenth century whose work has been the theme of praise and extensive annotation in modern times was william of rubruk, usually known under the name of rubruquis, a franciscan friar, thought, as the result of recent investigations, probably to owe his cognomen to his birth in the little town of rubruk in brabant, who was the author of a remarkable narrative of asiatic travel during the thirteenth century, and whose death seems to have taken place about . the name rubruquis has been commonly used to designate him because it is found in the latin original of his work, which was printed by hayluyt in his collection of voyages at the end of the { } sixteenth century. friar william was sent partly as an ambassador and partly as an explorer by louis ix. of france into tartary. at that time the descendants of jenghis khan ruled over an immense empire in the orient and king louis was deeply interested in introducing christianity into the east and if possible making their rulers christians. about the middle of the thirteenth century a rumor spread throughout europe that one of the nephews of the great khan had embraced christianity. st. louis thought this a favorable opportunity for getting in touch with the eastern potentate and so he dispatched at least two missions into tartary at the head of the second of which was william of rubruk. his accounts of his travels proved most interesting reading to his own and to many subsequent generations, perhaps to none more than our own. the encyclopedia britannica (ninth edition) says that the narrative of his journey is everywhere full of life and interest, and some details of his travels will show the reasons for this. rubruk and his party landed on the crimean coast at sudak or soldaia, a port which formed the chief seat of communication between the mediterranean countries and what is now southern russia. the friar succeeded in making his way from here to the great khan's court which was then held not far from karakorum. this journey was one of several thousand miles. the route taken has been worked out by laborious study and the key to it is the description given of the country intervening between the basin of the talas and lake ala-kul. this enables the whole geography of the region, including the passage of the river ili, the plain south of the bal cash, and the ala-kul itself, to be identified beyond all reasonable doubt. the return journey was made during the summertime, and the route lay much farther to the north. the travelers traversed the jabkan valley and passed north of the river bal cash, following a rather direct course which led them to the mouth of the volga. from here they traveled south past derbend and shamakii to the uraxes, and on through iconium to the coast of cilicia, and finally to the port of ayas, where they embarked for cyprus. all during his travels friar william made observations on men and cities, and rivers and mountains, and { } languages and customs, implements and utensils, and most of these modern criticism has accepted as representing the actual state of things as they would appear to a medieval sightseer. occasionally during the period intervening between his time and our own, scholars who thought that they knew better, have been conceited enough to believe themselves in a position to point out glaring errors in rubruquis' accounts of what he saw. subsequent investigation and discovery have, as a rule, proved the accuracy of the earlier observations rather than the modern scholar's corrections. an excellent example of this is quoted in the encyclopedia britannica article on rubruquis already referred to. {opp } [illustration] doorway of giotto's tower (florence) [illustration] principal door of baptistery (pisa, diotisalvi) the writer says: "this sagacious and honest observer is denounced as an ignorant and untruthful blunderer by isaac jacob schmidt (a man no doubt of useful learning, of a kind rare in his day but narrow and long-headed and in natural acumen and candour far inferior to the thirteenth century friar whom he maligns), simply because the evidence of the latter as to the turkish dialect of the uigurs traversed a pet heresy long since exploded which schmidt entertained, namely, that the uigurs were by race and language tibetan." some of the descriptions of the towns through which the travelers passed are interesting because of comparisons with towns of corresponding size in europe. karakorum, for instance, was described as a small city about the same size as the town of st. denis near paris. in karakorum the ambassador missionary maintained a public disputation with certain pagan priests in the presence of three of the secretaries of the khan. the religion of these umpires is rather interesting from its diversity: the first was a christian, the second a mohammedan, and the third a buddhist. a very interesting feature of the disputation was the fact that the khan ordered under pain of death that none of the disputants should slander, traduce, or abuse his adversaries, or endeavor by rumor or insinuations to excite popular indignation against them. this would seem to indicate that the great tartar khan who is usually considered to have been a cruel, ignorant despot, whose one quality that gave him supremacy was military valor, was really a large, liberal-minded man. his idea seems to have been to discover { } the truth of these different religions and adopt that one which was adjudged to have the best groundwork of reason for it. it is easy to understand, however, that such a disputation argued through interpreters wholly ignorant of the subject and without any proper understanding of the nice distinctions of words or any practise in conveying their proper significance, could come to no serious conclusion. the arguments, therefore, fell flat and a decision was not rendered. friar william's work was not unappreciated by his contemporaries and even its scientific value was thoroughly realized. it is not surprising, of course, that his great contemporary in the franciscan order, roger bacon, should have come to the knowledge of his brother minorite's book and should have made frequent and copious quotations from it in the geographical section of his opus majus, which was written some time during the seventh decade of the thirteenth century. bacon says that brother william traversed the oriental and northern regions and the places adjacent to them, and wrote accounts of them for the illustrious king of france who sent him on the expedition to tartary. he adds: "i have read his book diligently and have compared it with similar accounts." roger bacon recognized by a sort of scientific intuition of his own, certain passages which have proved to be the best in recent times. the description, for instance, of the caspian was the best down to this time, and friar william corrects the error made by isidore, and which had generally been accepted before this, that the caspian sea was a gulf. rubruk, as quoted by roger bacon, states very explicitly that it nowhere touches the ocean but is surrounded on all sides by land. for those who do not think that the foundations of scientific geography were laid until recent times, a little consultation of roger bacon's opus majus would undoubtedly be a revelation. it is probably with regard to language that one might reasonably expect to find least that would be of interest to modern scholars in friar william's book. as might easily have been gathered from previous references, however, it is here that the most frequent surprises as to the acuity of this medieval traveler await the modern reader. scientific philology is so much a product of the last century, that it is difficult to { } understand how this old-time missionary was able to reach so many almost intuitive recognitions of the origin and relationships of the languages of the people among whom he traveled. he came in contact with the group of nations occupying what is now known as the near east, whose languages, as is well known, have constituted a series of the most difficult problems with which philology had to deal until its thorough establishment on scientific lines enabled it to separate them properly. it is all the more surprising then, to find that friar william should have so much in his book that even the modern philologist will read with attention and unstinted admiration. with regard to this colonel yule, whose personal experience makes him a valuable guide in such matters, has written a paragraph which contains so much compressed information that we venture to quote it entire. it furnishes the grounds for the claim (which might seem overstrained if it were not that its author was himself one of the greatest of modern explorers) that william was an acute and most intelligent observer, keen in the acquisition of knowledge; and the author in fact of one of the best narratives of travel in existence. col. yule says: "of his interest and acumen in matters of language we may cite examples. the language of the pascatir (or bashkirds) and of the hungarians is the same, as, he had learned from dominicans who had been among them. the language of the ruthenians, poles, bohemians, and slavonians is one, and is the same with that of the wandals or wends. in the town of equinus (immediately beyond the ili, perhaps aspara) the people were mohammedans speaking persian, though so far remote from persia. the yugurs (or uigurs) of the country about the cailac had formed a language and character of their own, and in that language and character the nestorians of that tract used to perform their office and write their books. the yugurs are those among whom are found the fountain and root of the turkish and comanian tongue. their character has been adopted by the moghals. in using it they begin writing from the top and write downwards, whilst line follows line from left to right. the nestorians say their service, and have their holy book in syriac, but know nothing of the { } language, just as some of our monks sing the mass without knowing latin. the tibet people write as we do, and their letters have a strong resemblance to ours. the tangut people write from right to left like the arabs, and their lines advance upwards." there were other matters besides language and religion on which friar william made observations, and though his book is eminently human giving us a very interesting view of his own personality and of his difficulties with his dragoman, which many a modern eastern traveler will sympathize with, and a picture that includes the detail that he was a very heavy man, _valde ponderosus_, which makes his travel on horseback for some , miles all the more wonderful; it also contains a mass of particulars, marvelously true--or so near the truth as to be almost more interesting--as to asiatic nature, ethnography, manners, morals, commercial customs, and nearly everything else relating to the life of the peoples among whom he traveled. a typical example of this is to be found in the following suggestive paragraph: "the current money of cathay is of cotton paper, a palm in length and breath, and on this they print lines like those of mangu khan's seal: 'imprimunt lineas sicut est sigillum mangu'"--a remarkable expression. "they write with a painter's pencil and combine in one character several letters, forming one expression: 'faciunt in una figura plures literas comprehendentes unam dictionem'"--a still more remarkable utterance, showing an approximate apprehension of the nature of chinese writing. there are other distinguished travelers whose inspiration came to them during the thirteenth century though their works were published in the early part of the next century. some of these we know mainly through their adaptation and incorporation into his work without due recognition, by that first great writer of spurious travels sir john mandeville. mandeville's work was probably written some time during the early part of the second half of the fourteenth century, but he used materials gathered from travelers of the end of the thirteenth and the beginning of the next (his own) century. sir henry yule has pointed out, that by far the greater part of the supposed { } more distant travels of sir john mandeville were appropriated from the narrative of friar odoric, a monk, who became a member of the franciscan order about the end of the thirteenth century, and whose travels as a missionary in the east gave him the opportunities to collect a precious fund of information which is contained in odoric's famous story of his voyages. of odoric himself we shall have something to say presently. in the meantime it seems well worth while calling to attention, that the accepted narrative of sir john mandeville as it is called, and which may have been written by a physician of the name of john of burgoigne under an assumed name, contains a number of interesting anticipations of facts that were supposed to enter into the domain of human knowledge much later in the intellectual development of the race. in certain passages, and especially in one which is familiar from its being cited by dr. johnson in the preface to his dictionary, mandeville, to use the name under which the story is best known, shows that he had a correct idea of the form of the earth and of position in latitude as it could be ascertained by observation of the pole star. he knew also, as we noted at the beginning of this article, that there are antipodes, and if ships were sent on voyages of discovery they might sail around the world. as col. yule has pointed out, mandeville tells a curious story which he had heard in his youth of how "a worthy man did travel ever eastward until he came to his own country again." odoric of whom we have already spoken must be considered as the next great missionary traveler of this age. he took franciscan vows when scarcely a boy and was encouraged to travel in the east by the example of his holy father st. francis, and also by the interest and missionary zeal to convert the east which had been aroused by marco polo's travels. his long journeys will be more readily understood, however, if we realize, as is stated in the article on him in the encyclopedia britannica, an authority that will surely be unsuspected of too great partiality for the work of catholic missionaries, that "there had risen also during the latter half of the thirteenth century an energetic missionary action, extending all over the east on the part of both the new orders of preaching and minorite (or dominican and franciscan) friars which had caused { } members of these orders, of the last especially, to become established in persia and what is now southern russia, in tartary and in china." in the course of his travels in the east odoric visited malabar touching at pandarini (twenty miles north of calicut), at craganore and at quilon, preceding thence, apparently, to ceylon and to the shrine of st. thomas at mailapur near madras. even more interesting than his travels in india, however, are those in china. he sailed from the hindustan peninsula in a chinese junk to sumatra, visiting various ports on the northern coast of that island and telling something about the inhabitants and the customs of the country. according to sir henry yule he then visited java and it would seem also the coast of borneo, finally reaching kanton, at that time known to western asiatics as chin kalan or great china. from there he went to the great ports of fuhkeen and schwan chow, where he found two houses of his order, thence he proceeded to fuchau from which place he struck across the mountains into chekaeng and then visited hang chow at that time renowned under the name of cansay. modern authorities in exploration have suggested that this might be king sae, the chinese name for royal residence, which was then one of the greatest cities of the world. thence odoric passed northward by nanking, and, crossing the great kiang, embarked on the grand canal and traveled to cambaluc or pekin, where he remained for three years and where it is thought that he was attached to one of the churches founded by archbishop john of monte corvino, who was at this time in extreme old age. the most surprising part of odoric's travels were still to come. when the fever for traveling came upon him again he turned almost directly westward to the great wall and through shenshua. from here the adventurous traveler (we are still practically quoting sir henry yule) entered thibet and appears to have visited lhasa. considering how much of interest has been aroused by recent attempts to enter lhasa and the surprising adventures that men have gone through in the effort, the success of this medieval monk in such an expedition would seem incredible, if it were not substantiated by documents that { } place the matter beyond all doubt even in the minds of the most distinguished modern authorities in geography and exploration. how odoric returned home is not definitely known, though certain fragmentary notices seem to indicate that he passed through khorasan and probably tabriz to europe. it only remains to complete the interest of odoric's wondrous tale to add that during a large portion of these years' long journeys his companion was friar james, an irishman who had been attracted to italy in order to become a franciscan. as appears from a record in the public books of the town of udine in italy, where the monastery of which both he and odoric were members was situated, a present of two marks was made by the municipal authorities to the irish friar shortly after odoric's death. the reason for the gift was stated to be, that friar james had been for the love of god and of odoric (a typical celtic expression and characteristic) a companion of the blessed odoric in his wanderings. unfortunately odoric died within two years after his return though not until the story of his travels had been taken down in homely latin by friar william of bologna. shortly after his death odoric became an object of reverence on the part of his brother friars and of devotion on the part of the people, who recognized the wonderful apostolic spirit that he had displayed in his long wanderings, and the patience and good-will with which he had borne sufferings and hardships for the sake of winning the souls of those outside the church. sir henry yule summed up his opinion of odoric in the following striking passage which bears forcible testimony also to the healthy curiosity of the times with regard to all these original sources of information which were recognized as valuable because first hand: "the numerous mss. of odoric's narrative that have come down to our time (upwards of forty are known), and chiefly from the fourteenth century, show how speedily and widely it acquired popularity. it does not deserve the charge of general mendacity brought up against it by some, though the language of other writers who have spoken of the traveler as a man of learning is still more injudicious. like most of the medieval travelers, he is indiscriminating in accepting strange tales; but while some of these are the habitual stories of the { } age, many particulars which he recited attest the genuine character of the narrative, and some of those which tiraboschi and others have condemned as mendacious interpolations are the very seals of truth." besides odoric there is another monkish traveler from whom mandeville has borrowed much, though without giving him any credit. this is the well-known praemonstratensian monk hayton, who is said to have been a member of a princely armenian family and who just at the beginning of the fourteenth century dictated a work on the affairs of the orient and especially the history of the nearer east in his own time, of which, from the place of his nativity and bringing up, he had abundant information, while he found all round him in france, where he was living at the time, the greatest thirst for knowledge with regard to this part of the world. his book seems to have been dictated originally in french at poictiers, and to have attracted great attention because of its subject, many copies of it being made as well as translations into other languages within a few years after its original appearance. the story of odoric is a forcible reminder of how much the missionaries accomplished for geography, ethnology, and ethnography in the thirteenth century, as they did in succeeding centuries. if what the missionaries have added to these sciences were to have been lost, there would have been enormous gaps in the knowledge with which modern scholars began their scientific labors in philology. it may be a surprise to most people, moreover, to be thus forcibly reminded of the wonderful evangelizing spirit which characterized the later middle age. needless to say these graduates of the thirteenth century universities who wandered in distant eastern lands, brought with them their european culture for the uplifting of the orientals, and brought back to europe many ideas that were to be fruitful sources of suggestions not only for geographical, ethnological, philological, and other departments of learning, but also in manufactures and in arts. we mentioned the fact that odoric in his travels eventually reached cambaluc, or pekin, where he found archbishop john of monte corvino still alive though at an advanced age, and was probably attached for the three years of his stay to one of { } the churches that had been founded by this marvelous old friar, who had been made archbishop because of the wonderful power of organization and administration displayed during his earlier career as a missionary. the story of this grand old man of the early franciscan missions is another one of the romances of thirteenth century travels and exploration which well deserves to be studied in detail. unfortunately the old archbishop was too much occupied with his work as a missionary and an ecclesiastic to return to europe in order to tell of it, or to write any lengthy account of his experiences. like many another great man of the thirteenth century he was a doer and not a writer, and, but for the casual mention of him by others, the records of his deeds would only be found in certain ecclesiastical records, and his work would now be known to the master alone, for whom it was so unselfishly done. it will be noted that most of these traveling missionaries were franciscans but it must not be thought that it was only the franciscans who sent out such missionaries. the dominicans (established at the beginning of the thirteenth century) also did wonderful missionary work and quite as faithfully as even their franciscan brothers. undoubtedly the franciscans surpassed them in the extent of their labors, but then the dominicans were founded with the idea of preaching and uplifting the people of europe rather than of spreading the good news of the gospel outside the bounds of christianity as it then existed. from the very earliest traditions of their order the franciscans had their eyes attracted towards the east. the story that st. francis himself went to the holy land at the beginning of the thirteenth century in order to convert saladin, the eastern monarch whose name has been made famous by the stories of the crusade in which richard coeur de lion took part, has been doubted, but it seems to be founded on too good contemporary authority to be considered as entirely apocryphal. st. francis' heart went out to those in darkness who knew nothing of the christ whom he had learned to love so ardently, and it was a supreme desire of his life that the good tidings of christianity should be spread by his followers all over the world. while they did this great work they accomplished unwittingly great things in all the series of sciences { } now included under the term geography, and gathered precious information as to the races of men, their relations to one another and to the part of the earth in which they live. the scientific progress thus made will always redound largely to their credit in the story of the intellectual development of modern europe. most of their work was far ahead of the times and was not to be properly appreciated until quite recent generations, but this must only emphasize our sympathy for those obscure, patient but fruitful workers in a great field of human knowledge. as to what should be thought of those who ignorant of their work proclaim that the church did not tolerate geography it is hard to say. our geographical knowledge comes mainly from travelers whose wish it is to gain commercial opportunities for themselves or their compatriots; that of the middle ages was gained by men who wished anxiously to spread the light of christianity throughout the world. the geographical societies of these earlier days were the religious orders who sent but the explorers and travelers, furnished them on their return with an enthusiastic audience to hear their stories, and then helped to disseminate their books all over the then civilized world. there is probably no better refutation of the expression so often heard from those who know nothing about it, with regard to the supposed laziness of the monks of the middle ages, than this chapter of the story of their exploration and missionary labors during the thirteenth century. it is usually supposed that if a monk was fat he could not possibly have accomplished any serious work in life. some of these men were _valde ponderosi_, very weighty, yet they did not hesitate to take on themselves these long journeys to the east. their lives are the best illustration of the expression of montalembert: "let us then banish into the world of fiction that affirmation so long repeated by foolish credulity which made monasteries an asylum for indolence and incapacity, for misanthropy and pusillanimity, for feeble and melancholic temperaments, and for men who were no longer fit to serve society in the world. it was not the sick souls, but on the contrary the most vigorous and healthful the human race has ever produced who presented themselves in crowds to fill them." { } xxvi great beginnings of modern commerce. for our present eminently commercial age nothing of all the accomplishment of the thirteenth century will probably possess livelier interest than the fact that, in spite of what must have seemed insuperable difficulties to a less enterprising generation, the men of that time succeeded in making such business combinations and municipal affiliations, besides arranging various trade facilities among distant, different peoples, that not only was commerce rendered possible and even easy, but some of the most modern developments of the facilitation of international intercourse were anticipated. the story of the rise of this combination of many men of different nations, of many cities whose inhabitants were of different races and of different languages, of commercial enterprise that carried men comparatively much farther than they now go on trade expeditions, though we have thought that our age had exhausted the possibilities of progress in this matter, cannot fail to have an interest for everyone whose attention has been attracted to the people of this time and must be taken as a symbol of the all-pervading initiative of the generations, which allowed no obstacle to hinder their progress and thought no difficulty too great to be surmounted. in beginning the history of the great commercial league which in the thirteenth century first opened men's minds to the possibilities of peace and commerce among the nations and alas! that it should be said, did more perhaps than any other agent except christianity to awaken in different races the sense of the brotherhood of man, the english historian of the hanseatic league, miss zimmern in the stories of the nations, said: "there is scarcely a more remarkable chapter in history than that which deals with the trading alliance or association known as the hanseatic league. the league has long since { } passed away having served its time and fulfilled its purpose. the needs and circumstances of mankind have changed, and new methods and new instruments have been devised for carrying on the commerce of the world. yet, if the league has disappeared, the beneficial results of its action survive to europe though they have become so completely a part of our daily life that we accept them as matters of course, and do not stop to inquire into their origin." this last declaration may seem surprising for comparatively few know anything about this medieval commercial league, yet the effects claimed for it are only what we have seen to be true with regard to most of the important institutions of the period--they were the origins of what is best in our modern life. like many of the great movements of the thirteenth century the origin of the hanseatic league is clouded somewhat by the obscurity of the times and the lack of definite historical documents. [footnote ] there is no doubt, however, that just before the middle of the century it was in flourishing existence, and that by the end of the century it had reached that acme of its power and influence which it was to maintain for several centuries in spite of the jealousy of the nobility, of certain towns that did not have the same privileges, and even of the authorities of the various countries who resented more and more as time went on the growing freedom and independence of these wealthy cities. the impetus for the formation of the league seems to have been given during the crusades. like so many other of the important movements of the time commerce was greatly influenced by these expeditions, and the commercial spirit not only aroused but shown the possibility of { } accomplishing hitherto impossible results in the matter of transportation and exchange. the returning crusaders brought back with them many precious eastern objects whose possession was a source of envy to others and whose value was rated so high as to make even distant travel for them well worth while. the returning crusaders also knew how cheaply objects considered very precious in the west might be purchased in the east, and they told the stories of their own acquisition of them to willing listeners, who were stimulated to try their fortunes in expeditions that promised such rich rewards. [footnote : perhaps no better idea of the obscurity of the origin of the hansa confederation can be given, than is to be derived from the fact that even the derivation of the word hansa is not very clear. bishop ulfilas in his old gothic translation of the scriptures used the word "hansa" to designate the mob of soldiers and servants of the high priest who came to take christ prisoner in the garden. later on the word hansa was used to mean a tax or a contribution. this term was originally employed to designate the sum of money which each of the cities was compelled to pay on becoming a member of the league, and it is thought to be from this that the terms hansa and hanseatic league were eventually derived.] {opp } [illustration] palazzo dei consoli (gubbio) [illustration] palazzo zabarella (padua) besides the crusaders on their return through italy had observed what was accomplished by the league of the lombard cities which had been in existence in a more or less imperfect way for more than a century, and at the end of the twelfth and the beginning of the thirteenth century had begun to provide an example of the strength there is in union, and of the power for good there is in properly regulated combinations of commercial interests with due regard for civic rights and privileges. this league of the lombard cities was encouraged by the popes especially by innocent iii. and his successors who are usually said to have given it their approbation for their own purposes, though this is to look at but one side of the case. the german emperors endeavored to assert their rights over italian territory and in so doing came into collision with the popes not only in temporal matters but also in spiritual things. as we have noted in the short sketch of the popes of the century, innocent iii. was the first great italian patriot and original advocate of italy for the italians. he constantly opposed the influence of the german emperor in italian politics, mainly, of course, because this interfered with the power of the church, but to a very great degree also because it proved a source of manifold political evil for the italian cities. the germans then, who in the train of the emperor went down into italy saw the working of this league of lombard cities, talked about it on their return, and were naturally tempted to essay what might be accomplished by the same means on german territory. these two elements, the incentive of the crusades and the stimulus of the example of the { } italians, must be considered as at the basis of hansa, though these were only seeds, and it was the nurture and fostering care of the german mind which ever since the days of tacitus had been noted as the freest in europe, that gave the league its wonderful development. it is difficult to tell how many towns belonged to the hanseatic league during the thirteenth century but at the end of this period, hansa, as it came to be called, was, as we have said, in its most flourishing condition and we know something definite of its numbers a little more than half a century later. in deputies from all the towns met in the large council chamber of the famous town hall at cologne to discuss certain injustices that had been committed against the members of the league, or as the document set forth "against the free german merchants," in order to determine some way of preventing further injuries and inflict due punishment. altogether the deputies of towns were present and declared most solemnly "that because of the wrongs and the injuries done by the king of denmark to the common german merchant the cities would be his enemies and help one another faithfully." the distant and smaller cities were not expected to send troops or even naval forces but promised to give contributions in money. such cities as did not take part in this movement were to be considered as having forfeited their membership and would no longer be permitted to trade with the members of hansa. lest it should be thought that the cities were incapable of enforcing any such boycott with effect, the story of the town of lübeck must be recalled. lübeck on one occasion refused to join with the other hansa towns in a boycott of certain places in flanders which had refused to observe the regulations as to trading. one of these was to the effect that such vessels as were lost on a coast did not become the property of the people of the neighborhood, though they had a right to a due share for salvage, but a fair proportion must be returned to the citizens of the town that suffered the loss. lübeck was at the moment one of the most powerful commercial cities in germany, and her citizens seemed to think that they could violate the hansa regulation with impunity. for years. { } however, the hansa boycott was maintained and so little trading was done in the city that according to one old writer "the people starved, the markets were deserted, grass grew in the street and the inhabitants left in large numbers." such a lesson as this was enough to make the hanseatic decrees be observed with scrupulous care and shows the perfection of the organization. the outcome of the war with denmark demonstrates the power of the league. the king of denmark is said to have scorned their declaration of war, and making an untranslatable pun on the word "hansa" called the members of the league "geese who cackled much but need not be feared." the fleet of the league, however, succeeded in shutting off all the commerce of the coast of denmark and though there was a truce each winter the war was renewed vigorously, and with summer many of the danish cities were ransacked and plundered. at the end of the second year denmark was exhausted and the people so weary of war that they pleaded for peace, and valdemar had to accept the terms which the "geese" were willing to offer him. this triumph of the common people over a reigning monarch is one of the most striking passages in medieval history. it comes about a half century after the close of the thirteenth, and is evidently the direct result of the great practical forces that were set in movement during that wonderful period, when the mighty heart of humanity was everywhere bestirring men to deeds of high purpose and far-reaching significance. as a matter of fact, hansa became, very early in its career, one of the firmest authorities in the midst of these troubled times and meted out unfailingly the sternest justice against those who infringed its rights if they were outsiders, or broke the rules of the league if they were its members. it was ever ready to send its ships against offenders and while it soon came to be feared, this fear was mingled with respect, and its regulations were seldom infringed. it is a most interesting reflection, that as its english historian says, "never once in the whole course of its history did it draw the sword aggressively or against its own members." while it was ever on the look-out to increase its power by adding new cities to the league, cities were not forced to join and when it meted { } out punishments to its members this was not by the levying of war but by fines, the refusal to pay these being followed by the "declaration of boycott," which soon brought the offender to terms. war was only declared in all cases as a last resort, and the ships of the league were constantly spoken of and designated in all documents as "peace ships," and even the forts which the league built for the protection of its towns, or as places where its members might be sure of protection, were described as "peace burgs." unfortunately, the lessons of peace that were thus taught by commerce were not to bear fruit abundantly for many centuries after the thirteenth. it is practically only in our own time that they have been renewed, and the last generation or two, has rather plumed itself over the fact that trade was doing so much to prevent war. evidently this is no guarantee of the perpetuation of such an improvement in national or international morals, for the influence of hansa for peace came to be lost entirely, after a few centuries. the cities themselves, however, that belonged to the league gradually became more and more free, and more independent of their rulers. it was thus, in fact, that the free cities of germany had their origin, and in them much more of modern liberty was born than has ever been appreciated, except by those whose studies have brought them close to these marvelous medieval manifestations of the old spirit of teutonic freedom. the names of most of the cities that were members of the hansa league are well known, though it is not easy to understand in the decrepitude that has come over many of them, how they could have been of so much importance as has been claimed for them in the middle ages. all the cities of the north sea and the baltic sea were united together, and while we think of these as german, many of them really belonged to slav people at this time, so that the membership of a number of russian cities is not surprising. while the rhenish cities were important factors in the league, cologne indeed being one of the most important, bremen and hamburg and both the frankforts, and rostock, and lübeck and stralsund, and tangermünde and warnemunde, were important members. novgorod was founded by hansa for the purpose of trading { } with the orientals, and the volga, the dnieper, the dwina, and the oder were extensively used for the purpose of transporting goods here and there in central europe. one of their most famous towns, winetha in german, julin in danish, disappeared beneath the waters of the baltic sea and gave rise to many legends of its reappearance. it is hard to realize that it was so important that it was called the venice of the north, and was seriously compared with its great southern rival. a good idea of the intimate relations of the hansa towns to england and the english people can be obtained from the article on the subject written by richard lodge for the ninth edition of the encyclopedia britannica. a single paragraph of this compresses much of the external and internal history of the "rise and development of hansa." it was rather to be expected that the commercial relations between england and the various cities situated along the north sea, as well as the baltic and up the rhine, would be active and would have to be submitted to careful regulation. unless the modern mind is actually brought directly in touch, however, with the complex yet very practical state of affairs, which actually existed, it will utterly fail to appreciate how thoroughly progressive and enterprising were these medieval peoples. enterprise and practicalness we are apt to think of as the exclusive possession of much more modern generations. least of all would we be apt to consider them as likely to be found in the thirteenth century, yet here they are, and the commercial arrangements which were made are as absolute premonitions of our modern thought as were the literature and architecture, the painting, even the teachings of science at the same period. "the members of this league (hanseatic) came to england mostly from cologne, the first german town which obtained great importance both at home and abroad. its citizens possessed at an early date a guild-hall of their own (in london), and all germans who wished to trade with england had to join their guild. this soon included merchants from dortmund, soest and munster, in westphalia; from utrecht, stavern and groningen, in the netherlands, and from bremen and hamburg on the north sea. but, when at the beginning of the thirteenth century, the rapidly rising town of lübeck { } wished to be admitted into the guild, every effort was made to keep her out. the intervention of frederick ii. was powerless to overcome the dread felt by cologne towards a possible rival to its supremacy. but this obstacle to the extension of the league was soon overcome. in a charter of henry iii. assured protection to all german merchants. a few years later hamburg and lübeck also were allowed to form their own guilds. the hansa of cologne, which had long been the only guild, now sinks to the position of a branch hansa, and has to endure others with equal privileges. over all the branch hansas rises the "hansa alamanniae," first mentioned in . this article gives additional information with regard to the many and varied influences at work at the end of the thirteenth century. it furnishes in brief, moreover, an excellent picture of the activity of mind and power of organization so frequently displayed during this period in every branch of life. this is after all the highest quality of man. the development of associations of various kinds, especially such as are helpfully purposive, are the outcome of that social quality in man's mind which is the surest index of his rational quality. succeeding centuries lost for some almost unaccountable reason much of this faculty of organization and the result was a lamentable retrogression from the advances made by older generations, so that it was only in quite recent years that anything like this old international comity was reestablished. {opp } [illustration] rathhaus (lÃ�beck) the extent and very natural development of this community of interests must ever attract attention. it is the first time in our modern history that it occurs and men of some seven different races and tongues were at last drawn into it. in this it represents the greatest advance of history, for it led to assimilation of laws and of liberties, with some of the best features of each nation's old-time customs preserved in the new codes. its extension even to novgorod, in what is now the heart of russia is a surprising demonstration of successful enterprise and spread of influence almost incredible. the settling of the trade disputes of this distant russian city in the courts of a north sea town, is an evidence of advance in commercial relations emphasized by the writer in the britannica, that deserves to be well weighed as a manifestation of what is often thought { } to be the exclusively modern recognition of the rights of commerce and the claims of justice over even national feelings. "the league between lübeck and hamburg was not the only, and possibly not the first, league among the german towns. but it gradually absorbed all others. besides the influence of foreign commercial interests there were other motives which compelled the towns to union. the chief of these were the protection of commercial routes both by sea and land, and the vindication of town independence as opposed to claims of the landed aristocracy. the first to join the league were the wendish towns to the east, wismar, rostock, stralsund, etc., which had always been intimately connected with lübeck, and were united by a common system of laws known as the 'lübisches recht' (lübeck laws). the saxon and westphalian towns had long possessed a league among themselves; they also joined themselves to lübeck. lübeck now became the most important town in germany. it had already surpassed cologne both in london and bruges. it soon gained a similar victory over wisby. at a great convention in which twenty-four towns from cologne to revel took part, it was decided that appeals from novgorod which had hitherto been decided at wisby should henceforth be brought to lübeck." after much travail and vexation of spirit, after much diplomacy and political and parliamentary discussion, after much striving on the part of the men in all nations, who have the great cause of universal peace for mankind at heart, we have reached a position where at least commercial difficulties can be referred to a sort of international court for adjudication. the standing of this court is not very clear as yet. special arrangements at least are required, if not special treaties in many cases, even for the reference of such merely commercial difficulties as debt-collecting to it. in the last quarter of the nineteenth century special tribunals had to be erected for the settlement of such difficulties between nations. in the twentieth century the outlook is more hopeful and the actual accomplishment is indeed encouraging. in the thirteenth century with the absence of the telegraph and the cable, with the slowness of sailing vessels and the distance of towns { } emphasizing all the difficulties of the situation, the hanseatic league succeeded in obtaining an international tribunal, whose judgments with regard to commercial difficulties were final and were accepted by men of many different races and habits and customs, and to which causes were referred without any of the immense machinery apparently required at the present time. this is the real triumph of the commercial development of the thirteenth century. while it may be astonishing to many modern people to learn how much was accomplished in this utterly unexpected quarter, it will not be a surprise to those who realize the thoroughly practical character of the century and the perfectly matter of fact way in which it went about settling all the difficulties that presented themselves; and how often they succeeded in reaching a very practical if not always ideal solution. the sad feature of the case is to think that most of this coming together of nations was lost by the gradual development of national feeling, much of benefit as there may have been in that for the human race, and by the drawing of the language lines between nations more closely than they had been before, for the next three centuries saw the development of modern tongues into the form which they have held ever since. hansa did more than almost any other institution in northern europe to establish the reign of law. if it had accomplished no other purpose, this would make it eminently worthy of the study of those who are interested in sociology and social evolution. before the time of hansa the merchant by sea or land was liable to all sorts of impositions, arbitrary taxes, injustices, and even the loss of life as well of his goods. as hansa gained in power however, these abuses disappeared. perhaps the most noteworthy improvement came with regard to navigation. there is a story told of a famous rock in brittany on which many ships were wrecked during the middle ages. even as late as the thirteenth century sometimes false lights were displayed on this rock with the idea of tempting vessels to their destruction on it. everything that was thrown ashore in the neighborhood was considered to be the property of the people who gathered it, except that a certain portion of its value had to be paid to the lord of the manor. { } this worthy representative of the upper classes is said to have pointed out the rock to some visiting nobleman friends one day, and declared that it was more precious to him than the most precious stone in the diadem of any ruling monarch in europe. this represents the state of feeling with regard to such subjects when hansa started in to correct the abuses. it may be looked upon as a serious disgrace to the thirteenth century that such a low state of ethical feeling should have existed, but it is the amelioration of conditions which obliterated such false sentiments that constitutes the triumph of the period. on the other hand we must not with smug self-complacency think that our generation is so much better than those of the past. it is easy to be pharisaical while we forget that many a fortune in modern times suffers shipwreck on the coasts of business and investment, because the false lights of advertising intended to deceive, are displayed very prominently, for those who are only anxious as were the mariners of the olden times to make their fortunes. doubtless too the proprietors of many of the papers which display such advertisements, and it is nonsense to say that they are unconscious of the harm they do, are quite as proud of the magnificent revenue that their advertising columns bring to them as was the breton noble of the thirteenth century. man has not changed much in the interval. lest it should be thought that even the present-day initiation into secret societies of various kinds is the invention of modern times, it seems well to give some of the details of the tests through which those seeking to be members of the hanseatic league were subjected, by those who were already initiated. it may possibly seem that some of these customs were too barbarous to mention in the same breath with the present-day initiations, but if it is recalled that at least once a year some serious accident is reported as the result of the thoughtless fooling of "frat" students at our universities, this opinion may be withdrawn. miss helen zimmern in her story of the hansa towns already quoted several times, has a paragraph or two of descriptions of these that we shall quote. it may be well to remember that these tests were not entirely without a serious significance for the members of the hansa. much { } was expected of those who belonged to the hansa guild. a number of precious trade secrets were entrusted them, and they alone knew the methods and mysteries of hansa. in order that these might not by any possibility be betrayed, the members of hansa who lived in foreign countries were forbidden to marry while abroad and were bound under the severest penalties to live a life of celibacy. they were not supposed to be absent from the houses assigned to them during the night, and their factories so called, or common-places of residence, were guarded by night watchman and fierce dogs in order to secure the keeping of these rules. besides torture was a very common thing in those times and a man who belonged to a country that happened to be at war for the moment, might very easily be subjected to torture for some reason or another with the idea of securing important information from him. if the members of hansa wanted to be reasonably assured that new members would not give up their secrets without a brave struggle, they had no better way than by these tests, for which there was therefore some excuse. as to the brutality of the tests perhaps miss zimmern in maidenly way has said too much. we commend her paragraphs to the modern committees of reception of college secret societies, because here as elsewhere this generation may get points from the thirteenth century. {opp } [illustration] minster (chorin, germany) [illustration] city gate (neubrandenburg) "we cannot sully our pages by detailing the thirteen different games or modes of martyrdom that were in use at bergen. our more civilized age could not tolerate the recital. in those days they attracted a crowd of eager spectators who applauded the more vociferously the more cruel and barbarous the tortures. the most popular were those practices known as the smoke, water and flogging games; mad, cruel pranks calculated to cause a freshman to lose health and reason. truly dantesque hell tortures were these initiations into hansa mysteries. merely to indicate their nature we will mention that for the smoke game the victim was pulled up the big chimney of the schutting while there burned beneath him the most filthy materials, sending up a most nauseous stench and choking wreaths of smoke. while in this position he was asked a number of questions, to which he was forced, under yet more terrible penalties, to reply. if { } he survived his torture he was taken out into the yard and plied under the pump with six tons of water." (even the "water cure" is not new). there was a variety about the tests at different times and places that show no lack of invention on the part of the members of hansa. with regard to other water tests miss zimmern has furnished some interesting details: "the 'water' game that took place at whitsuntide consisted in first treating the probationer to food, and then taking him out to sea in a boat. here he was stripped thrown into the ocean, ducked three times, made to swallow much sea-water, and thereafter mercilessly flogged by all the inmates of the boats. the third chief game was no less dangerous to life and limb. it took place a few days after, and was a rude perversion of the may games. the victims had first to go out into the woods to gather the branches with which later they were to be birched. returned to the factory, rough horse play pranks were practised upon them. then followed an ample dinner, which was succeeded by mock combats, and ended in the victims being led into the so-called paradise, where twenty-four disguised men whipped them till they drew blood, while outside this black hole another party made hellish music with pipes, drums and triangles to deafen the screams of the tortured. the 'game' as considered ended when the shrieks of the victims were sufficiently loud to overcome the pandemonic music." some of the extreme physical cruelties of the initiations our modern fraternities have eliminated, but the whole story has a much more familiar air than we might have expected. probably the most interesting feature of the history of the hanseatic league is the fact that this great combination for purposes of trade and commerce proved a source of liberty for the citizens of the various towns, and enabled them to improve their political status better than any other single means at this precious time of development of legal and social rights. this is all the more interesting because great commercial combinations with similar purposes in modern times have usually proved fruitful rather of opposite results. a few persons have been very much benefited by them, or at least have made much money by them, which is quite another thing, though money is { } supposed to represent power and influence, but the great mass of the people have been deprived of opportunities to rise and have had taken from them many chances for the exercise of initiative that existed before. there is a curious effect of hansa upon the political fortunes of the people of the cities that were members of the league which deserves to be carefully studied. as with regard to so many other improvements that have come in the history of the race, it was not a question so much of the recognition of great principles as of money and revenues that proved the origin of amelioration of civic conditions. these commercial cities accumulated wealth. money was necessary for their rulers for the maintenance of their power and above all for the waging of war. in return for moneys given for such purposes the cities claimed for the inhabitants and were granted many privileges. these became perpetuated and as time went on were added to as new opportunities for the collection of additional revenues occurred, until finally an important set of fundamental rights with documentary confirmation were in the hands of the city authorities. one would like to think that this state of affairs developed as the result of the recognition on the part of the ruling sovereign, of the benefits that were conferred on his realm by having in it, or associated with it, an important trading city whose enterprising citizens gave occupation to many hands. this was very rarely the case, however, but as was true of the legal rights obtained by england's citizens during the thirteenth century, it was largely a question of the coordination of taxation and legislative representation and the consequent attainment of privileges. the most important effect on the life of europe and the growth of civilization that the hanseatic league exerted, was its success in showing that people of many different nations and races, living under very different circumstances, might still be united under similar laws that would enable them to accomplish certain objects which they had in view. germans, slavs and english learned to live in one another's towns and while observing the customs of these various places maintained the privileges of their homes. the mutual influence of these people on one another, many of them being the most practical and { } enterprising individuals of the time, could scarcely fail to produce noteworthy effects in broadening the minds of those with whom they came in contact. it is to this period that we must trace the beginnings of international law. hansa showed the world how much commercial relations were facilitated by uniform laws and by just treatment of even the citizens of foreign countries. it is to commerce that we owe the first recognition of the rights of the people of other countries even in time of war. if the hanseatic league had done nothing else but this, it must be considered as an important factor in the development of our modern civilization and an element of influence great as any other in this wonderful century. [illustration] hinge from cathedral, schlestadt { } appendix i so-called history. rulers. emperors of germany. otho iv - frederick ii - conrad iv - william of holland - richard earl of cornwall - rudolph of hapsburg - adolph of nassau - albert of austria - kings of scotland.. william - alexander ii - alexander iii - margaret - john balliol - interregnum - kings of castile and leon. alfonso ix - henry i - st. ferdinand iii - alfonso x - sancho iv - ferdinand iv - kings of england. john lackland - henry iii - edward i - kings of france. philip ii - louis viii - louis ix - philip iii - louis [philip] iv - kings of aragon. pedro ii - james i., the conqueror - pedro iii - alfonso iii - james ii - kings of naples. conrad - conradin - manfred - charles of anjou - charles - events. .--fourth great crusade under boniface, marquis of montferrat. .--the english stripped of normandy, etc., by philip augustus of france. .--jenghis-khan: foundation of the great empire of the moguls. .--battle of ubeda: defeat and fall of almohads of africa. .--john lackland acknowledges himself vassal of the pope. .--battle of bouvines won by philip augustus. .--magna charta. the palatinate of the rhine goes to the house of wittelsbach. .--crusade of andrew ii., king of hungary. .--extinction of the dukes of zarringuia: switzerland becomes an immediate province of the empire. { } .--charter or decree of andrew ii., basis of the hungarian constitution. .--renewal of the league of lombardy to oppose the emperor frederick ii. .--battle of bornhoeved in holstein: waldemar ii., king of denmark, loses his conquests on the southern coast of the baltic. .--crusade of the emperor frederick ii. .--the teutonic order establishes itself in prussia. conquest of the balearic islands by the king of aragon. .--formation of the duchy of brunswick in favor of the house of the guelphs. .--conquest of the kingdoms of cordova, murcia and seville by the castilians. .--conquest of russia by baton-khan: origin of the mogul or tartar horde of kaptschak. .--invasion of poland, silesia, and hungary by the moguls. .--crusade of st. louis, king of france. .--beginning of the great interregnum in germany. .--accessions of the emperors of different houses in germany. end of the dominion of the agubites in egypt and syria; beginning of the empire of the mamelukes. .--enfranchisement of the serfs at bologna in italy. .--michel paleologus, emperor of nice, takes constantinople; end of the empire of the latins. .--accession of the house of anjou to the throne of the two sicilies. .--admission of the commons to the parliament of england. .--corradino decapitated at naples; extinction of the house of hohenstaufen. suabia and franconia become immediate provinces of the empire. .--the county of toulouse passes to the king of france, and the venaissin to the pope. .--accession of the emperor rudolph of hapsburg to the throne of the empire: first election by the seven electors. .--conquest of wales by the king of england. .--the sicilian vespers, the kingdom of sicily passes to the king of aragon. the emperor rudolph gives to his sons the duchies of austria; foundation of the house of hapsburg. .--the teutonic order completes the conquest of prussia. .--extinction of the male line of the old race of scotch kings. contest of baliol and bruce. .--decline of the republic of piza. aggrandizement of that of genoa. .--taking of ptolemais and tyre by the mamelukes. end of the crusades. .--decline of the mogul empire at the death of kublai-khan. .--introduction of an hereditary aristocracy at venice. .--foundation of the modern turkish empire by ottoman i. first jubilee proclaimed by pope boniface viii. { } appendix ii. twenty-six chapters that might have been. i. america in the thirteenth century. to most people it would seem quite out of the question that a chapter on america in the thirteenth century might have been written. one of the most surprising chapters for most readers in the previous edition was that on great explorers and the foundation of geography, for it was a revelation to learn that thirteenth century travelers had anticipated all of our discoveries in the far and in the near east seven centuries ago. certain documents have turned up, however, which make it very clear that with the same motives as those which urged eastern travelers, europeans went just as far towards the west at this time. documents found in the vatican archives in and exhibited at st. louis in , have set at rest finally and absolutely the long disputed question of the discovery of america by the norsemen, and in connection with these the story of america in the thirteenth century might well have been told. there is a letter from pope innocent iii., dated february , , addressed to the archbishop of norway, who held jurisdiction over greenland, which shows not only the presence of the norsemen on the american continent at this time, but also that they had been here for a considerable period, and that there were a number of churches and pastors and large flocks in whom the roman see had a lively interest. there are americana from three other popes of the thirteenth century. john xxi. wrote, in , nicholas iii. two letters, one dated january , , and another june , , and martin iii. wrote . we have inserted on the opposite page a reproduction of a portion of the first papal document extant relating to america, the letter of pope innocent iii., taken from "the norse discovery of america" (the norraena society, n. y., ). the word _grenelandie_, underscored, indicates the subject. the writing as an example of the chirography of the century is of interest. ii. a representative upper house. in most historical attempts at government by the people it has been recognized that legislation is better balanced if there are two chambers in the law-making body, one directly elected by the people, the other indirectly chosen and representing important vested interests that are likely to make its members conservative. the initiative for legislation comes, as a rule, from the direct representatives of the people, while the upper chamber represses radical law-making or sudden changes in legislative policy, yet does not hamper too much the progress of democracy. { } [illustration] part of letter of pope innocent iii. mentioning greenland. { } during the last few years a crisis in english politics has led to a very general demand for a modification of the status of the house of lords, while almost similar conditions have led to the beginning at least of a similar demand for the modification of our senate in this country. both these upper chambers have come to represent vested interests to too great a degree. the house of lords has been the subject of special deprecation. the remark is sometimes made that it is unfortunate that england is weighted down by this political incubus, the house of lords, which is spoken of as a heritage from the middle ages. the general impression, of course, is that the english house of lords, as at present constituted, comes down from the oldest times of constitutional government in england. nothing could well be more untrue than any such idea. the old upper chamber of england, the medieval house of lords, was an eminently representative body. out of the or more of members of the english house of lords at the present time about five hundred and fifty hold their seats by heredity. only about seventy-five are in some sense elective. at least one-half of these elected peers, however, must be chosen from the hereditary nobility of ireland and scotland. nearly nineteen-twentieths of the membership of the house of lords, as at present constituted, owe their place in national legislation entirely to heredity. until the reformation so-called this was not so. more than one-half of the english house of lords, a good working majority, consisted of the lords spiritual. besides the bishops and archbishops there were the abbots and priors of monasteries, and the masters of religious orders. these men as a rule had come up from the people. they had risen to their positions by intellectual abilities and by administrative capacity. the abbots and other superiors of religious orders had been chosen by their monks as a rule because, having shown that they knew how to rule themselves, they were deemed most fitting to rule over others. even in our day, when the church occupies nothing like the position in the hearts of the masses that she held in the ages of faith, our catholic cardinals, archbishops and bishops, both here and in england, are chosen as members of arbitration boards to settle strikes and other social difficulties, because it is felt that the working class has full confidence in them, and that they are thoroughly representative of the spirit of democracy. in england cardinal manning served more than once in critical social conditions. in this country we have had a series of such examples. from these we can better understand what the lords spiritual represented in the english house of lords. there were abuses, though they were not nearly so frequent as were thought, by which unworthy men sometimes reached such positions, for men abuse even the best things, but in general these clerical members of the house of lords were the chosen intellectual and moral products of the kingdom. since they were without families they had { } less temptation to serve personal interests and, besides, they had received a life-long training in unselfishness, and the best might be expected of them. for an ideal second chamber i know none that can compare with this old english house of lords of the middle ages. how much it was responsible for the foundation of the liberties of which the english-speaking people are deservedly so proud, and which have been treated in some detail in the chapter on origins in law, would be interesting to trace. iii. the parish, and training in citizenship. mr. toulmin smith, in his book on "the parish," and dom gasquet, in his volume on "the parish before the reformation," have shown what a magnificent institution for popular self-government was the english medieval parish, and how much this contributed to the solution of important social problems and to the creation of a true democratic spirit. mr. toulmin smith calls particular attention to the fact that when local self-government gets out of the hands of the people of a neighborhood personal civic energy goes to sleep. the feeling of mutual responsibility of the men of the place is lost, to the great detriment of their larger citizenship in municipality and nation. in the parish, however, forming a separate community, of which the members had rights and duties, the primal solid basis for government, the parish authorities took charge of the highways, the roads, the paths, the health, the police, the constabulary, and the fires of their neighborhood. they kept, besides, a registry of births and deaths and marriages. when these essentially local concerns are controlled in large bodies the liability to abuse at once becomes easy and political corruption sets in. he mentions, besides many parochial institutions, a parochial friendly society for loans on security, parish gilds for insurance, and many other phases of that thoroughly organized mutual aid so characteristic of the middle ages. these parishes became completely organized, so as to be thoroughly democratic and representative of all the possibilities of local self-government under king edward at the end of the thirteenth and the beginning of the fourteenth century. rev. augustus jessopp, in "after the great pillage," tells the story of how the parishes were broken up as a consequence of the confiscation of their endowment during the so-called reformation. the quotation from him may be found in appendix iii. in the section on "how it all stopped." toulmin smith is not so emphatic, but he is scarcely less explicit than jessopp. "the attempts of ecclesiastical authority to encroach on the civil authorities of the parish have been more successful since the reformation." as a matter of fact, at that time all government became centralized, and complete contradiction though it may seem to be of what is sometimes declared the place of the reformation in the history { } of human liberty, the genuine democratic institutions of england were to a great extent impaired by the reform, and an autocracy, which later developed into an autocratic aristocracy, largely took its place. out of that england has gradually lifted itself during the nineteenth century. even now, however, as pointed out in the preceding chapter that might have been, the house of lords is not at all what it was in the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries when the majority of its members were lords spiritual, men who had come up from the masses as a rule. iv. the chance to rise. we are very prone to think that even though there may have been excellent opportunities for the higher education in the thirteenth century and, in many ways, an ideal education of the masses, still there was one great social drawback in those times, the lack of opportunity for men of humble birth to rise to higher stations. nothing, however, is less true. there probably never was a time when even members of the poorest families might rise more readily or rapidly to the highest positions in the land. the sons of village merchants and village artisans, nay, the sons and grandsons of farmers bound to the soil, could by educational success become clergymen in various ranks, and by attaining a bishopric or the position of abbot or prior of a monastery, reach a seat in the house of lords. most of the lord high chancellors of england during the middle ages--and some of them are famous for their genius as canon and civil lawyers, for their diplomatic abilities and their breadth of view and capacity as administrators--were the sons of humble parents. take the single example of stratford, the details of whose inhabitants' lives, because of the greatness of one of them, have attracted more attention than those of any other town of corresponding size in england. at the beginning of the fourteenth century it is only what we would call a village, and it probably did not have , inhabitants, if, indeed, the number was not less than , . in his book, "shakespeare the boy," mr. rolfe calls attention to certain conditions that interest us in the old village. he tells us of what happened as a result of the development of liberty in the thirteenth century: "villeinage gradually disappeared in the reign of edward vii. ( - ), and those who had been subject to it became free tenants, paying definite rents for house and land. three natives of the town, who, after the fashion of the time, took their surnames from the place of their birth, rose to high positions in the church, one becoming archbishop of canterbury, and the others respectively bishops of london and chichester. john of stratford and robert of stratford were brothers, and ralph of stratford was their nephew. john and robert were both for a time chancellors of england, and there is no other instance of two brothers attaining that high office in succession." { } to many people the fact that the avenue to rise was through the clergy more than in any other way will be disappointing. one advantage, however, that the old people would insist that they had from their system was that these men, having no direct descendants, were less likely to pursue selfish aims and more likely to try to secure the benefit of the community than are those who, in our time, rise through the legal profession. the lord high chancellors of recent time have all been lawyers. would not most of the world confess that the advantage was with the medieval peoples? president woodrow wilson of princeton realized sympathetically this great element of saving democracy in the middle ages, and has paid worthy tribute to it. he said: "the only reason why government did not suffer dry rot in the middle ages under the aristocratic systems which then prevailed was that the men who were efficient instruments of government were drawn from the church--from that great church, that body which we now distinguish from other church bodies as the roman catholic church. the roman catholic church then, as now, was a great democracy. there was no peasant so humble that he might not become a priest, and no priest so obscure that he might not become pope of christendom, and every chancellery in europe was ruled by those learned, trained and accomplished men--the priesthood of that great and then dominant church; and so, what kept government alive in the middle ages was this constant rise of the sap from the bottom, from the rank and file of the great body of the people through the open channels of the roman catholic priesthood." v. insurance. insurance is usually supposed to be a modern idea representing one of those developments of the capitalization of mutual risks of life, property, and the like that have come as a consequence of modern progress. the insurance system of the middle ages, the organization of which came in the thirteenth century, is therefore extremely interesting. it was accomplished, as was every form of co-operation and co-ordination of effort, through special gilds or through the trade or merchant gilds. among the objects of the gilds enumerated by toulmin smith is insurance against loss by fire. this was paid through the particular gild to which the merchant belonged, or in the case of the artisan through a special gild which he joined for the purpose. provision was made, however, for much more than insurance by fire. our fire insurance companies are probably several centuries old, so also are our insurance arrangements against shipwreck. other features of insurance, however, are much more recent. practically all of these were in active existence during the middle ages, though they disappeared with the so-called reformation, and then { } did not come into existence again for several centuries and, indeed, not until our own time. the old gilds, for instance, provided insurance against loss from flood, a feature of insurance that has not, so far as i know, developed in our time, against loss by robbery (our burglary insurance is quite recent), against loss by the fall of a house, by imprisonment, and then also insurance against the loss of cattle and farm products. all the features of life insurance also were in existence. the partial disability clauses of life or accident insurance policies are recent developments. in the old days there is insurance against the loss of sight, against the loss of a limb, or any other form of crippling. the deaf and dumb might be insured so as to secure an income for them, and corresponding relief for leprosy might be obtained; so that, if one were set apart from the community by the law requiring segregation of lepers, there might be provision for food and lodging, even though productive work had become impossible. in a word, the insurance system of the middle ages was thoroughly developed. it was not capitalistic. the charges were only enough to maintain the system, and not such as to provide large percentage returns on invested stock and on bonds, and the accumulation of huge surpluses that almost inevitably lead to gross abuses. what is best in our modern system of insurance is an imitation of the older methods. certain of the trade insurance companies which assume a portion of the risk on mills, factories and the like, are typical examples. they know the conditions, enforce proper precautions, keep an absolute check on suspicious losses, accumulate only a moderate surplus and present very few opportunities for insurance abuses. the same thing is true for the fraternal societies that conduct life insurance. when properly managed they represent the lowest possible cost and the best efficiency with least opportunities for fraud and without any temptations to interfere with legislation and any allurements for legislators to spend their time making strike and graft bills instead of doing legislative work. vi. old age pensions. this generation has occupied itself much with the question of old age pensions. probably most people feel that this is the first time in the world's history that such arrangements have been made. the movement is supposed to represent a recent development of humanitarian purpose, and to be a feature of recent philanthropic evolution. it is rather interesting, in the light of that idea, to see how well they accomplish this same purpose in the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries. in our time it has been a government affair, with all the possibilities of abuse that there are in a huge pension system, and surely no country knows it better than we do here in america. the old countries, germany and france, have established a contributing { } system of pension. this was the model of their system of caring for the old and the disabled in the middle ages. toulmin smith cites a rule of one of the gilds which gives us exactly the status of the old age disability pension question. after a workman had been seven years a member, the gild assured him a livelihood in case of disability from any cause. when we recall that employer as well as employee as a rule belonged to the gild and this was a real mutual organization in which there was a sharing of the various risks of life, we see how eminently well adapted to avoid abuses this old system was. where the pensioners appeal to a government pension system, abuses are almost inevitable. there is the constant temptation to exploit the system on the part of the pensioners, because they have the feeling that if they do not, others will. then the investigation of each particular case is difficult, and favoritism and graft of various kinds inevitably finds its way in. where the pension is paid by a small body of fellow workmen, the investigation is easy, the temptation to exploit does not readily find place, and while abuses are to some extent inevitable, these are small in amount, and not likely to be frequent. friends and neighbors know conditions, and men are not pauperized by the system, and if, after an injury that seemed at first so disabling as to be permanent, the pensioner should improve enough to be able to get back to work, or, at least, to do something to support himself, the system is elastic enough so that he is not likely to be tempted to continue to live on others rather than on his own efforts. vii. the ways and means of charity--organized charity. most of us would be apt to think that our modern methods of obtaining funds for charitable purposes represented definite developments, and that at least special features of our collections for charity were our own invention. in recent years the value of being able to reach a great many people even for small amounts has been particularly recognized. "tag day" is one manifestation of that. everyone in a neighborhood is asked to contribute a small amount for a particular charitable purpose, and the whole collection usually runs up to a snug sum. practices very similar to this were quite common in the thirteenth century. as in our time, it was the women who collected the money. a rope, for instance, was stretched across a marketplace, where traffic was busy, and everyone who passed was required to pay a toll for charity. occasionally the rope was stretched across a bridge and the tolls were collected on a particular day each year. other forms of charitable accumulation resembled ours in many respects. entertainments of various kinds were given for charity, and special collections were made during the exhibition of mystery plays { } partly to pay the expenses of the representation, and the surplus to go to the charities of the particular gild. most of the charity, however, was organized. indeed it is the organization of charity during the thirteenth century that represents the best feature of its fraternalism. the needy were cared for by the gilds themselves. there were practically no poorhouses, and if a man was willing to work and had already shown this willingness, there were definite bureaus that would help him at least to feed his family while he was out of work. this system, however, was flexible enough to provide also for the ne'er-do-wells, the tramps, the beggars, but they were given not money, but tokens which enabled them to obtain the necessaries of life without being able to abuse charity. the committees of the gilds consulted in various ways among themselves and with the church wardens so as to be sure that, while all the needy were receiving help, no one was abusing charity by drawing help from a number of different quarters. of course, they did not have the problem of large city life that we have, and so their comparatively simple organization of charity sufficed for all the needs of the time, and at the same time anticipated our methods. viii. scientific universities. in the first edition of this book i called attention to the fact, that science, even in our sense of physical science, was, in spite of impressions to the contrary, a favorite subject for students and teachers in the early universities. what might have been insisted on, however, is that these old universities were scientific universities resembling our own so closely in their devotion to science as to differ from them only in certain unimportant aspects. because the universities for three centuries before the nineteenth had been occupied mainly with classical studies, we are prone to think that these were the main subjects of university teaching for all the centuries before. nothing could well be less true. the undergraduate studies consisted of the seven liberal arts so-called, though these were largely studied from the scientific standpoint. the quotation from prof. huxley (appendix iii., education) makes this very clear. what we would now call the graduate studies consisted of metaphysics, in which considerable physics were studied, astronomy, medicine, above all, mathematics, and then the ethical sciences, under which were studied what we now call ethics, politics and economics. the picture of these medieval universities as i have given them in my lecture on medieval scientific universities, in "education, how old the new," makes this very clear. the interests and studies were very like those of our own time, only the names for them being different. nature-study was a favorite subject, and, as i have pointed out in "the popes and science," dante must be considered as a great nature student, for he was able to draw the most exquisite figures from details of knowledge of living things with which few { } poets are familiar. the books of the professors of the thirteenth century which have been preserved, those of albertus magnus, roger bacon, aquinas, duns scotus and others, make it very clear that scientific teaching was the main occupation of the university faculties, while the preservation of these huge tomes by the diligent copying of disciples shows how deeply interested were their pupils in the science of the time. ix. medical teaching and professional standards. at all times in the history of education, the standards of scientific education, and the institutions of learning, can be best judged from the condition of the medical schools. when the medical sciences are taken seriously, when thorough preparation is demanded before their study may be taken up, when four or five years of attention to theoretic and practical medicine are required for graduation, and when the professors are writing textbooks that are to attract attention for generations afterwards, then, there is always a thoroughly scientific temper m the university itself. medicine is likely to suffer, first, whenever there is neglect of science. the studies of the german historians, puschmann, pagel, neuberger, and sudhoff in recent years, have made it very clear that the medical schools of the universities of the thirteenth century were maintaining high standards. the republication of old texts, especially in france, has called attention to the magnificent publications of their professors, while a review of their laws and regulations confirms the idea of the good work that was being done. gurlt, in his history of surgery, "geschichte der chirurgie" (berlin, ), has reviewed the textbooks of roger and roland and the four masters, of william of salicet and lanfranc and of many others, in a way to make it very clear that these men were excellent teachers. when we discover that three years of preparatory university work was required before the study of medicine could be begun, and four years of medical studies were required, with a subsequent year of practice under a physician's direction, before a license for independent practice could be issued, then the scientific character of the medical schools and therefore of the universities to which they were attached is placed beyond all doubt. these are the terms of the law issued by the emperor frederick ii. for the two sicilies. that, in substance, it applied to other countries we learn from the fact that the charters of medical schools granted by the popes at this time require proper university preliminary studies, and four or five years at medicine before the degree of doctor could be given. we know besides that in the cities only those who were graduates of properly recognized medical schools were allowed to practice medicine, so that there was every encouragement for the maintenance of professional standards. indeed, { } strange as it may seem to our generation, the standards of the thirteenth century in medical education were much higher than our own, and their medical schools were doing fine work. x. magnetism. for proper understanding of the thirteenth century scholars, it is especially important to appreciate their thoroughly scientific temper of mind, their powers of observation, and their successful attainments in science. i know no more compendious way of reaching the knowledge of these qualities in the medieval mind, than a study of the letter of peregrinus, which we would in our time call a monograph on magnetism. brother potamian, in his chapter in "makers of electricity" (fordham university press, n. y., ) on peregrinus and columbus, sums up the very interesting contributions of this medieval student of magnetism to the subject. the list of chapters alone in peregrinus' monograph (epistola) makes it very clear how deep were his interests and how thoroughly practical his investigations. [illustration] the double pivoted needle of peregrinus. they are:--"part i., chapter i, purpose of this work; , qualifications of the experimenter; , characteristics of a good lodestone; , how to distinguish the poles of a lodestone; , how to tell which pole is north and which is south; , how one lodestone attracts another; , how iron touched by a lodestone turns toward the poles of the world; , how a lodestone attracts iron; , why the north pole of one lodestone attracts the south pole of another, and vice versa; , an inquiry into the natural virtue of the lodestone. "part ii., chapter , construction of an instrument for measuring the azimuth of the sun, the moon or any star then in the horizon; , construction of a better instrument for the same purpose; , the art of making a wheel of perpetual motion." in order to illustrate what peregrinus accomplished it has seemed worth while to reproduce here the sketches which illustrate his epistle. we have the double pivoted needle and the first pivoted compass. in the light of certain recent events a passage from the "new naval history or complete review of the british marine" (london, ) is of special interest. it illustrates perhaps the new confidence that came to men in sailing to long distances as the result of the { } realization of the practical value of the magnetic needle during the thirteenth century. [illustration] first pivoted compass (peregrinus, ). "in the year it is recorded that a friar of oxford called nicholas de linna (of lynn), being a good astronomer, went in company with others to the most northern island, and thence traveled alone, and that he went to the north pole, by means of his skill in magic, or the black art; but this magic or black art may probably have been nothing more than a knowledge of the magnetic needle or compass, found out about sixty years before, though not in common use until many years after." xi. biological theories, evolution, recapitulation. of course only those who are quite unfamiliar with the history of philosophic thought are apt to think that the theory of evolution is modern. serious students of biology are familiar with the long history of the theory, and especially its anticipations by the greeks. very few know, however, that certain phases of evolutionary theory attracted not a little attention from the scholastic philosophers. it would not be difficult to find expressions in roger bacon and albertus magnus, that would serve to show that they thought not only of the possibility of some very intimate relation of species but of developmental connections. the great teacher of the time, st. thomas aquinas, has some striking expressions in the matter, which deserve to be quoted, because he is the most important representative of the philosophy and science of the century and the one whose works most influenced succeeding generations. in the lecture on medieval scientific universities, published in "education, how old the new" (fordham university press, n. y., ), i called particular attention to this phase of st. thomas' teaching. two quotations will serve to make it clear here. prof. osborne, in "from the greeks to darwin," quotes aquinas' commentary on st. augustine's opinion with regard to the origin of things as they are. augustine declared that the creator had simply { } brought into life the seeds of things, and given these the power to develop. aquinas, expounding augustine, says: "as to production of plants, augustine holds a different view, . . . for some say that on the third day plants were actually produced, each in his kind--a view favored by the superficial reading of scripture. but augustine says that the earth is then said to have brought forth grass and trees _causaliter_; that is, it then received power to produce them." (quoting genesis ii: ): "for in those first days, . . . god made creation primarily or _causaliter_, and then rested from his work." like expressions might be quoted from him, and other writers of the thirteenth century might well be cited in confirmation of the fact that while these great teachers of the middle ages thoroughly recognize the necessity for creation to begin with and the placing by the creator of some power in living things that enables them to develop, they were by no means bound to the thought that all living species were due to special creations. they even did not hesitate to teach the possibility of the lower order of living beings at least coming into existence by spontaneous generation, and would probably have found no difficulty in accepting a theory of descent with the limitations that most scientific men of our generation are prone to demand for it. lest it should be thought that this is a mere accidental agreement with modern thought, due much more to a certain looseness of terms than to actual similarity of view, it seems well to point out how close st. thomas came to that thought in modern biology, which is probably considered to be one of our distinct modern contributions to the theory of evolution, though, in recent years, serious doubts have been thrown on it. it is expressed by the formula of herbert spencer, "ontogeny recapitulates phylogeny." according to this, the completed being repeats in the course of its development the history of the race, that is to say, the varying phases of foetal development from the single cell in which it originates up to the perfect being of the special type as it is born into the world, retrace the history by which from the single cell being the creature in question has gradually developed. it is very curious to find that st. thomas aquinas, in his teaching with regard to the origin and development of the human being, says, almost exactly, what the most ardent supporters of this so-called fundamental biogenetic law proclaimed during the latter half of the nineteenth century, thinking they were expressing an absolutely new thought. he says that "the higher a form is in the scale of being and the farther it is removed from mere material form, the more intermediate forms must be passed through before the finally perfect form is reached. therefore, in the generation of animal and man-- these having the most perfect forms--there occur many intermediate forms in generations, and consequently destruction, because the { } generation of one being is the destruction of another." st. thomas draws the ultimate conclusions from this doctrine without hesitation. he proclaims that the human material is first animated by a vegetative soul or principle of life, and then by an animal soul, and only ultimately when the matter has been properly prepared for it by a rational soul. he said: "the vegetative soul, therefore, which is first in embryo, while it lives the life of a plant, is destroyed, and there succeeds a more perfect soul, which is at once nutrient and sentient, and for that time the embryo lives the life of an animal: upon the destruction of this there succeeds the rational soul, infused from without." xii. the pope of the century. the absence of a chapter on the pope of the century has always seemed a lacuna in the previous editions of this book. pope innocent iii., whose pontificate began just before the century opened, and occupied the first fifteen years of it, well deserves a place beside francis the saint, thomas the scholar, dante the poet, and louis the monarch of this great century. more than any other single individual he was responsible for the great development of the intellectual life that took place, but at the same time his wonderfully broad influence enabled him to initiate many of the movements that meant most for human uplift and for the alleviation of suffering in this period. it was in councils of the church summoned by him that the important legislation was passed requiring the development of schools, the foundation of colleges in every diocese and of universities in important metropolitan sees. what he accomplished for hospitals has been well told by virchow, from whom i quote a magnanimous tribute in the chapter on the foundation of city hospitals. the legislation of innocent iii. did much to encourage, and yet to regulate properly the religious orders of this time engaged in charitable work. besides doing so much for charity, he was a stern upholder of morals. as more than one king of the time realized while innocent was pope, there could be no trifling with marriage vows. on the other hand, while innocent was so stern as to the enforcement of marriage laws, his wonderfully judicious character and his care for the weak and the innocent can be particularly noted in his treatment of the children in these cases. while he compelled recalcitrant kings to take back the wives they would repudiate, and put away other women who had won their affections, he did not hesitate to make due provision as far as possible for the illegitimate children. pirie gordon, in his recent life of pope innocent iii., notes that he invariably legitimated the offspring of these illegal unions of kings, and even declared them capable of succession. he would not visit the guilt of the parent on the innocent offspring. { } innocent did more to encourage the idea of international arbitration than anyone up to his time. during his period more than once he was the arbitrator to whom rival national claims that might have led to war were referred. probably his greatest claim on our admiration in the modern time is his attitude toward the jews. in this he is centuries ahead of his time and, indeed, the policy that he laid down is far ahead of what is accorded to them by many of the nations even at the present time, and it must not be forgotten that it is only during the past hundred years that the jew has come to have any real privileges comparable to those accorded to other men. at a time when the jew had no real rights in law, innocent insisted on according them all the rights of men. his famous edict in this regard is well known. "let no christian by violence compel them to come dissenting or unwilling to baptism. further let no christian venture maliciously to harm their persons without a judgment of the civil power, to carry off their property or change their good customs which they have had hitherto in that district which they inhabit." when, in addition to all this, it is recalled that he was a distinguished scholar and graduate of the university of paris, looked up to as one of the intellectual geniuses of the time, the author of a treatise "on the contempt of the world" at a time when the kings of the earth were obeying him, known for his personal piety and for his thorough regulation of his own household, something of the greatness of the man will be appreciated. no wonder that historians who have taken up the special study of his career have always been won over to deep personal admiration of him, and though many of them began prejudiced in his regard, practically all of them were converted to be his sincere admirers. xiii. international arbitration. during the peace conference in new york in i was on the programme with mr. william t. stead of london, the editor of the english _review of reviews_, who was very much interested in the volume on the thirteenth century, and who suggested that one chapter in the book should have been devoted to the consideration of what was accomplished for peace and for international arbitration during this century. there is no doubt that there developed, as the result of many papal decrees, a greater tendency than has existed ever before or since, to refer quarrels between nations that would ordinarily end in war to decision by some selected umpire. usually the pope, as the head of the christian church, to which all the nations of the civilized world belonged, was selected as the arbitrator. this international arbitration, strengthened by the decrees of pope innocent iii., pope honorius iii. and pope alexander iii., developed in a way that is well worth while studying, and that has deservedly been the subject of careful investigation since the present { } peace movement began. certainly the outlook for the securing of peace by international arbitration was better at this time than it has been at any time since. what a striking example, for instance, is the choice of king louis of france as the umpire in the dispute between the barons and the king of england, which might have led to war. louis' position with regard to the empire and the papacy was to a great extent that of a pacificator, and his influence for peace was felt everywhere throughout europe. the spirit of the century was all for arbitration and the adjudication of intranational as well as international difficulties by peaceful means. xiv. bible revision. most people will be quite sure that at least the question of bible revision with critical study of text and comparative investigation of sources was reserved for our time. the two orders of friars founded in the early part of the thirteenth century, however, devoted themselves to the task of supplying to the people a thoroughly reliable edition of the scriptures. the first systematic revision was made by the dominicans about . after twenty years this revision was set aside as containing too many errors, and another dominican correction replaced it. then came that great scholar, hugh of st. cher, known later as the cardinal of santa sabina, the author of the first great biblical concordance. his bible studies did much to clarify obscurities in the text. sometime about he organized a commission of friars for the revision of what was known as the paris exemplar, the bible text that was most in favor at that time. the aim of hugh of st. cher was to establish the old vulgate of st. jerome, the text which received this name during this century, but with such revision as would make this version correspond as nearly as possible to the hebrew and the greek. this activity on the part of the dominicans was rivaled by the franciscans. we might not expect to find the great scientist, roger bacon, as a biblical scholar and reviser, but such he was, working with willermus de mara, to whom, according to father denifle, late the librarian of the vatican library, must be attributed the title given him by roger bacon of sapientissimus vir. the dominicans under the leadership of hugh of st. cher with high ideals had hoped to achieve a perfect primitive text. the version made by de mara, however, with the approval and advice of bacon, was only meant to bring out st. jerome's text as perfectly as possible. these two revisions made in the thirteenth century are typical of all the efforts that men have made since in that same direction. contrary to usual present day impressions, they are characterized by critical scholarship, and probably represent as great a contribution to biblical lore as was made by any other century. { } xv. fiction of the century. ordinarily it would be presumed that life was taken entirely too seriously during the thirteenth century for the generation to pay much attention to fiction. in a certain sense this is true. in the sense, however, that they had no stories worthy of the great literature in other departments it would be quite untrue. there is a naiveté about their story telling that rather amuses our sophisticated age, yet all the elements of our modern fiction are to be found in the stories that were popular during the century, and arranged with a dramatic effect that must have given them a wide appeal. the most important contribution to the fiction of the century is to be found in the collection known as the _cento novelle antiche_ or "hundred ancient tales," which contains the earliest prose fiction extant in italian. many of these come from a period anterior to dante, and it is probable from what manni, the learned editor of the _novelliero_, says, that they were written out in the thirteenth century and collected in the early part of the fourteenth century. they did not all originate in italy, and, indeed, manni considers that most of them derived their origin from provence. they represent the interest of the century in fiction and in anecdotal literature. as for the longer fiction, the pure love story of the modern time, we have one typical example of it in that curious relic of the middle ages, "aucassin and nicolette." the manuscript which preserved this for us comes from the thirteenth century. perhaps, as m. paris suggests, the tale itself is from the preceding century. at least it was the interest of the thirteenth century in it that saved it for us. for those who think that the love romance in any of its features is novel, though we call it by that name, or that there has been any development of human nature which enables the writer of love stories to appeal to other and deeper, or purer and loftier feelings in his loved ones now than in the past, all that is needed, as it seems to me, is a casual reading of this pretty old song-story. perhaps the most interesting feature of this oldest specimen of modern fiction is the number of precious bits of psychologic analysis or, at least, what is called that in the recent time, which occur in the course of it. for instance, when aucassin is grieving because he cannot find nicolette he wanders through the forest on horseback, and is torn by trees and brambles, but "he feels it not at all." on the other hand, when he finds nicolette, though he is suffering from a dislocated shoulder, he no longer feels any pain in it, because of his joy at the meeting, and nicolette (first aid to the injured) is able to replace the dislocated part without difficulty (the trained nurse in fiction) because he is so happy as not to notice the pain (psychotherapy). the herdsman whom he meets wonders that aucassin, with plenty of money and victuals, should grieve so much over the loss of nicolette, { } while he has so much more cause to grieve over the loss of an ox, which means starvation to him. toward the end of the story we have the scene in which nicolette, stolen from home when very young, and utterly unable to remember anything about her childhood, has brought back to her memory by the view of the city of carthage forgotten events of her childhood (subconscious memory). these represent naively enough, it is true, the study of the mind under varying conditions that has in recent years been given the rather ambitious name of psychology in fiction. xvi. great orators. without a chapter on the great orators of the period an account of the thirteenth century is quite incomplete. great as were the other forms of literature, epic, lyric and religious poetry and the prose writing, it is probable that the oratory of the time surpassed them all. when we recall that the cid, the arthur legends, the nibelungen, the meistersingers, and the minnesingers, reynard the fox, the romance of the rose, the troubadours, and even dante are included in the other term of the comparison thus made, it may seem extravagant, but what we know of the effect of the orators of the time fully justifies it. just before the thirteenth century, great religious orators swayed the hearts and minds of people, to the organization of the crusades. at the beginning of the thirteenth century the mendicant orders were organized, and their important duties were preaching and teaching. the dominicans were of course the order of preachers, and we have traditions of their sway over the minds of the people of the time which make it very clear that their power was equal to that exerted in any other department of human expression. there are traditions particularly of the oratory of the dominicans among the german races, which serve to show how even a phlegmatic people can be stirred to the very depths of their being by the eloquent spoken word. in france the traditions are almost as explicit in this matter, and there are remains of religious orations that fully confirm the reputation of the orators of the time. rhetoric and oratory was studied very assiduously. cicero was the favorite reading of the great preachers of the time, and we find the court preachers of st. louis, Ã�tienne de bourbon, elinand, guillaume de perrault and others appealing to his precepts as the infallible guide to oratory. quintilian was not neglected, however, and symmachus and sidonius apollinaris were also faithfully studied. if we turn to the speeches that are incorporated in the epics, as, for instance, the cid, or in some of the historians, as villehardouin, we have definite evidence of the thorough command of the writers of the time over the forms of oratory. m. paullin paris, the authority in our time on the literature of the thirteenth century, quotes a passage from villehardouin in which canon de bethune speaks in the { } name of the french chiefs of the fourth crusade to the emperors isaac and alexis comnenus. m. paris does not hesitate to declare that the passage is equal to many of the same kind that have been much admired in the classic authors. it has the force, the finish and the compression of thucydides. xvii. great beginnings in english literature. only the fact that this work was getting beyond the number of printed pages determined for it in the first edition prevented the insertion of a chapter especially devoted to the great beginnings of english literature in the thirteenth century. the most important contributions to early english were made at this period. the ormulum and layamon's brut, both written probably during the first decade of the thirteenth century, have become familiar to all students of old english. mr. gollancz goes so far as to say that "the ormulum is perhaps the most valuable document we possess for the history of english sound. orm was a purist in orthography as well as in vocabulary, and may fittingly be described as the first of english phoneticians." [illustration] manuscript of ormulum (thirteenth century) of layamon, garnett said in his "english literature" (garnett and gosse): "it would have sufficed for the fame of layamon had he been no more than the first minstrel to celebrate arthur in english song, but his own pretensions as a poet are by no means inconsiderate. he is everywhere vigorous and graphic, and improved upon his predecessor, wace, alike by his additions and expansions, and by his more spiritual handling of the subjects common to both." even more important in the history of language than these is _the ancren riwle_ (the anchorites' rule). this was probably written by richard poore, bishop of salisbury, for three cistercian nuns. its place in english literature may be judged from a quotation or two with regard to it. mr. kington-oliphant says: "_the ancren riwle_ is the forerunner of a wondrous change in our speech. more than anything else written outside the danelagh, that piece has influenced our standard { } english." garnett says: "_the ancren riwle_ is a work of great literary merit and, in spite of its linguistic innovations, most of which have established themselves, well deserves to be described as 'one of the most perfect models of simple eloquent prose in our language.'" the religious poetry of the time is not behind the great prose of _the ancren riwle_, and one of them, the _luve ron_ (love song) of thomas de hales, is very akin to the spirit of that work, and has been well described as "a contemplative lyric of the simplest, noblest mold." garnett says: "the reflections are such as are common to all who have in all ages pleaded for the higher life under whatsoever form, and deplored the frailty and transitoriness of man's earthly estate. two stanzas on the latter theme as expressed in a modernized version might almost pass for villon's:-- "paris and helen, where are they, fairest in beauty, bright to view? amadas, tristrem, ideine, yea isold, that lived with love so true? and caesar, rich in power and sway, hector the strong, with might to do? all glided from earth's realm away, like shaft that from the bow-string flew. "it is as if they ne'er were here. their wondrous woes have been a' told, that it is sorrow but to hear; how anguish killed them sevenfold, and how with dole their lives were drear; now is their heat all turned to cold. thus this world gives false hope, false fear; a fool, who in her strength is bold." xviii. great origins in music. in the chapter on the great latin hymns a few words were said about one phase of the important musical development in the thirteenth century, that of plain chant. in that simple mode the musicians of the thirteenth century succeeded in reaching a climax of expression of human feeling in such chants as the _exultet_ and the _lamentation_ that has never been surpassed. something was also said about the origin of part music, but so little that it might easily be thought that in this the century lagged far behind its achievements in other departments. m, pierre aubry has recently published ( ) _cent motets du xiiie siècle_ in three volumes. his first volume contains a photographic reproduction of the manuscript of bamberg from which the hundred musical modes are secured, the second a transcription in modern musical notation of the old music, and the third volume studies and commentaries on the music and the times. if anything were needed to show how utterly ignorant we have been of the interests and artistic achievements of the middle ages, it is this book of m. aubry. victor hugo said that music dates from the sixteenth century, and it has been quite the custom, even for people who thought they { } knew something about music, to declare that we had no remains of any music before the sixteenth century worth while talking about. ancient music is probably lost to us forever, but m. aubry has shown conclusively that we have abundant remains to show us that the musicians of the thirteenth century devoted themselves to their art with as great success as their rivals in the other gothic arts and, indeed, they thought that they had nearly exhausted its possibilities and tried to make a science of it. by their supposedly scientific rules they succeeded in binding music so firmly as to bring about its obscuration in succeeding centuries. this is, however, the old story of what has happened in every art whenever genius succeeds in finding a great mode of expression. a formula is evolved which often binds expression so rigorously as to prevent natural development. xix. a chapter on manners. whatever the people of the middle ages may have been in morals, their manners are supposed to have been about as lacking in refinement as possible. as for nearly everything else, however, this impression is utterly false, and is due to the assumption that because we are better-mannered than the generations of a century or two ago, therefore we must be almost infinitely in advance, in the same respect, of the people of seven centuries ago. there are ups and downs in manners, however, as there are in education, and the beginnings of the formal setting forth of modern manners are, like everything else modern, to be found in the thirteenth century. about the year thomasin zerklaere wrote in german a rather lengthy treatise, _der wälsche gast_, on manners. it contains most of the details of polite conduct that have been accepted in later times. not long afterwards, john garland, an oxford man who had lived in france for many years, wrote a book on manners for english young men. he meant this to be a supplement to dionysius cato's treatise, written probably in the fourth century in latin, which was concerned more with morals than manners and had been very popular during the middle ages. garland's book was the first of a series of such treatises on manners which appeared in england at the close of the middle ages. many of them have been recently republished, and are a revelation of the development of manners among our english forefathers. the book is usually alluded to in literature as liber faceti, or as facet; the full title was, "the book of the polite man, teaching manners for men, especially for boys, as a supplement to those which were omitted by the most moral cato." the "romance of the rose" has, of course, many references to manners which show us how courtesy was cultivated in france. in italy, dante's teacher, bruneto latini, published his "tesoretto," which treats of manners, and which was soon followed by a number of similar treatises in { } italian. in a word, we must look to the thirteenth century for the origin, or at least the definite acceptance, of most of those conventions which make for kindly courtesy among men, and have made possible human society and friendly intercourse in our modern sense of those words. we are prone to think that refinement in table manners is a matter of distinctly modern times. in "the babees' book," which is one of the oldest books of english manners, the date of which in its present form is about the middle of the fourteenth century, many of our rules of politeness at table are anticipated. this book is usually looked upon as a compilation from preceding times, and the original of it is supposed to be from the preceding century. a few quotations from it will show how closely it resembles our own instructions to children: "thou shalt not laugh nor speak nothing while thy mouth be full of meat or drink; nor sup thou not with great sounding neither pottage nor other thing. at meat cleanse not thy teeth, nor pick with knife or straw or wand or stick. while thou holdest meat in mouth, beware to drink; that is an unhonest chare; and also physic forbids it quite. also eschew, without strife. to foul the board cloth with thy knife. nor blow not on thy drink or meat, neither for cold, neither for heat. nor bear with meat thy knife to mouth. whether thou be set by strong or couth. lean not on elbow at thy meat, neither for cold nor for heat. dip not thy thumb thy drink into; thou art uncourteous if thou it do. in salt-cellar if thou put or fish or flesh that men see it, that is a vice, as men me tells; and great wonder it would be else." the directions, "how to behave thyself in talking with any man," in one of these old books, are very minute and specific:-- "if a man demand a question of thee. in thine answer making be not too hasty; weigh well his words, the case understand ere an answer to make thou take in hand; else may he judge in thee little wit, to answer to a thing and not hear it. suffer his tale whole out to be told. then speak thou mayst, and not be controlled; in audible voice thy words do thou utter, not high nor low, but using a measure. thy words see that thou pronounce plaine. and that they spoken be not in vain; in uttering whereon keep thou an order, thy matter thereby thou shalt much forder which order if thou do not observe. from the purpose needs must thou swerve." { } xx. textile work of the century. a special chapter might easily have been written on the making of fine cloths of various kinds, most of which reached their highest perfection in the thirteenth century. velvet, for instance, is mentioned for the first time in england in , but existed earlier on the continent, and cut velvets with elaborate patterns were made in genoa exactly as we know finished velvet now. baudekin or baldichin, a very costly textile of gold and silk largely used in altar coverings and hangings, came to very high perfection in this century also. the canopy for the blessed sacrament is, because of its manufacture from this cloth, still called in italy a _baldichino_. chaucer in the next century tells how the streets in royal processions were "hanged with cloth of gold and not with serge." satin also was first manufactured very probably in the thirteenth century. it is first mentioned in england about the middle of the fourteenth century, when bishop grandison made a gift of choice satins to exeter cathedral. the word satin, however, is derived from the silks of the mediterranean, called by the italians _seta_ and by the spanish _seda_, and the art of making it was brought to perfection during the preceding century. the art of making textiles ornamented with elaborate designs of animal forms and of floral ornaments reached its highest perfection in the thirteenth century. in one of the chronicles we learn that in st. paul's in london owned a hanging "patterned with wheels and two-headed birds." we have accounts of such elaborate textile ornamentation as peacocks, lions, griffins and the like. almeria in andalusia was a rich city in the thirteenth century, noted for its manufactures of textiles. a historian of the period writes: "christians of all nations came to its port to buy and sell. then they traveled to other parts of the interior of the country, where they loaded their vessels with such goods as they wanted. costly silken robes of the brightest colors are manufactured in almeria." marco-polo says of the persians that, when he passed through that country (end of the thirteenth century), "there are excellent artificers in the city who make wonderful things in gold, silk and embroidery. the women make excellent needlework in silk with all sorts of creatures very admirably wrought therein." he also reports the king of tartary as wearing on his birthday a most precious garment of gold, and tells of the girdles of gold and silver, with pearls and ornaments of great price on them. unfortunately english embroidery fell off very greatly at the time of the wars of the roses. these wars constitute the main reason why nearly every form of intellectual accomplishment and artistic achievement went into decadence during the fourteenth century, from which they were only just emerging when the so-called { } reformation, with its confiscation of monastic property, and its destruction of monastic life, came to ruin schools of all kinds, and, above all, those in which the arts and crafts had been taught so successfully. france at the end of the thirteenth century saw a similar rise to excellence of textile and embroidery work. in there is an allusion to one clément le brodeur who furnished a magnificent cope for the count of artois. in a beautifully decorated set of hangings was made for the queen by gautier de poulleigny. there are other references to work done in the early part of the fourteenth century, which serve to show the height which art had reached in this mode during the thirteenth century. in ireland, while the finer work had its due place, the making of woolens was the specialty, and the dyeing of woolen cloth made the irish famous and brought many travelers from the continent to learn the secret. the work done in england in embroidery attracted the attention of the world. english needlework became a proverb. in the body of the book i mentioned the cope of ascoli, but there were many such beautiful garments. the syon cope is, in the opinion of miss addison, author of "arts and crafts in the middle ages," the most conspicuous example of the medieval embroiderers' art. it was made by nuns about the middle of the thirteenth century, that is, just about the same time as the cope of ascoli, but in a convent near coventry. according to miss addison "it is solid stitchery on a canvas ground, wrought about with divers colors' on green. the design is laid out in a series of interlacing square forms, with rounded and barbed sides and corners. in each of these is a figure or a scriptural scene. the orphreys, or straight borders, which go down on both fronts of the cope, are decorated with heraldic charges. much of the embroidery is raised, and wrought in the stitch known as opus anglicanum. the effect was produced by pressing a heated metal knob into the work at such points as were to be raised. the real embroidery was executed on a flat surface, and then bossed up by this means until it looked like bas-relief. the stitches in every part run in zig-zags, the vestments, and even the nimbi about the heads, are all executed with the stitches slanting in one direction, from the center of the cope outward, without consideration of the positions of the figures. each face is worked in circular progression outward from the center, as well. the interlaces are of crimson, and look well on the green ground. the wheeled cherubim is well developed in the design of this famous cope, and is a pleasing decorative bit of archaic ecclesiasticism. in the central design of the crucifixion, the figure of the lord is rendered in silver on a gold ground." xxi. glass-making. a chapter might well have been devoted to thirteenth century glass-making quite apart from the stained glass of the cathedral { } windows. all over europe some of the most wonderful specimens of colored glass we possess were made in the thirteenth century. recently mr. frederick rolfe has looked up for me venetian glass, of the three centuries, the twelfth, the thirteenth and the fourteenth. he says twelfth century glass is small in form, simple and ignorant in model, excessively rich and brilliant in colors; the artist evidently had no ideal, but the byzantine of jewels and emeralds. "thirteenth century glass is absolutely different. the specimens are pretty. the work of the beroviero family is large and splendid in form, exquisite and sometimes elaborate in model, mostly crystal glass reticently studded with tiny colored gem-like knobs. there are also fragments of two windows pieced together, and missing parts filled with the best which modern murano can do. these show the celebrated beroviero ruby glass (secret lost) of marvelous depth and brilliancy in comparison with which the modern work is merely watery. the ancient is just like a decanter of port-wine. "fourteenth century returns to the wriggling ideal and exiguous form of the twelfth century, and fails woefully in brilliance of color. it is small and dull and undistinguished. one may find out what war or pest afflicted murano at this epoch to explain the singular degradation." this same curious degradation took place in the manufacture of most art objects during the fourteenth century. one would feel in mr. rolfe's words like looking for some physical cause for it. the decadence is so universal, however, that it seems not unlikely that it follows some little known human law, according to which, after man has reached a certain perfection of expression in an art or craft, there comes, in the striving after originality yet variety, an overbalancing of the judgment, a vitiation of the taste in the very luxuriance of beauty discovered that leads to decay. it is the very contradiction of the supposed progress of mankind through evolution, but it is illustrated in many phases of human history and, above all, the history of art, letters, education and the arts and crafts. xxii. inventions. most people are sure to think that, at least in the matter of inventions, ours is the only time worth considering. the people of the thirteenth century, however, made many wonderful inventions and adaptations of mechanical principles, as well as many ingenious appliances. their faculty of invention was mainly devoted to work in other departments besides that of mechanics. they were inventors of designs in architecture, in decoration, in furnishings, in textiles, and in the beautiful things of life generally. their inventiveness in the arts and crafts was especially admirable and, indeed, has been fruitful in our time, since, with the reawakening in this matter, we have gone back to imitate their designs. good authorities declare these to be endless in number and variety. such mechanical inventions as were { } needed for the building of their great cathedrals, their municipal buildings, abbeys, castles, piers, bridges and the like were admirably worked out. necessity is the mother of invention, and whenever needs asserted themselves, these old generations responded to them, very successfully. there are, however, a number of inventions that would attract attention even, in the modern time for their practical usefulness and ingenuity. with the growth of the universities writing became much more common, textbooks were needed, and so paper was invented. with the increase of reading, to replace teaching by hearing, spectacles were invented. time became more precious, clocks were greatly improved, and we hear of the invention of something like an alarm clock, an apparatus which, after a fixed number of hours, woke the monk of the abbey whose duty it was to arouse the others. organs for churches were greatly improved, bells were perfected, and everything else in connection with the churches so well fashioned that we still use them in their thirteenth century forms. gunpowder was not invented, but a great many new uses were found for it, and roger bacon even suggested, as i have said, that sometime explosives would enable boats to move by sea without sails or oars, or carriages to move on land without horses or men. roger bacon even suggested the possibility of airships, described how one might be made, the wings of which would be worked by a windlass, and thought that he could make it. his friend and pupil, peregrinus, invented the double pivoted compass, and, as the first perpetual-motion faddist, described how he would set about making a magnetic engine that he thought would run forever. when we recall how much they accomplished mechanically in the construction of buildings, it becomes evident that any mechanical problem that these generations wanted solved they succeeded in solving very well. what they have left us as inventions are among the most useful appliances that we have. without paper and without spectacles, the intellectual world would be in a sad case, indeed. many of the secrets of their inventions in the arts and crafts have been lost, and, in spite of all our study, we have not succeeded in rediscovering them. xxiii. industry and trade. we are rather inclined to think that large organizations of industry and trade were reserved for comparatively modern times. to think so, however, is to forget the place occupied by the monasteries and convents in the olden time. we have heard much of the lazy monks, but only from those who know nothing at all about them. idleness in the monasteries was one of the accusations made by the commission set to furnish evidence to henry viii. on which he might suppress the monasteries, but every modern historian has rejected the findings of that commission as false. many forms of manufacture were carried on in the monasteries and convents. they were { } the principal bookmakers and bookbinders. to a great extent they were the manufacturers of art fabrics and arts-and-crafts work intended for church use, but also for the decoration of luxurious private apartments. most of us have known something of all this finer work, but not that they had much to do with cruder industries also. they were millers, cloth-makers, brush- and broom-makers, shoemakers for themselves and their tenantry; knitting was done in the convents, and all the finer fancy work. a recent meeting of the institute of mining engineers in england brought out some discussion of coal mining in connection with the early history of the coal mines in england. the records of many of the english monasteries show that in early times the monks knew the value of coal, and used it rather freely. they also mined it for others. the monks at tynemouth are known to have been mining coal on the manor of tynemouth in , and shipping it to a distance. at durham and at finchale abbey they were doing this also about the same time. it would require special study to bring out the interesting details, but there is abundant material not alone for a chapter, but for a volume on the industries of the thirteenth century, which, like the education and the literature and the culture of the time, we have thought undeveloped, because we knew nothing of them. the relation of the monasteries to trade, domestic and foreign, is very well brought out in a paragraph of mr. ralph adams cram's book on "the ruined abbeys of great britain" (new york, the churchman co., ), in which he describes the remains at beaulieu, which show the place of that monastery, not by any means one of the most important in england, in trade. for the benefit of their tenantry others had done even more. "some idea of the power of one of these great monasteries may be gained from traces still existing of the center of trade built up by the monks outside their gates. here, at the head of tide water, in a most out-of-the-way spot, a great stone quay was constructed, to which came ships from foreign lands. near by was a great marketplace, now, as then, called cheapside, though commerce exists there no longer. at the height of monastic glory the religious houses were actually the chief centers of industry and civilization, and around them grew up the eager villages, many of which now exist, even though their impulse and original inspiration have long since departed. of course, the possessions of the abbey reached far away from the walls in every direction, including many farms even at a great distance, for the abbeys were then the great landowners, and beneficent landlords they were as well, even in their last days, for we have many records of the cruelty and hardships that came to the tenants the moment the stolen lands came into the hands of laymen." xxiv. fairs and markets. a chapter might well have been devoted to showing the significance of those curious old institutions, the fairs and market days of the { } middle ages. the country folk flocked into town, bringing with them their produce, and found there gathered from many parts merchants come to exchange and barter. the expense of maintaining a store all the year around was done away with, and profits did not have to be large. exchanges were direct, and the profits of the middlemen were to a great extent eliminated. it was distinctly to the advantage of the poor, for the expenses of commerce were limited to the greatest possible extent, and every advantage accrued to the customer. besides, these market days became days of innocent merriment, amusement and diversion. wandering purveyors of amusement followed the fairs, and obtained their living from the generosity of the people who were amused. these amusements were conducted out of doors, and with very few of the objectionable features as regards hygiene and morality that are likely to attach themselves to the same things in our day. the amusement was what we would call now vaudeville, singing, dancing, the exhibition of trained animals, acrobatic feats of various kinds, so that we cannot very well say that our people are in advance of their medieval forbears in such matters, since their taste is about the same. fairs and market days made country life less monotonous by their regular recurrence, and so prevented that emptying of the country into the city which we deprecate in our time. they had economic, social, even moral advantages, that are worth while studying. xxv. intensive farming. we hear much of intensive farming in the modern time, and it is supposed to be a distinctly modern invention mothered by the necessity due to great increase of population. one of the most striking features of the story of monasticism in the countries of europe, however, during the middle ages, and especially during the thirteenth century, when so many of the greatest abbeys reached a climax of power and influence and beauty of construction, is their successful devotion paid to agriculture. in the modern time we are gradually learning the lesson of growing larger and larger crops on the same area of ground by proper selection of seed, and of developing cattle in such a way as to make them most valuable as a by-product of farming. this is exactly what the old monastic establishments did. at the beginning of the thirteenth century many of them were situated in rather barren regions, sometimes, indeed, surrounded by thick forests, but at the end of the century all the great monastic establishments had succeeded in making beautiful luxuriant gardens for themselves, and had taught their numerous tenantry the great lessons of agricultural improvement which made for plenty and happiness. many monasteries belonged to the same religious order, and the traditions of these were carried from one to the other by visiting { } monks or sometimes by the transfer of members of one community to another. the monastic establishments were the great farmers of europe, and it was their proud boast that their farming lands, instead of being exhausted from year to year, were rather increasing in value. they doubtless had many secrets of farming that were lost and had to be rediscovered in the modern time, just as in the arts and crafts, for their success in farming was as noteworthy. their knowledge of trees must have been excellent, since they surrounded themselves with fine forests, at times arranged so as to provide shady walks and charming avenues. their knowledge of simple farming must have been thorough, for the farms of the monasteries were always the most prosperous, and the tenantry were always the happiest. with the traditions that we have especially in english history, this seems almost impossible to credit, but these traditions, manufactured for a purpose, have now been entirely discredited. we have learned in recent years what wonderful scholars, architects, painters, teachers, engineers these monks were, and so it is not surprising to find that they had magnificently developed agricultural knowledge as well as that of every other department in which they were particularly interested. xxvi. cartography and the teaching of geography. in the chapter on great explorers and the foundation of geography, in the body of the book, much might have been said about maps and map-making, for the thirteenth century was a great period in this matter. lecoy de la marche among his studies of the thirteenth century has included a volume of a collection of the maps of the thirteenth century. if the purpose had been to make this a work of erudition rather than of popular information, much might have been said of the cartography of the time even from this work alone (_receuil de charles du xiii e siècle_, paris, ). one of the great maps of the thirteenth century, that on the cathedral wall of hereford, deserves a place here. it was made just at the end of the thirteenth century. the idea of its maker was to convey as much information as possible about the earth, and not merely indicate its political divisions and the relative size and position of the different parts. it is to a certain extent at least a resume of history, of physical geography, and even of geographical biology and anthropology, for it has indications as to the dwelling-place of animals and curious types of men. it contains, besides, references to interesting objects of other kinds. because of its interest i have reproduced the map itself, and the key to it with explanations published at hereford. { } [illustration] _key to the photograph of the ancient map of the world_. preserved in hereford cathedral. [illustration] map of the world (hereford cathedral) the map is executed on a single sheet of vellum, in. in breadth, by in. in extreme height, it is fixed on a strong framework of oak. at the top (fig. ) is a representation of the last judgment. our saviour is represented in glory, and below is the virgin mary interceding for mankind. for convenience of reference the key map is divided into squares marked by roman capitals, with the more prominent objects in figures. i.--commencing with sq. . the circle marked by fig. represents the garden of eden, with the four rivers, and adam and eve eating the forbidden fruit. the remainder of the square, as also in ii. and iii., is occupied by india. at fig. is shown the expulsion of adam and eve, to the right of which is shown a race of giants, and to the left the city of enoch, and still further the golden mountains guarded by dragons. below these mountains are shown a race of pigmies. in a space bounded by two rivers is placed a crocodile, and immediately below a female warrior. to the left of the latter are a pair of birds called in the map alerions. the large { } river to the left is the ganges. ii.--shows one of the inhabitants of this part of india, who are said to have but one foot, which is sufficiently large to serve as an umbrella to shelter themselves from the sun. the city in the center is samarcand. iii.--in which is seen an elephant, to the left a parrot. a part of the red sea is also shown with the island of taprobana (ceylon), on which are shown two dragons. it also bears an inscription denoting that dragons and elephants are found there. the small islands shown are crise, argire, ophir, and frondisia (aphrodisia). iv.--contains the caspian sea, below which is a figure holding its tail in his hand, and which the author calls the minotaur. to the left is shown one of the albani, who are said to see better at night than in the daytime. below are two warriors in combat with a griffin (fig. ). v.--in the upper part are bokhara and thrace, in the latter of which (fig. ) is shown the pelican feeding its young, to the left a singular figure representing the cicones, and to the right the camel, in bactria. below to the left is the tiger, and on the right an animal with a human head and the body of a lion, called the mantichora. still lower is seen noah's ark (fig. ), in which are shown three human figures, with beasts, birds and serpents. in the lower corner, at fig. , is the golden fleece. vi.--the upper parts contain babylonia, with the city of babylon (fig. ) on the river euphrates, below which is the city of damascus, which has on its right an unknown animal called the marsok. to the right is lot's wife turned into a pillar of salt (fig. ). decapolis and the river jordan are near the bottom of the square. above the river euphrates is a figure in a frame representing the patriarch abraham's residence at ur of the chaldees. vii.--the red sea (figs. , ) is the most conspicuous object here. in the fork formed by it is shown the giving of the tables of the law on mount sinai. below, and touching the line (fig. ) showing the wanderings of the israelites, is seen the worship of the golden calf. the dead sea and submerged cities are shown lower down to the left, and between this and the red sea is the phoenix. at the bottom is a mythical animal with long horns, called the eale. viii.--in the upper part is the monastery of st. anthony in ethiopia. the river to the left is the nile, between this and a great interior lake (figs. , ) is a figure of satyr. beyond the lake, and extending a distance down the map (figs. , , ), are various singular figures, supposed to represent the races dwelling there. in a circular island to the left (meroe) is a man riding a crocodile, and at the bottom left-hand corner is a centaur. ix.--the upper part is scythia, and shows some cannibals, below which (fig. ) are two scythians in combat. under this again is a man leading a horse with a human skin thrown over it, and to the right of the latter is placed the ostrich. x.--asia minor with the black sea (fig. ). many cities are shown prominent, among which is troy (fig. ), described as "_troja civitas bellicosissima_." near the bottom to the left is constantinople. the lynx is shown near the center. xi.--is nearly filled by the holy land. in the center is jerusalem (fig. ), the supposed center of the world, surrounded by a high wall, and above is the crucifixion. below jerusalem to the right is bethlehem with the manger. near a circular place to the right, called _"puteus juramenti"_ (well of the oath), is an unknown bird, called on the map avis cirenus. xii.--egypt with the nile. at the upper part (fig. ) are joseph's granaries, i.e., the pyramids, immediately below which is the salamander, and to the right of that the mandrake. fig. denotes the delta with its cities. { } on the other side of the nile, and partly in sq. xiii., is the rhinoceros, and below it the unicorn. xiii.--ethiopia. in the upper left-hand corner is the sphinx, and near the bottom the temple of jupiter ammon, represented by a singular horse-shoe shaped figure. the camp of alexander the great is in the bottom left-hand corner, immediately above which is the boundary line between asia and africa, xiv.--at the top of the left is norway, in which the author has placed the monkey. the middle is filled by russia. the small circular islands on the left are the orkneys, immediately below which is an inscription relating to the seven sleepers, scotland and part of england are shown in the lower part, but the british isles will be described in sq. xix. the singular triangular figure in the center of this square cannot be identified. xv.--germany, with part of greece, in the upper part to the right. the danube and its tributaries are seen in the upper part, in the lower is the rhine. on the bank of the latter the scorpion is placed; venice is shown on the right, xvi.--contains italy and a great part of the mediterranean sea (fig. ). about the center (fig. ) is rome, which bears the inscription, "roma caput mundi tenet orbis frena rotundi." in the upper part of the mediterranean sea is seen a mermaid, below (fig. ) is the island of crete, with its famous labyrinth, to the left of which is the rock scylla. below crete is sicily (fig. ), on which mount etna is shown; close to sicily is the whirlpool charybdis, xvii.--part of africa; in the lower part to the left, on a promontory, is seen carthage; on the right the leopard is shown. xviii.--also part of africa. the upper part is fezzan, below is shown the basilisk, and still lower some troglodytes or dwellers in caves. xix.--on the left hand are the british isles (figs. , , ), on the right france. great britain (figs. , ) is very fully laid down, but of ireland the author seemed to know but little. in england twenty-six cities and towns are delineated, among which hereford (h'ford) is conspicuous. twenty rivers are also seen, but the only mountains shown are the clee hills. in wales, snowdon is seen, and the towns of carnarvon, conway and st. david's. in ireland four towns, armagh, bangor, dublin and kildare, with two rivers, the banne, which, as shown, divides the island in two, and the shannon. in scotland there are six towns. in france the city of paris (fig. ) is conspicuous. xx.--the upper part is provence, the lower spain. in the mediterranean sea are laid down, among others, the islands of corsica, sardinia, majorca, and minorca. at the bottom are (fig. ) the pillars of hercules (gibraltar), which were considered the extreme western limits of the world. xxi.--at the top to the left (fig. ) is st. augustine of hippo, in his pontifical habit. and at the opposite corner the lion, below which are the agriophagi, a one-eyed people who live on the flesh of lions and other beasts. the kingdoms on the shore of the mediterranean are algiers, setif, and tangier. { } appendix iii. criticisms, comments, documents. human progress. for most people the impossible would apparently be accomplished if a century so far back as the thirteenth were to be even seriously thought of as the greatest of centuries. evolution has come to be accepted so unquestioningly, that of course "we are the heirs of all the ages of the foremost files of time," and must be far ahead of our forbears, especially of the distant past, in everything. when a man talks glibly about great progress in recent times, he usually knows only the history of his own time and not very much about that. men who have studied other periods seriously hesitate about the claim of progress, and the more anyone knows about any other period, the less does he think of his own as surpassing. there are many exemplifications of this in recent literature. because this was a cardinal point in many criticisms of the book, it has seemed well to illustrate the position here taken as to the absence of progress in humanity by quotations from recognized authorities. just as the first edition of this book came from the press, ambassador bryce delivered his address at harvard on "what is progress?" it appeared in the _atlantic monthly_ for august, . mr. bryce is evidently not at all persuaded that there is human progress in any real sense of the word. some striking quotations may be made from the address, but to get the full impression of mr. bryce's reasons for hesitation about accepting any progress, the whole article needs to be read. for instance, he said: "it does not seem possible, if we go back to the earliest literature which survives to us from western asia and southeastern europe, to say that the creative powers of the human mind in such subjects as poetry, philosophy, and historical narrative or portraiture, have either improved or deteriorated. the poetry of the early hebrews and of the early greeks has never been surpassed and hardly ever equaled. neither has the philosophy of plato and aristotle, nor the speeches of demosthenes and cicero. geniuses like dante, chaucer, and shakespeare appear without our being able to account for them, and for aught we know another may appear at any moment. it is just as difficult, if we look back five centuries, to assert either progress or decline in painting. sculpture has never again risen to so high a level as it touched in the fifth century, b. c, nor within the last three centuries, to so high a level as it reached at the end of the fifteenth. but we can found no generalizations upon that fact. music is the most inscrutable of the arts, and whether there is any progress to be expected other { } than that which may come from a further improvement in instruments constituting an orchestra, i will not attempt to conjecture, any more than i should dare to raise controversy by inquiring whether beethoven represents progress from mozart, wagner progress from beethoven." perhaps the most startling evidence on this subject of the absence of evolution in humanity is the opinion of prof. flinders petrie, the distinguished english authority on egyptology, who has added nearly a millennium to the history of egypt. his studies have brought him in intimate contact with egypt from , to , b. c. he has found no reason at all for thinking that our generation is farther advanced in any important qualities than men were during this period. in an article on "the romance of early civilization" (_the independent_, jan. , ), he said: "we have now before us a view of the powers of man at the earliest point to which we can trace written history, and what strikes us most is how very little his nature or abilities have changed in seven thousand years; _what he admired we admire; what were his limits in fine handiwork also are ours_. we may have a wider outlook, a greater understanding of things; our interests may have extended in this interval; but so far as human nature and tastes go, man is essentially unchanged in this interval." . . . "this is the practical outcome of extending our view of man three times as far back as we used to look, and it must teach us how little material civilization is likely in the future to change the nature, the weaknesses, or the abilities of our ancestors in ages yet to come." those who think that man has advanced in practical wisdom during the , years of history, forget entirely the lessons of literature. whenever a great genius has written, he has displayed a knowledge of human nature as great as any to be found at any other time in the world's history. the wisdom of homer and of solomon are typical examples. probably the most striking evidence in this matter is to be found in what is considered to be the oldest book ever written. this is the instructions of ptah hotep to his son. ptah hotep was the vizier of king itosi, of the fifth dynasty of egypt (about b.c.). there is nothing that a father of the modern time would wish to tell his boy as the result of his own experience that is not to be found in this wise advice of a father, nearly , years ago. this was written longer before solomon than solomon is before us, yet no practical knowledge to be gained from intercourse with men has been added to what this careful father of the long ago has written out for his son. the century of origins. to many readers apparently, it has seemed that the main reason for writing of the thirteenth as the greatest of centuries was the fact that the church occupied so large a place in the life of that time, and that, therefore, most of what was accomplished must naturally revert { } to her account. it is not only those who are interested in the old church, however, who have written enthusiastically about the thirteenth century. since writing this volume, i have found that mr. frederick harrison is almost, if not quite, as ardent in his praise of it as i have been. there are many others, especially among the historians of art and of architecture, who apparently have not been able to say all that they would wish in admiration of this supreme century. most of these have not been catholics; and if we place beside mr. frederick harrison, the great positivist of our generation, mr. john morley, the great rationalist, the chorus of agreement on the subject of the greatness of the thirteenth century ought to be considered about complete. mr. morley, in his address on popular culture, delivered as president of the midland institute, england, october, (great essays. putnam, new york), said: "it is the present that really interests us; it is the present that we seek to understand and to explain. i do not in the least want to know what happened in the past, except as it enables me to see my way more clearly through what is happening to-day. i want to know what men thought and did in the thirteenth century, not out of any dilettante or idle antiquarian's curiosity, but because the thirteenth century is at the root of what men think and do in the nineteenth." education. many even of the most benevolent readers of the book have been quite sure that it exaggerated the significance of medieval education and, above all, claimed too much for the breadth of culture given by the early universities. prof. huxley is perhaps the last man of recent times who would be suspected for a moment of exaggerating the import of medieval education. in his inaugural address on universities actual and ideal, delivered as rector of aberdeen university, after discussing the subject very thoroughly, he said: "the scholars of the medieval universities seem to have studied grammar, logic and rhetoric; arithmetic and geometry; astronomy, theology and music. thus their work, however imperfect and faulty, judged by modern lights, it may have been, brought them face to face with all the leading aspects of the many-sided mind of man. for these studies did really contain, at any rate in embryo, sometimes it may be in caricature, what we now call philosophy, mathematical and physical science, and art. _and i doubt if the curriculum of any modern university shows so clear and generous a comprehension of what is meant by culture, as this old trivium and quadrivium does_." (italics ours.) the results of this system of education may be judged best perhaps from dante as an example. in the popes and science (fordham university press, n. y., ) a chapter is devoted to dante as the typical university man of the time, above all in his knowledge of science as displayed in his great poem. no poet of the modern time has { } turned with so much confidence to every phase of science for his figures as this product of medieval universities. anyone who thinks that the study of science is recent, or that nature study was delayed till our day, need only read dante to be completely undeceived. the fact that the scholars and the professors at the universities were almost without exception believers in the possibility of the transmutation of metals in the old days, used to be considered by many educated people as quite sufficient to stamp them as lacking in judgment and as prone to believe all sorts of incredible and even impossible things without justification. such supercilious condemnation of the point of view of the medieval scholars in this matter, however, has recently received a very serious jolt. sometime ago, sir william ramsey, the greatest of living english chemists, announced at the meeting of the british association for the advancement of science, that he had succeeded in changing copper into lithium. this created a sensation at the time, but represented, after all, a culmination of effort in this direction that had long been expected. more recently, sir william has reported to the british chemical society that he has succeeded in obtaining carbon from four substances not containing this element--bismuth, hydro-fluo-silicic acid, thorium and zirconium. an american professor of chemistry has declared that he would like to remove all traces of silver from a quantity of lead ore, and then, after allowing it to stand for some years, have the opportunity to re-examine it, since he is confident that he would find further traces of silver in it that had developed in the meantime. he is sure that the reason why these two metals always occur together, as do copper and, gold, is that they are products of a developmental process, the precious metals being a step farther on in that process than the so-called base metals. it would seem, then, that the medieval scholars were not so silly as they used to appear before we knew enough about the subject to judge them properly. only their supercilious critics were silly. it is probably with regard to the exact sciences that most even educated people are quite sure that the thirteenth century does not deserve to be thought of as representing great human advance. for them the middle ages were drowsily speculative, but never exact in thinking. of course, such people know nothing of the intense exactness of thought of st. thomas or albertus magnus or duns scotus. it would be impossible, moreover, to make them realize, from the writings of these men, how exact human thought actually was in the thirteenth century, though the more that modern students devote themselves to scholastic philosophy, the more surely do they appreciate and admire this very quality in the medieval philosophy. for such people, very probably, the only evidence that would have made quite an adequate answer to their objection, would be a chapter on the mathematics of the thirteenth century. { } that might very easily have been made, for cantor, in his history of mathematics (vorlesungen Ã�ber geschichte der mathematik, leipzig, ), devotes nearly pages of his second volume to the mathematicians of the thirteenth century, two of whom, leonardo of pisa and jordanus nemorarius, did so much in arithmetic, the theory of numbers, algebra and geometry, as to make a revolution in mathematics. cantor says that they accomplished so much, that their contemporaries and successors could scarcely follow them, much less go beyond them. they had great disciples, like john of sacrobusco (probably john of holywood, near dublin), joannes campanus and others. cantor calls attention particularly to the spread of arithmetical knowledge among the masses, which is a well-deserved tribute to the century, for it was a characteristic of the time that the new thoughts and discoveries of scholars were soon made practical and penetrated very widely among the people. brewer, in the preface to roger bacon's works, quotes some of bacon's expressions with regard to the value of mathematics. the english franciscan said: "for without mathematics, nothing worth knowing in philosophy can be attained." and again: "for he who knows not mathematics cannot know any other science; what is more, he cannot discover his own ignorance or find its proper remedy." the term mathematics, as used by bacon, had a much wider application then than now, and brewer notes that the thirteenth century scientist included therein geometry, arithmetic, astronomy, and music. with regard to post-graduate education; the best evidence that, far from any exaggeration of what was accomplished in the thirteenth century, there has been a very conservative estimate of it made in the book, may be gathered from the legally erected standards of the medical schools and the legal status of the medical profession. in the appendix of the popes and science, two bulls are published, issued by pope john xxii. (_circa_, ), establishing medical schools in perugia, at that time in the papal states, and in cahors, the birthplace of this pope. these bulls were really the formal charters of the medical schools. they require three years of preliminary study at the university and four or five years at medicine before the degree of doctor may be granted, and in addition emphasized that the curricula of the new medical schools must be equal to those of paris and bologna. these bulls were issued in the early part of the fourteenth century, and show the height to which the standards of medical education had been raised. there will be found also a law of frederick ii., issued , requiring for all physicians who wished to practice in the two sicilies three years of preliminary study--four years at the medical school and a year of practice with a physician before the diploma which constituted a license to practice would be issued. this law is also a pure drug law forbidding the sale of impure drugs under penalty of confiscation of goods, and the preparation of them under penalty of death. our pure drug law was passed about the time of the issue of the first edition of this book. { } those who ask for the results of this post-graduate training may find them in the story of guy de chauliac, the father of modern surgery. his life formed the basis of a lecture before the johns hopkins medical club that is to be published in the bulletin of john hopkins hospital. it is incorporated in catholic churchmen in science, second series (the dolphin press, phila., ). we know chauliac's work not by tradition, but from his great text-book on surgery. this great papal physician of the fourteenth century operated within the skull, did not hesitate to open the thorax, sewed up wounds of the intestines, and discussed such subjects as hernia, catheterization, the treatment of fractures, and manipulative surgery generally with wonderful technical ability. his book was the most used text-book for the next two centuries, and has won the admiration of everyone who has ever read it. technical education of the masses. some of my friends courteously but firmly have insisted with me that i have greatly exaggerated the technical abilities of the village workmen of the middle ages. that every town of less than ten thousand inhabitants in england was able to supply such workmen as we can scarcely obtain in our cities of a million inhabitants, and in that scanty population supply them in greater numbers than we can now secure them from our teeming populations, seems to many simply impossible. what i have been trying to say, however, in the chapters on the arts and crafts and on popular education, has been much better said by an authority that will scarcely be questioned by my critics. the rev. augustus jessopp, d. d., who has been for twenty years the rector of searning in england, who is an honorary fellow of st. john's college and of worcester college, oxford, besides being an honorary canon in the cathedral of norwich, has devoted much time and study to this question of how the cathedrals were built and finished. twenty years of his life have been spent in the study of the old english parish and of parish life. he has studied the old parish registers, and talks, therefore, not from distant impressions, but from the actual facts as they are recorded. if to his position as an antiquarian authority i add the fact that he is not a member of the roman catholic church, to the credit of which so much of this popular education and accomplishment in the arts and crafts of the century accrues, the value of his evidence is placed entirely above suspicion of partisan partiality. in his chapter on parish life in england, in his book "before the great pillage" (before the great pillage with other miscellanies, by augustus jessopp, d. d., london. t. fisher unwin, paternoster square, ), he says: "the evidence is abundant and positive, and is increasing upon us year by year, that the work done upon the fabrics of our churches, and the other work done in the beautifying of the interior of our churches, such as the woodcarving of our screens, the painting of the lovely { } figures in the panels of those screens, the embroidery of the banners and vestments, the frescoes on the walls, the engraving of the monumental brasses, the stained glass in the windows, and all that vast aggregate of artistic achievements which existed in immense profusion in our village churches till the sixteenth century stripped them bare--all this was executed by local craftsmen. the evidence for this is accumulating upon us every year, as one antiquary after another succeeds in unearthing fragments of pre-reformation church-wardens' accounts. "we have actual contracts for church building and church repairing undertaken by village contractors. we have the cost of a rood screen paid to a village carpenter, of painting executed by local artists. we find the name of an artificer, described as aurifaber, or worker in gold and silver, living in a parish which could never have had five hundred inhabitants; we find the people in another place casting a new bell and making the mould for it themselves; we find the blacksmith of another place forging the iron work for the church door, or we get a payment entered for the carving of the bench ends in a little church five hundred years ago, which bench ends are to be seen in that church at the present moment. and we get fairly bewildered by the astonishing wealth of skill and artistic taste and aesthetic feeling which there must have been in this england of ours, in times which till lately we had assumed to be barbaric times. bewildered, i say, because we cannot understand how it all came to a dead-stop in a single generation, not knowing that the frightful spoliation of our churches and other parish buildings, and the outrageous plunder of the parish gilds in the reign of edward the sixth by the horrible band of robbers that carried on their detestable work, effected such a hideous obliteration, such a clean sweep of the precious treasures that were dispersed in rich profusion over the whole land, that a dull despair of ever replacing what had been ruthlessly pillaged crushed the spirit of the whole nation, and art died out in rural england, and king whitewash and queen ugliness ruled supreme for centuries." my argument is that a century which produced such artist-artisans everywhere, had technical schools in great profusion, though they may not have been called by any such ambitious name. how it all stopped. to most people it seems impossible to understand how it is that, if artistic evolution proceeded to the perfection which it now seems clear that it actually attained in the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries, we are only just getting back to a proper state of public taste and a right degree of artistic skill in many of these same accomplishments at the present time. that thought has come to many others who, knowing and appreciating medieval progress in art and literature, have tried to work out the reasons for the gap that exists between medieval art and modern artistic endeavor. some of these explanations, because they serve to make clear why art evolution stopped so abruptly and we are retracing our steps and taking models from the past rather than doing original work that is an advance, must be quoted here. many people will find in them, i think, the reasons for their misunderstanding of the old times. { } gerhardt hauptmann, who is very well known, even among english-speaking people, as one of the great living german dramatists, and whose "sunken bell" attracted considerable attention in both its german and english versions here in new york, in a recent criticism of a new german book, declared that the reason for the gap between modern and medieval art was the movement now coming to be known as the religious revolt in germany in the sixteenth century. he said: "i, as a protestant, have often had to regret that we purchased our freedom of conscience, our individual liberty, at entirely too high a price. in order to make room for a small, mean little plant of personal life, we destroyed a whole garden of fancy and hewed down a virgin forest of aesthetic ideas. we went even so far in the insanity of our weakness as to throw out of the garden of our souls the fruitful soil that had been accumulating for thousands of years, or else we plowed it under sterile clay. "we have to-day, then, an intellectual culture that is well protected by a hedge of our personality, but within this hedge we have only delicate dwarf trees and unworthy plants, the poorer progeny of great predecessors. we have telegraph lines, bridges and railroads, but there grow no churches and cathedrals, only sentry boxes and barracks. we need gardeners who will cause the present sterilizing process of the soil to stop, and will enrich the surface by working up into it the rich layers beneath. in my work-room there is ever before me the photograph of sebaldus' tomb (model metropolitan museum, new york). this rich german symbol rose from the invisible in the most luxuriant developmental period of german art. as a formal product of that art, it is very difficult to appreciate it as it deserves. it seems to me as one of the most wonderful bits of work in the whole field of artistic accomplishment. the soul of all the great medieval period encircles this silver coffin, wrapping it up into a noble unity, and enthrones on the very summit of death. life as a growing child. such a work could only have come to its perfection in the protected spaces of the old mother church." rev. dr. jessopp, in his book, already cited, "the great pillage," does not hesitate to state in unmistakable terms the reason why all the beauty and happiness went out of english country life some two centuries after the thirteenth century, and how it came about that the modern generations have had to begin over again from the beginning, and not where our catholic forefathers of the medieval period left us, in what used to be the despised middle ages. he says: "when i talk of the great pillage, i mean that horrible and outrageous looting of our churches other than conventual, and the robbing of the people of this country of property in land and movables, which property had actually been inherited by them as members of those organized religious communities known as parishes. it is necessary to emphasize the fact that in the general scramble of the terror under henry the eighth, and of the anarchy in the days of edward the sixth, there was only one class that was permitted to retain any large portion of its endowments. the monasteries were plundered even to their very pots and pans. almshouses in which old men and women were fed and clothed were robbed to the last pound, the poor alms-folk being turned out into the cold at an hour's warning to beg their bread. { } hospitals for the sick and needy, sometimes magnificently provided with nurses and chaplains, whose very raison d'etre was that they were to look after and care for those who were past caring for themselves--these were stripped of all their belongings, the inmates sent out to hobble into some convenient dry ditch to lie down and die in, or to crawl into some barn or hovel, there to be tended, not without fear of consequences, by some kindly man or woman who could not bear to see a suffering fellow creature drop down and die at their own doorposts. "we talk with a great deal of indignation of the tweed ring. the day will come when someone will write the story of two other rings--the ring of the miscreants who robbed the monasteries in the reign of henry the eighth was the first; but the ring of the robbers who robbed the poor and helpless in the reign of edward the sixth was ten times worse than the first. "the universities only just escaped the general confiscation; the friendly societies and benefit clubs and the gilds did not escape. the accumulated wealth of centuries, their houses and lands, their money, their vessels of silver and their vessels of gold, their ancient cups and goblets and salvers, even to their very chairs and tables, were all set down in inventories and catalogues, and all swept into the great robbers' hoard. last, but not least, the immense treasures in the churches, the joy and boast of every man and woman and child in england, who day by day and week by week assembled to worship in the old houses of god which they and their fathers had built, and whose every vestment and chalice and candlestick and banner, organs and bells, and picture and image and altar and shrine they looked upon as their own and part of their birthright--all these were torn away by the rudest spoilers, carted off, they knew not whither, with jeers and scoffs and ribald shoutings, while none dared raise a hand or let his voice be heard above the whisper of a prayer of bitter grief and agony. "one class was spared. the clergy of this church of england of ours managed to retain some of their endowments; but if the boy king had lived another three years, there is good reason for believing that these too would have gone." graft prevailed, and the old order disappeared in a slough of selfishness. comfort and poverty. a number of friendly critics have insisted that _of course_ the thirteenth century was far behind later times in the comfort of the people. poverty is supposed to have been almost universal. doubtless many of the people were then very poor. personally, i doubt if there was as much poverty, that is, misery due to actual want of necessaries of life, as there is at the present time. certainly it was not emphasized by having close to it, constantly rendering the pains of poverty poignant by contrast, the luxury of the modern time. they had not the large city, and people in the country do not suffer as much as people in the city. in recent years, investigations of poverty in england have been appalling in the statistics that they have presented. mr. robert hunter, in his book poverty, has furnished us with some details that make one feel that our generation should be the last to say { } that the thirteenth century was behind in progress, because so many of the people were so poor. ruskin once said that the ideal of the great nation is one wherein there must be "as many as possible full-breathed, bright-eyed and happy-hearted human creatures." i am sure that, tried by this standard, the thirteenth century in merrie england is ahead of any other generation and, above all, far in advance of our recent generations. by contrast to what we know of the merrie english men and women of the thirteenth century, i would quote mr. hunter's paragraphs on the poverty of the modern english people. he says: "a few years ago, england did not know the extent of her own poverty. economists and writers gave opinions of all kinds. some said conditions were 'bad,' others said such statements were misleading; and here they were, tilting at each other, backward and forward, in the most ponderous and serious way, until mr. booth, a business man, undertook to get at the facts. _no one, even the most radical economist, would have dared to have estimated the poverty of london as extending to per cent of the people_ (as it proved). the extent of poverty--the number of underfed, underclothed in insanitary houses--was greater than could reasonably have been estimated." some of the details of this investigation by mr. booth were so startling that some explanation had to be found. they could not deny, in the face of mr. booth's facts, but they set up the claim that the conditions in london were exceptional. then mr. rountree made an investigation in york with precisely the same results. more than one in four of the population was in poverty. to quote mr. hunter once more: "as has been said, it was not until mr. charles booth published, in , the results of his exhaustive inquiries that the actual conditions of poverty in london became known. about , , people, or about thirty per cent of the entire population of london, were found to be unable to obtain the necessaries for a sound livelihood. they were in a state of poverty, living in conditions, if not of actual misery, at any rate bordering upon it. in many districts, considerably more than half of the population were either in distress or on the verge of distress. when these results were made public, the more conservative economists gave it as their opinion that the conditions in london were, of course, exceptional, and that it would be unsafe to make any generalizations for the whole of england on the basis of mr. booth's figures for london. about ten years later, mr. b. s. rountree, incited by the work of mr. booth, undertook a similar inquiry in his native town, york, a small provincial city, in most ways typical of the smaller towns of england. in a large volume in which the results are published, it is shown that the poverty in york was only slightly less extensive than that of london. in the summary, mr. rountree compares the conditions of london with those of york. his comments are as follows: 'the proportions arrived at for the total populations living in poverty in london and york respectively were as under: london-- . per cent york-- . per cent { } the proportion of the population living in poverty in york may be regarded as practically the same as in london, especially when we remember that mr. booth's information was gathered in - , a period of only average trade prosperity, whilst the york figures were collected in , when trade was unusually prosperous.'" he continues: "we have been accustomed to look upon the poverty in london as exceptional, but when the result of careful investigation shows that the proportion of poverty in london is practically equalled in what may be regarded as a typical provincial town, we are faced by the startling probability that from to per cent of the town populations of the united kingdom are living in poverty." most of us will be inclined to think that mr. rountree must exaggerate, and what he calls poverty most of us would doubtless be inclined to think a modest competency a little below respectability. he fixed the standard of twenty-one shillings eight pence ($ . ) a week as a necessary one for a family of ordinary size. he says: "a family living upon the scale allowed for in this estimate, must never spend a penny on railway fare or omnibus. they must never go into the country unless they walk. they must never purchase a half-penny newspaper or spend a penny to buy a ticket for a popular concert. they must write no letters to absent children, for they cannot afford to pay the postage. they must never contribute anything to their church or chapel, nor give any help to a neighbor which costs them money. they cannot save, nor can they join sick club or trade union, because they cannot pay the necessary subscription. the children must have no pocket money for dolls, marbles or sweets. the father must smoke no tobacco nor drink no beer. the mother must never buy any pretty clothes for herself or for her children, the character for the family wardrobe, as for the family diet, being governed by the regulation, 'nothing must be bought but that which is absolutely necessary for the maintenance of physical health, and that which is bought must be of the plainest and most economical description.' should a child fall ill, it must be attended by the family parish doctor; should it die, it must be buried by the parish. finally, the wage-earner must never be absent from his work for a single day." _more than one in four of the population living below this scale!_ conditions are, if anything, worse on the continent. in germany, industry is at the best. conditions in berlin have been recently reported in the daily consular reports by a u. s. government official. of the somewhat more than two millions of people who live in berlin, , , have an income. nearly one-half of the incomes, however, are exempt from taxation because they do not amount to the minimum taxable income, though that is only $ --$ per week. of the , who have taxable incomes, nearly , have less than $ a year; that is, get about $ a day or less. less than sixty thousand out of the total population get more than $ a day. it is easy to say, but hard to understand, that this is a living wage, because things are cheaper in germany. meat is, however, nearly twice as dear; sugar is twice as dear; bread is dearer than it is in this country; coffee is dearer; and only rent is somewhat cheaper. { } it is easy to talk about the spread of comfort among the people of our generation and the raising of the standard of living, but if one compares these wages with the price of things as they are now, it is hard to understand on just what basis of fact the claim for betterment in our time, meaning more general comfort and happiness, is made. people always refuse to believe that conditions are as bad as they really are in these matters. americans will at once have the feeling, on reading mr. hunter and mr. rountree's words and the account of the american consul at berlin, that this may be true for england and germany, but that of course it is very different here in america. it is extremely doubtful whether it is very different here in america. in this matter, mr. hunter's opinion deserves weight. he has for years devoted himself to gathering information with regard to this subject. he seems to be sure that one in seven of our population is in poverty. probably the number is higher than this. here is his opinion: "how many people in the country are in poverty? is the number yearly growing larger? are there each year more and more of the unskilled classes pursuing hopelessly the elusive phantom of self-support and independence? are they, as in a dream, working faster, only the more swiftly to move backward? are there each year more and more hungry children and more and more fathers whose utmost effort may not bring into the home as much energy in food as it takes out in industry? these are not fanciful questions, nor are they sentimental ones. i have not the slightest doubt that there are in the united states ten million persons in precisely these conditions of poverty, but i am largely guessing, and there may be as many as fifteen or twenty millions!" perhaps mr. hunter exaggerates. as a physician, i should be inclined to think not; but certainly his words and, above all, the english statistics will give any one pause who is sure, on general principles, that the great mass of the people are happier now or more comfortable, above all, in mind--the only real happiness--than they were in the thirteenth century. after due consideration of this kind, no one will insist on the comparative misery and suffering of the poor in old times. england had less than , , in the thirteenth century, and probably there was never a time in her history when a greater majority of her people fulfilled ruskin's and morris' ideals of happy-hearted human beings. the two-handed worker got at least what the four-footed worker, in carlyle's words, has always obtained, due food and lodging. england was not "a nation with sleek, well-fed english horses, and hungry, dissatisfied englishmen." comfort and happiness. there is another side to the question of comparative happiness that may be stated in the words of william morris, when he says, in "hopes and fears for art," that a greek or a roman of the luxurious time (and of course _a fortiori_ a medieval of the thirteenth century) would { } stare astonished could he be brought back again and shown the comforts of a well-to-do middle-class house. this expression is often re-echoed, and one is prone to wonder how many of those who use it realize that it is a quotation, and, above all, appreciate the fact that morris made the statement in order to rebut it. his answer is in certain ways so complete that it deserves to be quoted. "when you hear of the luxuries of the ancients, you must remember that they were not like our luxuries, they were rather indulgence in pieces of extravagant folly than what we to-day call luxury--which, perhaps, you would rather call comfort; well, i accept the word, and say that a greek or a roman of the luxurious time would stare astonished could he be brought back again and shown the comforts of a well-to-do middle-class house. "but some, i know, think that the attainment of these very comforts is what makes the difference between civilization and uncivilization--that they are the essence of civilization. is it so indeed? farewell my hope then! i had thought that civilization meant the attainment of peace and order and freedom, of good-will between man and man, of the love of truth and the hatred of injustice, and by consequence the attainment of the good life which these things breed, a life free from craven fear, but full of incident; that was what i thought it meant, not more stuffed chairs and more cushions, and more carpets and gas, and more dainty meat and drink--and therewithal more and sharper differences between class and class. "if that be what it is, i for my part wish i were well out of it and living in a tent in the persian desert, or a turf hut on the iceland hillside. but, however it be, and i think my view is the true view, i tell you that art abhors that side of civilization; she cannot breath in the houses that lie under its stuffy slavery. "believe me, if we want art to begin at home, as it must, we must clear our houses of troublesome superfluities that are forever in our way, conventional comforts that are no real comforts, and do but make work for servants and doctors. if you want a golden rule that will fit everybody, this is it: 'have nothing in your houses that you do not know to be useful or believe to be beautiful.'" comfort and health. a comment on william morris's significant paragraphs may be summed up in some reflections on the scornful expression of a friend who asked, how is it possible to talk of happiness at a time when there were no glass in windows and no heating apparatus except the open fireplace in the great hall of the larger houses, or in the kitchen of the dwelling houses. to this there is the ready answer that, in the modern time, we have gone so far to the opposite extreme as to work serious harm to health. when a city dweller develops tuberculosis, his physician now sends him out to the mountains, asks him to sleep with his window wide open, and requires him to spend just as much of his time as possible in the open air, even with the temperature below zero. in our hospitals, the fad for making patients comfortable by artificial heat is passing, and that of stimulating them by cold, fresh air is gaining ground. we know that, for all the fevers and all the respiratory { } diseases this brings about a notable reduction in the mortality. surely, what is good for the ailing must be even better to keep them well from disease. many a physician now arranges to sleep out of doors all winter. certainly all the respiratory diseases are rendered much more fatal and modern liability to them greatly increased by our shut-up houses. the medieval people were less comfortable, from a sensual standpoint, but the healthy glow and reaction after cold probably made them enjoy life better than we do in our steam-heated houses. they secured bodily warmth by an active circulation of their blood. we secure it by the circulation of hot water or steam in our houses. ours may be the better way, but the question is not yet absolutely decided. a physician friend points to the great reduction in the death-rate in modern times, and insists that this, of course, means definite progress. even this is not quite so sure as is often thought. we are saving a great many lives that heretofore, in the course of nature, under conditions requiring a more vigorous life, passed out of existence early. it is doubtful, however, whether this is an advantage for the race, since our insane asylums, our hospitals for incurables and our homes of various kinds now have inmates in much greater proportion to the population than ever before in history. these are mainly individuals of lower resistive vitality, who would have been allowed to get out of existence early, save themselves and their friends from useless suffering, and whose presence in life does not add greatly if at all to the possibilities of human accomplishment. our reduced death-rate is, because of comfort seeking, more than counterbalanced by a reduced birth-rate, so that no advantage is reaped for the race in the end. these reflections, of course, are only meant to suggest how important it is to view such questions from all sides before being sure that they represent definite progress for humanity. progress is much more elusive than is ordinarily thought, and is never the simple, unmistakable movement of advance it is often thought. hygiene. the objection that medical friends have had to the claims of the thirteenth as the greatest of centuries is that it failed to pay any attention to hygiene. here, once more, we have a presumption that is not founded on real knowledge of the time. it is rather easy to show that these generations were anticipating many of our solutions of hygienic problems quite as well as our solutions of other social and intellectual difficulties. in the sketch of pope john xxi., the physician who became pope during the second half of the thirteenth century, which was published in ophthalmology, a quarterly review of eye diseases (jan., ), because pope john wrote a little book on this subject which has many valuable anticipations of modern knowledge, i called attention to the fact that, while a physician and professor of { } medicine at the medical school of the university of sienna, this pope, then known as peter of spain, had made some contributions to sanitary science. later he was appointed archiater, that is, physician in charge of the city of rome. as pointed out in the sketch of him as enlarged for the volume containing a second series of catholic churchmen in science (the dolphin press, phila., ), he seems to have been particularly interested in popular health, for we have a little book, thesaurus pauperum--the treasure of the poor--which contains many directions for the maintenance of health and the treatment of disease by those who are too poor to secure physicians' advice. the fact that the head of the bureau of health in rome should have been made pope in the thirteenth century, itself speaks volumes for the awakening of the educated classes at least to the value of hygiene and sanitation. their attention to hygiene can be best shown by a consideration of the hospitals. ordinarily it is assumed that the hospitals provided a roof for the sick and the injured, but scarcely more. most physicians will probably be quite sure that they were rather hot-beds of disease than real blessings to the ailing. that is not what we find when we study them carefully. these generations gave us a precious lesson by eradicating leprosy, which was quite as general as tuberculosis is now, and they made special hospitals for erysipelas, which materially lessened the diffusion of that disease. in rewriting the chapter on the foundation of city hospitals for my book, the popes and science (fordham university press, n. y., ), i incorporated into it a description of the hospital erected at tanierre, in france, in , by marguerite of bourgogne, the sister of st. louis. of this hospital mr. arthur dillon, from the standpoint of the modern architect, says: "it was an admirable hospital in every way, and it is doubtful if we to-day surpass it. it was isolated, the ward was separated from the other buildings; it had the advantage we often lose, of being but one story high, and more space was given to each patient than we now afford. "the ventilation by the great windows and ventilators in the ceiling was excellent; it was cheerfully lighted, and the arrangement of the gallery shielded the patients from dazzling light and from draughts from the windows, and afforded an easy means of supervision, while the division by the roofless, low partitions isolated the sick and obviated the depression that comes from the sight of others in pain. "it was, moreover, in great contrast to the cheerless white wards of to-day. the vaulted ceiling was very beautiful; the woodwork was richly carved, and the great windows over the altars were filled with colored glass. altogether, it was one of the best examples of the best period of gothic architecture." in their individual hygiene there was, of course, much to be desired among the people of the thirteenth century, and it has been declared that the history of europe from the fifth to the fifteenth century might, from the hygienic standpoint, he summed up as a thousand years without a bath. the more we know about this period, however, the less of { } point do we find in the epigram. mr. cram, in the ruined abbeys of great britain (pott & co., n. y., ), has described wonderful arrangements within the monasteries (!) for the conduction of water from long distances for all toilet purposes. there was much more attention to sanitary details than we have been prone to think. mr. cram, in describing what was by no means one of the greatest of the english abbeys of the thirteenth century, says: "here at beaulieu the water was brought by an underground conduit from an unfailing spring a mile away, and this served for drinking, washing and bathing, the supply of the fish ponds, and for a constant flushing of the elaborate system of drainage. in sanitary matters, the monks were as far in advance of the rest of society as they were in learning and agriculture." wages and the condition op working people. what every reader of the thirteenth century seems to be perfectly sure of is that, whatever else there may have been in this precious time, at least the workmen were not well paid and men worked practically for nothing. it is confessed that, of course, working as they did on their cathedrals, they had a right to work for very little if they wished, but at least there has been a decided step upward in evolution in the gradual raising of wages, until at last the workman is beginning to be paid some adequate compensation. there is probably no phase of the life of the middle ages with regard to which people are more mistaken than this supposition that the workmen of this early time were paid inadequately. i have already called attention to the fact that the workmen of this period claimed and obtained "the three eights"--eight hours of work, eight hours of sleep and eight hours for recreation and bodily necessities. they obtained the saturday half-holiday, and also release from work on the vigils of all feast days, and there were nearly forty of these in the year. after the vesper hour, that is, three in summer and two in winter, there was no work on the eves of holy-days of obligation. with regard to wages, there is just one way to get at the subject, and that is, to present the legal table of wages enacted by parliament, placing beside it the legal maximum price of necessities of life, as also determined by parliamentary enactment. an act of edward iii. fixes the wages, without food, as follows. there are many other things mentioned, but the following will be enough for our purpose: [price in shillings and pence; s. d.] s. d. a woman hay-making, or weeding corn for the day-- a man filling dung-cart-- - / a reaper-- mowing an acre of grass-- threshing a quarter of wheat-- { } the price of shoes, cloth and provisions, throughout the time that this law continued in force, was as follows: [price in pounds, shillings and pence; s. d.] £. s. d. a pair of shoes-- russet broadcloth, the yard-- a stall fed ox-- a grass fed ox-- a fat sheep unshorn-- a fat sheep shorn-- a fat hog two years old-- a fat goose-- - / . ale, the gallon, by proclamation-- wheat, the quarter-- white wine, the gallon-- red wine-- an act of parliament of the fourteenth century, in fixing the price of meat, names the four sorts of meat--beef, pork, mutton and veal, and sets forth in its preamble the words, "these being the food of the poorer sort." the poor in england do not eat these kinds of meat now, and the investigators of the poverty of the country declare that most of the poor live almost exclusively on bread. the fact of the matter is, that large city populations are likely to harbor many very miserable people, while the rural population of england in the middle ages, containing the bulk of the people, were happy-hearted and merry. when we recall this in connection with what i have given in the text with regard to the trades-unions and their care for the people, the foolish notion, founded on a mere assumption and due to that aristophanic joke, our complacent self-sufficiency, which makes us so ready to believe that our generation _must_ be better off than others were, vanishes completely. it is easy to understand that beef, pork, mutton, veal and even poultry were the food of the poor, when a workman could earn the price of a sheep in less than four days or buy nearly two fat geese for his day's wages. a day laborer will work from forty to fifty days now to earn the price of an ox on the hoof, and it was about the same at the close of the thirteenth century. when a fat hog costs less than a dollar, a man's wages, at eight cents a day, are not too low. when a gallon of good ale can be obtained for two cents, no workman is likely to go dry. when a gallon of red wine can be obtained for a day's wages, it is hard to see any difference between a workman of the olden time and the present in this regard. two yards of cloth made a coat for a gentleman and cost only a little over two shillings. the making of it brought the price of it up to two shilling and six pence. these prices are taken from the preciosum of bishop fleetwood, who took them from the accounts kept by the bursars of convents. fleetwood's book is accepted very generally as an excellent authority in the history of economics. { } cobbett, in his history of the protestant reformation, has made an exhaustive study of just this question of the material and economic condition of the people of england before and since the reformation. he says: "these things prove, beyond all dispute, that england was, in catholic times, a real wealthy country; that wealth was generally diffused; that every part of the country abounded in men of solid property; and that, of course, there were always great resources at hand in cases of emergency." ... "in short, everything shows that england was then a country abounding in men of real wealth." fortesque, the lord high chancellor of england under henry vi., king a century after the thirteenth, has this to say with regard to the legal and economic conditions in england in his time. some people may think the picture he gives an exaggeration, but it was written by a great lawyer with the definite idea of giving a picture of the times, and, under ordinary circumstances, we would say that there could be no better authority. "the king of england cannot alter the laws, or make new ones, without the express consent of the whole kingdom in parliament assembled. every inhabitant is at his liberty fully to use and enjoy whatever his farm produceth, the fruits of the earth, the increase of his flock and the like--all the improvements he makes, whether by his own proper industry or of those he retains in his service, are his own, to use and enjoy, without the let, interruption or denial of any. if he be in any wise injured or oppressed, he shall have his amends and satisfactions against the party offending. hence it is that the inhabitants are rich in gold, silver, and in all the necessaries and conveniences of life. they drink no water unless at certain times, upon a religious score, and by way of doing penance. they are fed in great abundance, with all sorts of flesh and fish, of which they have plenty everywhere; they are clothed throughout in good woollens, their bedding and other furniture in the house are of wool, and that in great store. they are also well provided with all sorts of household goods and necessary implements for husbandry. every one, according to his rank, hath all things which conduce to make mind and life easy and happy." interest and loans. a number of commercial friends have been interested in the wonderful story of business organizations traced in the chapter on great beginnings of modern commerce. they have all been sure, however, that it is quite idle to talk of great commercial possibilities at a time when ecclesiastical regulations forbade the taking of interest. this would seem to make it quite impossible that great commercial transactions could be carried on, yet somehow these people succeeded in accomplishing them. a number of writers on economics in recent years have suggested that possibly one solution of the danger to government and popular rights from the accumulation of large fortunes might be avoided by a return to the system of prohibition of interest taking. there is { } much more in that proposition than might possibly be thought by those who are unfamiliar with it from serious consideration. they did succeed in getting on without it in the thirteenth century, and at the same time they solved the other problem of providing loans, not alone for business people, but for all those who might need them. we are solving the "loan shark" evil at the present time in nearly the same way that they solved it seven centuries ago. abbot gasquet, in his "parish life in england before the reformation," describes the methods of the early days as follows: "the parish wardens had their duties towards the poorer members of the district. in more than one instance they were guardians of the common chest, out of which temporary loans could be obtained by needy parishioners, to tide over persons in difficulties. these loans were secured by pledges and the additional security of other parishioners. no interest was charged for the use of the money, and in case the pledge had to be sold, everything over and above the sum lent was returned to the borrower." the eighteenth lowest of centuries. there is no doubt that the nineteenth century, and especially the latter half of it, saw some very satisfactory progress over immediately preceding times. with the recognition of this fact, that the last century so far surpassed its predecessor there has been a tendency to assume, because evolution occupies men's minds, that the eighteenth must have quite as far surpassed the seventeenth, and the seventeenth the sixteenth, and so on, so that of course we are far ahead in everything of the despised middle ages. in recent years, indeed, we have dropped the attitude of blaming the earlier ages, for one of complacent pity that they were not born soon enough, and, therefore, could not enjoy our advantages. unfortunately for any such conclusion as this, the term of comparison nearest to us, the eighteenth century is without doubt the lowest hundred years in human accomplishment, at least during the past seven centuries. this is true for every form of human endeavor and every phase of human existence. prof. goodyear, of the brooklyn institute of arts and science, the well-known author of a series of books on art and history, in one of the chapters of his handbook on renaissance and modern art (new york, the mcmillan co.), in describing the greek revival of the latter part of the eighteenth century says: "according to our accounts so far throughout this whole book, either of architecture, painting, or sculpture, it will appear that the earlier nineteenth century represents the foot of a hill, whose gradual descent began about ." as a matter of fact, in every department of artistic expression the taste of the eighteenth century was almost the worst possible. the monuments that we have from that time, in the shape of churches and municipal buildings, are few, but such as they are, they are the least { } worthy of imitation, and the art ideas they represent are most to be deprecated of any in the whole history of modern art. perhaps the most awful arraignment of the eighteenth and early nineteenth century that was ever made is that of mr. cram, in the ruined abbeys of great britain, from which i have already quoted. he calls attention to the fact that, during this century, some of the most beautiful sculptured work that ever came from the hand of man was torn out of the ruins of st. mary's abbey, york, to serve no better purpose than to make lime. his description of the sculpture of the abbey will give some idea of its beauty and render all the more poignant the loss that was thus inflicted on art. he says: "most wonderful of all amongst a horde of smaller statues, a mutilated fragment of a statue of our lady and the holy child, so consummate in its faultless art that it deserves a place with the masterpieces of sculpture of every age and race. here in this dim and scanty undercraft is an epitome of the english art of four centuries, precious and beautiful beyond the power of words to describe. "york abbey was a national monument, the aesthetic and historic value of which was beyond computation. it is with feelings of horror and unutterable dismay that, as we stand beside the few existing fragments, realizing the irreparable loss they make so clear, we call into mind henry's sacrilege in the sixteenth century, and his silly palace doomed to instant destruction, and the crass ignorance and stolidity of the eighteenth century with its grants of building material, and the mercenary savagery of the nineteenth century when, from smoking lime kilns rose into the air the vanishing ghosts of the noblest creations that owed their existence to man. "nothing is sadder to realize than the failure of appreciation for art of the early nineteenth and the eighteenth century. men had lost, apparently, all proper realization of the value of artistic effort and achievement. it was an era of travel and commerce and, unfortunately, of industrial development. as a consequence, in many parts of europe, and especially of england, art remains of inestimable value suffered at the hands of utilitarians who found them of use in their enterprises. we are accustomed to rail against the barbarians and the turks for their failure to appreciate the remains of latin and greek art and for their wanton destruction of them, but what shall we say of modern englishmen, who quite as ruthlessly destroyed objects of art of equal value at least with roman and greek, while the great body of the nation made no complaint, and no protest was heard anywhere in the kingdom." what is so true of the arts is, as might be reasonably expected, quite as true of other phases of intellectual development. education, for instance, is at the lowest ebb that it has reached since the foundation of the universities at the end of the twelfth century. in germany, there was only one university, that of göttingen, in which there was a professorship of greek. when winckelmann introduced the study of greek into his school at seehausen, no school-books for this language were available, and he was obliged to write out texts for his students. what was the case in germany was also true, to a great { } degree, of the rest of europe. leading french critics ridiculed the greek authors. homer was considered a ballad singer and compared to the street singers of paris. voltaire thought that the aeneid of virgil was superior to all that the greek writers had ever done. no edition of plato had been published in europe since the end of the sixteenth century. other greek authors were almost as much neglected, and of true scholarship there was very little. when cardinal newman, in his idea of a university, wants to find the lowest possible term of comparison for the intellectual life of the university, he takes the english universities of the middle of the eighteenth century. with this neglect of education, and above all of the influence that greek has always had in chastening and perfecting taste, it is not surprising that literature was in every country of europe at a very low ebb. it was not so feeble as art, but the two are interdependent, much more than is usually thought. only france has anything to show in literature that has had an enduring influence in the subsequent centuries. when we compare the french literature of the eighteenth with that of the seventeenth century, however, it is easy to see how much of a descent there has been from corneille, racine, moliêre, boileau, la fontaine, bossuet, bourdaloue, and fénelon to voltaire, marivaux, lesage, diderot, and bernardin de st. pierre. this same decadence of literature can be noted even more strikingly in england, in spain, and in italy. the seventeenth, especially the first half of it, saw the origin of some of the greatest works of modern literature. the eighteenth century produced practically nothing that was to live and be a vital force in aftertimes. what is true in art, letters and education is, above all, true in what men did for liberty and for their fellow-men. hospital organization and the care of the ailing was at its lowest ebb during the eighteenth century. jacobson, the german historian of the hospitals, says: [footnote ] [footnote : beiträge zur geschichte des krankencomforts. deutsche krankenpflege zeitung, , in parts.] "it is a remarkable fact that attention to the well-being of the sick, improvements in hospitals and institutions generally and to details of nursing care, had a period of complete and lasting stagnation after the middle of the seventeenth century, or from the close of the thirty years' war. neither officials nor physicians took any interest in the elevation of nursing or improving the conditions of hospitals. during the first two-thirds of the eighteenth century, nothing was done to bring either construction or nursing to a better state. solely among the religious orders did nursing remain an interest, and some remnants of technique survive. the result was that, in this period, the general level of nursing fell far below that of earlier periods. the hospitals of cities were like prisons, with bare, undecorated walls and little dark rooms, small windows where no sun could enter, and dismal wards where fifty or one hundred patients were crowded together, deprived of all comforts and even of necessaries. in the municipal and state institutions of this period, the beautiful gardens, roomy halls, and { } springs of water of the old cloister hospital of the middle ages were not heard of, still less the comforts of their friendly interiors." as might be expected, with the hospitals so badly organized, the art of nursing was in a decay that is almost unutterable. miss nutting, of johns hopkins hospital, the superintendent of nurses, and miss dock, the secretary of the international council of nurses, have in their history of nursing a chapter on the dark period of nursing, in which the decadence of the eighteenth century, in what regards the training of nurses for the intelligent care of the sick, is brought out very clearly. they say: [footnote ] [footnote : a history of nursing, by m. adelaide nutting and lavinia l. dock, in two volumes, illustrated. g. p. putnam's sons, new york, .] "it is commonly agreed that the darkest known period in the history of nursing was that from the latter part of the seventeenth up to the middle of the nineteenth century. during the time, the condition of the nursing art, the well-being of the patient, and the status of the nurse, all sank to an indescribable level of degradation." taine, in his history of the old regimé of france, has told the awful story of the attitude of the so-called better classes toward the poor. while conditions were at their worst in france, every country in europe saw something of the same thing. in certain parts of germany conditions were, if possible, worse. it is no wonder that the french revolution came at the end of the eighteenth century, and that a series of further revolutions during the nineteenth century were required to win back some of the rights which men had gained for themselves in earlier centuries and then lost, sinking into a state of decadence out of which we are only emerging, though in most countries we have not reached quite the level of human liberty and, above all, of christian democracy that our forefathers had secured seven centuries ago. with these considerations in mind, it is easier to understand how men in the later nineteenth century and beginning twentieth century are prone to think of their periods as representing an acme in the course of progress. there is no doubt that we are far above the eighteenth century. that, however, was a deep valley in human accomplishment, indeed, a veritable slough of despond, out of which we climbed; and, looking back, are prone to think how fortunate we are in having ascended so high, though beyond our vision on the other side of the valley the hills rise much higher into the clouds of human aspiration and artistic excellence than anything that we have attained as yet. indeed, whenever we try to do serious work at the present time, we confessedly go back from four to seven centuries for the models that we must follow. with renaissance art and gothic architecture and the literature before the end of the sixteenth century cut out of our purview, we would have nothing to look to for models. this phase of history needs to be recalled by all those who would approach with equanimity the consideration of the thirteenth as the greatest of centuries. { } index. a. abbey schools, ; of st. victor, aberration of light, abingdon, edmund of, adam of st. victor, age of students, - albertus magnus, alchemies, alfonso the wise, aliens' rights, allbutt, prof., amiens, andrew ii, golden bull, angel choir, , angelo on dante, anselm, antipodes, , ants in dante, appreciation of art, aquinas, ; and albertus, ; appreciation of, ; capacity for work, ; education, ; on existence of god, ; on liberty and society, ; at paris, ; as a poet, ; and pope leo xiii, ; on resurrection, ; tributes to, arbitration, arena padua, arezzo, arnaud, daniel, arnaud de marveil, arnold, matthew, and francis, art and the friars, artemus ward, arts and crafts, arthur legends, , arundel, countess of, asbestos, ascoli, cope, , assisi, assizes of clarendon, ; of jerusalem, avignon, b. bacon, barbarossa, barbizon school, basil valentine, bateson, miss, beau dieu, beautiful god, beauty and usefulness, beauvoisis, statutes of, bell-making, beowulf, berrengaria, queen, bernardo del carpio, bernart de ventadorn, bernard of cluny, or morlaix, bertrand de born, bestiarium, bible study, , blanche of castile, , ; as a mother, ; as a ruler, blessed work, boileau, stephen, boniface vii and american revolution, books, beautiful, ; bequests, ; collecting, , ; great stone, booklovers, book-learning, book of arts, deeds, words, borgo allegri, botany, bracton, bracton's digest, , bremen, brook farm, c. cahors, calendar, calvi, college of, capital, english, created, canon law, codified, canticle of sun, carlyle, minnesong, ; nibelungen, case histories, casimir the great, caspian not a gulf, castles and armories, catalogues of libraries, cathedral symbolism, cavalcanti, celano, chalices, charity organizations, , chartres, glass, ; windows, chauliac, chemistry, ; not forbidden, chester cycle, , chrestien de troyes, chronicles, cid, el, cimabue, , , cino da pistoia, circulating libraries, clare, st., and st. francis, clare, st., ; character, ; happiness, ; life, clarendon assizes, ; constitutions, clerics at the universities, cloisters, lateran, ; st. paul's, rome, coal, code of hammurabi, coeducation, colleges, origin of, cologne, common law, commentaries on law, common pleas, comparative university attendance, compayré, complaints of books, composition of matter, condorcet, conrad of kirchberg, conservation of energy, cope of ascoli, corrections, optical, { } cost of books, crusades and democracy, ; greene, on, ; storrs on, ; stubbs on, curtain lectures, d. dante da maiano, dante and children, ; and milton, ; and virgil, ; education, ; in america, ; in england, ; in germany, ; in italy, ; not alone, ; power of observation, ; present estimation, ; sonnets, ; troubadour, ; universality, dante-gesellschaft, dean church's dante, decay of philosophy, declaration of independence, swiss, degrees, de maistre, democracy and the crusades, ; guilds, denifle, de roo on pre-columbian america, dialectics, dies irae, admirers of, ; supreme, dietmar von eist, digest of common law, discipline at universities, ; and democracy, disease segregation, dissection not forbidden, dominicans and art, ; and books, st. dominic, ; and st. francis, donatus, deposition for ignorance of, drama and st. francis, durandus, , e. education, classes, ; masses, ; popular, ; of women, four periods, edward i, , edward vi and charity, ; education, el cid, ; battle scene, ; daughters' innocence, ; marriage, ; single author, emulation of workers, encyclopedia, enforcement of law, english democracy, enterprise, commercial, epic poetry, equality of women, , erysipelas segregated, evelyn's diary, evolution and man, experiment, explosives, exultet, f. fehmic courts, felix of valois, feminine education, ; four periods, reasons for decline, ferguson, francis, st., great disciples, ; in drama, ; influence still, ; life, ; literary man, ; modern interest in, ; ruskin on, ; second order, ; third order, ; troubadour, franciscans and art, ; explorers, fraternal insurance, fraternity, initiations, frederick ii, freedom, development of, free cities, ; schools, freemen's rights, friars, ; green's tribute to, ; explorers, froude, ; on reynard, furniture, finsen anticipated, five sisters, york, , founder of hospitals, g. gaddi, , galsang gombeyev, geography, german guild-hall, london, gerontius' dream, gild merchant, giotto, , , ; appreciation of, ; immense work, giotto's tower, gladstone and richard de bury, glosses, law, goethe's reynard, goerres, gohier, urbain, golden bull, golden legend, goodyear, gothic, development, ; english, ; french, north german, ; sculpture, - ; spanish, ; varieties, , , grail legends, gratian, gray, green on matthew paris, greatness of an epoch, gregorian chant, grotesque in dante, grounds of ignorance, guido de montpelier, guido, guilds, ; and the drama, ; and democracy, ; boston, ; london, ; number, ; rules, ; list of, h. hamburg, hamilton, hammurabi, hansa alamanniae, ; and denmark, ; geese cackle, ; obscurity of origin, harper, hartman von aue, hayton, healing by first intention, herodotus and marco polo, history, so-called, , appendix hollandus, { } homer, hospitals, earliest, ; england, hotel dieu, ; endowment, human life, value, human rights, humboldt on dante, - humboldt, humor in mystery plays, humphreys, huysmans, hymns often heard, ; and languages, ; seven greatest, i. ignorance and servitude, illuminated books, indestructibility of matter, international court, ; comity, ; fraternity, irnerius, , iron work, j. jenghis khan, jerusalem the golden, jessopp, rev. augustus, job, jocelyn of brakelond, ; and boswell, ; selection, john of carpini, john of matha, john of monte corvino, - joinville and the poor, ; selection, journeymen, justinian, english, k. kenilworth, kidney disease, l. lafenestre, - lamentations, lanfranc, , lancelot, lateran, council of, laurie, , , , law, canon, ; french, ; german, ; glosses, ; hungarian, ; polish, ; spanish, lea, henry c, league, lombard, legenda aurea, lending of books, lending of professors, leo xiii, lepers, louis ix and, leprosy eradicated, lerida, lhasa entered, liberties and customs, ; english, ; hungary and poland, library of la ste. chapelle, ; circulating, , ; of hotel dieu, ; of the sorbonne, lincoln, lingard, literature for women, lodge, sir oliver, longfellow, ; dante, louis ix, ; books, ; charity, ; crusades, ; education, ; father, - ; husband, ; justice, , ; law, ; monks, ; son, lowell on dante, lübeck punished, ; laws, lully, lunar rainbows, m. mabel rich, maccarthy, magna charta, , ; development of, ; excerpts, , et seq. malory, mandeville, manning on dante, map or mapes, walter, - march on latin hymns, marco millioni, maria di novella, masterpieces, matter and form, ; constitution of, matthew paris, ; green's tribute, meaning of cathedral, meistersingers, merchants' privileges, merrie england, metaphysical speculations, - method of study, meyer, middle ages, place of, middle class students, mill, millet, minnesingers, modern war correspondents anticipated, , mondino, money and privileges, money grabbers, monks, idle, ; explorers, monroe, montalembert, monks, ; laws, montpelier, morley, henry, , , , most read books. ten, motor cars, music, church, ; part, mutual aid, mystery plays, players, , ; bible study, ; influence, n. names, medieval, nations, neale, needlework, nerve suture, newman's tribute to dante, new york times building, nibelungen, noah and wife, nolasco, peter, notebook, the elegant, novgorod founded, numbers of students, , et seq nurses' habits, o. odoric, one thing a day, optics, { } optical corrections, opus majus, organized charity, osler, , oxford, p. padua, pagel, ; on vincent of beauvais, palencia, pange lingua, papal court and academy, parliament, first english, parzifal, peace burgs, pennell, elizabeth robbins, peregrinus, - perugia, petroleum, peyrols, philobiblon, philosophic writers, phosphorescence in dante, physical geography, place of women, plain chant, plumptre's dante, polo, marco, poor students, poor, washing feet of, popes and laws, pope alexander iv, ; boniface viii, ; gregory ix, , ; honorius iv, , ; innocent iii, , , population of england, potamian, brother, piacenza, practical knowledge, preparatory schools, pre-renaissance, , professors' publications, progress of liberty, q. queen berengaria, queen blanche of castile, r. ransom of prisoners, raymond of pennafort, real estate law, redemption of captives, red-light therapy, religious order for erysipelas, ; for slaves, reinach, , , representative government, , renaissance, reynard the fox, ; original, rheims, , rhenish cities, rhymed latin, rhyme, origin, richard coeur de lion, richard de bury, ; as a churchman, ; chaplains, ; charity, ; place in history, rich, mabel, ; and her sons, robinson, fr. paschal, , rod in school, roland, romance of rose, ; charge of dullness, ; poor happy, ; misers miserable, ; satire on money grabbers, rossetti on dante, rubruquis, ; on customs, ; on languages, , rucellai madonna, rudolph of hapsburg, , appendix ruskin, , , , rusticiano, s. sadness absent in gothic art, saintsbury, , , , , , , saladin, salamanca, salamander, asbestos, salicet, salimbene, friar, salisbury, saturday, half-holiday, schaff, , scholasticism and style, sculpture, amiens, , ; rheims, st. denis, settlement work, ; seneca, siena, sigbart, simon de montfort, social unrest, sorbonne, robert, sordello, st. bonaventure, , ; clare, , ; dominic, ; edmund, , ; elizabeth, , ; ferdinand, ; hugh, , ; thomas, st. gall, st. john, lateran, st. mary's abbey, st. paul's, rome, st. victor, adam and hugh of, stabat mater, ; translations, stained glass, ; lincoln, ; york, stevenson, r. m., storrs on crusades, stubbs on crusades, students, support of, studies, studium generale, symbolism, systematizing thought, t. tarragona, tartars, book of, tasso and nibelungen, taste, popular, tate, taxation and representation, ; no, without representation, "the three eights," thibet, thomas, st., see aquinas thule, toledo, toulouse, towns and cathedrals, trade facilities, travel, medieval, troubadours, trouvères, turner, , training intellect { } u. ungreek, only thing, universitas, university, bologna, , ; foundation, ; orleans, ; oxford, ; paris, , ; salernum, ; roughness, v. vehmgerichte, vercelli, vicenza, vienna cathedral, vigilance committees, vigils, holidays, villehardouin, ; and xenophon, vincent of beauvais, ; and historical writers, ; methods, ; style, virchow and evolution, ; on hospitals, ; on pope innocent, vocation for women, vogelweide, voragine, jacobus de, w. wandering students, wanderjahre, water cure, wernher, whewell, widows, magna charta, william of rubruk, william of salicet, william of st. gregory, wolfram von eschenbach, women, in hospitals, ; in literature, ; occupations, ; position, working students, wounds of neck, x. xenophon, and villehardouin, y. yeats, yule, colonel, ; on odoric, ; on rubruquis, z. zimmern, miss, on hansa, ; on medieval initiations, [end text; advertisements] books by dr. walsh --------------------------- dear dr. walsh: i beg to thank you for your interesting letter enclosing syllabus of advent lectures and circular of your latest work. the highest value attaches to historical research on the lines you so ably indicate, especially at the present time, when the enemies of holy church are making renewed efforts to show her antagonism to science and human progress generally. i shall have much pleasure in perusing your work entitled "the thirteenth greatest of centuries." wishing you every blessing, i am, yours sincerely in xt., rome, january th, . r. card. merry del val. ---------------------- _fordham university press series_ makers of modern medicine a series of biographies of the men to whom we owe the important advances in the development of modern medicine. by james j. walsh, m. d., ph. d., ll.d., dean and professor of the history of medicine at fordham university school of medicine, n. y. third edition, , pp. price, $ . net. _the london lancet_ said: "the list is well chosen, and we have to express gratitude for so convenient and agreeable a collection of biographies, for which we might otherwise have to search through many scattered books. the sketches are pleasantly written, interesting, and well adapted to convey the thoughtful members of our profession just the amount of historical knowledge that they would wish to obtain. we hope that the book will find many readers." _the new york times_: "the book is intended primarily for students of medicine, but laymen will find it not a little interesting." _il morgagni_ (italy): "professor walsh narrates important lives in modern medicine with an easy style that makes his book delightful reading. it certainly will give the young physician an excellent idea of who made our modern medicine." _the church standard_ (protestant episcopal): "there is perhaps no profession in which the lives of its leaders would make more fascinating reading than that of medicine, and dr. walsh by his clever style and sympathetic treatment by no means mars the interest which we might thus expect." _the new york medical journal_: "we welcome works of this kind; they are evidence of the growth of culture within the medical profession, which betokens that the time has come when our teachers have the leisure to look backward to what has been accomplished." _science_: "the sketches are extremely entertaining and useful. perhaps the most striking thing is that everyone of the men described was of the catholic faith, and the dominant idea is that great scientific work is not incompatible with devout adherence to the tenets of the catholic religion." makers of electricity by brother potamian, f. s. c, sc. d. (london), professor of physics in manhattan college, and james j. walsh, m. d., ph. d., litt. d., dean and professor of the history of medicine and of nervous diseases at fordham university school of medicine, new york. fordham university press, west th street. illustrated price, $ . net. postage, cents extra. _the scientific american_: "one will find in this book very good sketches of the lives of the great pioneers in electricity, with a clear presentation of how it was that these men came to make their fundamental experiments, and how we now reach conclusions in science that would have been impossible until their work of revealing was done. the biographies are those of peregrinus, columbus, norman and gilbert, franklin and some contemporaries, galvini, volta, coulomb, oersted, ampere, ohm, faraday, clerk maxwell, and kelvin." _the boston globe_: "the book is of surpassing interest." _the new york sun_: "the researches of brother potamian among the pioneers in antiquity and the middle ages are perhaps more interesting than dr. walsh's admirable summaries of the accomplishment of the heroes of modern science. the book testifies to the excellence of catholic scholarship." _the evening post_: "it is a matter of importance that the work and lives of men like gilbert, franklin, galvini, volta, ampere and others should be made known to the students of electricity, and this office has been well fulfilled by the present authors. the book is no mere compilation, but brings out many interesting and obscure facts, especially about the earlier men." _the philadelphia record_: "it is a glance at the whole field of electricity by men who are noted for the thoroughness of their research, and it should be made accessible to every reader capable of taking a serious interest in the wonderful phenomena of nature." _electrical world_: "aside from the intrinsic interest of its matter, the book is delightful to read owing to the graceful literary style common to both authors. one not having the slightest acquaintance with electrical science will find the book of absorbing interest as treating in a human way and with literary art the life work of some of the greatest men of modern times; and, moreover, in the course of his reading he will incidentally obtain a sound knowledge of the main principles upon which almost all present-day electrical development is based. it is a shining example of how science can be popularized without the slightest twisting of facts or distortion of perspective. electrical readers will find the book also a scholarly treatise on the evolution of electrical science, and a most refreshing change from the "engineering english" of the typical technical writer." education, how old the new a series of lectures and addresses on phases of education in the past which anticipate most of our modern advances, by james j. walsh, m. d., ph. d., litt. d., k. c. st. g. dean and professor of the history of medicine and of nervous diseases at fordham university school of medicine. fordham university press, . pp. price, $ . net. postage, cents extra. cardinal moran (sydney, australia): "i have to thank you for the excellent volume education how old the new. the lectures are admirable, just the sort of reading we want for english readers of the present day." _new york sun_: "it is all bright and witty and based on deep erudition." _the north american_ (phila.): "wide historical research, clear graphic statement are salient elements of this interesting and suggestive addition to the modern welter of educational literature." _detroit free press_: "full of interesting facts and parallels drawn from them that afford much material for reflection." _chicago inter-ocean_: "incidentally it does away with a number of popular misconceptions as to education in the middle ages and as to education in the latin-american countries at a somewhat later time. the book is written in a straight unpretentious and interesting style." _wilkes-barre record_: "the volume is most interesting and shows deep research bearing the marks of the indefatigable student." _pittsburg post_: "there is no bitterness of controversy and one of the first things to strike the reader is that the dean of fordham quotes from nearly everybody worth while, protestant or catholic, poetry, biography, history, science or what not." _the wall street news_ (n. y.): "the book is calculated to cause a healthy reduction in the conceit which each generation enjoys at the expense of that which preceded it." _rochester post express_: "the book is well worth reading." _the new orleans democrat_: "the book makes very interesting reading, but there is a succession of shocks in store in it for the complacent new englander or bostonian and for the orthodox or perfunctory reader of american literature." old time makers of medicine the story of the medical sciences during the middle ages. by james j. walsh, k. c. st, g., m. d., ph. d. dean and professor of the history of medicine and of nervous diseases at fordham university school of medicine. fordham university press, . price, $ . net. postage, cents. what we now know of art, architecture, literature, the arts and crafts in the middle ages has almost won for them the name of the bright ages instead of the dark ages. there seems just one dark spot--the neglect of science. this book removes that. it tells the story of medieval medical education with higher standards than ours, of medieval surgery with anaesthesia and antisepsis, with beautiful hospitals and fine nursing, and of medieval dentistry with gold fillings and bridgework. _the lancet_ (london): "we have said enough to whet the appetite of all interested in the history of the early makers of medicine. we cordially commend the perusal of this fascinating volume, which shows how much was accomplished in every department of intellectual effort in what is usually regarded as the unprogressive, stagnant, dark period of the middle ages." _the new york world_ said: "as in dr. walsh's 'thirteenth the greatest of centuries' he carries amazement with his revelations of how old are many things we call new." modern progress and history: lectures on various academic occasions by james j. walsh, m. d., ph. d., k. c. st. g., litt, d., sc. d. dean and professor of the history of medicine and of functional nervous diseases at fordham university school of medicine, fordham university press, . pp. twelve illustrations. price, $ . net. postage, cents. though delivered on various occasions, these lectures are all on the theme that our modern progress is but a repetition of previous phases of human accomplishment and that whenever men faced certain problems they solved them as well at any time in history as they do now. educational problems are shown to have been the same in greece and rome as in our own time. old time prescriptions in medicine are strangely like many that we have now. old time dentists filled teeth with gold and tin, did fine bridgework, invented movable dentures, transplanted teeth successfully and anticipated our dental progress. pronunciation, old and new, shows that the irish brogue is shakespeare's pronunciation while the women of two republics demonstrates how old are our political problems, even suffragettism. "the book is disillusioning, but marvelously illuminating." studies in mediÆval life and literature by edward tompkins mclaughlin professor of rhetoric and belles-lettres in yale university [decoration] g. p. putnam's sons new york london west twenty-third street bedford street, strand the knickerbocker press copyright, by sarah b. mclaughlin _entered at stationers' hall, london_ by g. p. putnam's sons electrotyped, printed and bound by the knickerbocker press, new york g. p. putnam's sons [decoration] contents. page introduction v the mediÆval feeling for nature ulrich von liechtenstein: the memoirs of an old german gallant neidhart von reuenthal and his bavarian peasants meier helmbrecht: a german farmer of the thirteenth century childhood in mediÆval literature a mediÆval woman appendix [decoration] [decoration] introduction. edward tompkins mclaughlin, the writer of the essays contained in this volume, was born at sharon, connecticut, on may , . he was the son of the reverend d. d. t. mclaughlin, a graduate of yale college of the class of . his mother's maiden name was mary whittlesey brownell. she was the daughter of the reverend grove l. brownell, who was settled for many years over the congregational church of cromwell, connecticut. thus it will be seen that the author of this work belonged on both sides to what oliver wendell holmes has aptly called the brahman caste of new england. at the time of his birth his father was pastor of the congregational church of sharon, connecticut, but in left that place for morris in the same county. there he remained until when he gave up parish duties entirely, and retired to litchfield, which he thenceforward made his permanent home. with the exception of a short time spent in the litchfield academy, the son was fitted for college almost wholly by his father, who was himself a finished scholar in latin and greek. he entered yale in the autumn of , and received the degree of a.b. in . from the very beginning of his university life he was distinguished for his interest in english literature, and during the entire course of it displayed remarkable proficiency in the pursuit of that study. to him, before his graduation, fell the highest honors which the college has to bestow in that department. after receiving his bachelor's degree he remained another year in new haven as a graduate student. during that time he devoted himself with increased ardor to the special branches of study in which from the outset he had been interested. in the following year he was made tutor in english. this position he held until , when he was appointed assistant professor of the same subject. at the meeting of the corporation of the university in may, , he was elected by it to the chair of rhetoric and belles-lettres. happily married to a wife of congenial tastes, who speedily learned to sympathize with him in the studies which he had made peculiarly his own, he had every reason to expect a long career of usefulness, which would be attended with distinction to himself and would confer distinction upon the institution with which he was connected. but his health had never been vigorous, and in the very summer vacation following his appointment a fever, which came upon him almost without warning, and which seemed at first of slight importance, carried him off after an illness that lasted little more than a week. he died on the th of july, , at the age of thirty-three. he lies buried at litchfield. such is a brief sketch of the life of the author of this volume. he had at the time of his death many projects on hand, some partly carried out, some only in contemplation. in he had edited a volume of selections from english writers under the title of _literary criticism for students_; and since his death a school-edition of marlowe's _edward ii._, prepared by him, but left mainly in manuscript, has come from the press. but these were in a measure tasks imposed upon him by the needs of students, and not those undertaken in consequence of his own inclinations. during the last year of his life, however, he had been devoting himself to the preparation for publication of the following essays. he had long been a student of mediæval literature, not merely of that found in the english tongue, but of the much fuller and more varied work that had been produced at an early period on the continent. the writers of france, of germany, and of italy, belonging to that period, were in truth so familiar to him that he was sometimes disposed to assume that general acquaintance with them on the part of others which it is the fortune of but few to possess. some results of this study he now set about putting into permanent form. the first rough draft of the essays here printed had been finished when the fatal illness fell upon him that carried him away. there is no intention of apologizing either for the matter or the manner of the pieces contained in this volume. they are in no need of it, and in any event what is published must stand or fall upon its own merits. yet it is the barest justice to the author of these essays to state that not in a single instance do they represent the final form they would have assumed, had he lived to review and revise the first sketches he made. in the case of two of them, which were nearest to the condition in which they were ultimately to appear, evidences of their incompleteness in his own eyes are plainly seen in the manuscripts. against particular passages and sometimes whole paragraphs there were marginal notes, indicating that the expression was to undergo alteration of various kinds. in several instances a place was marked for the insertion of a transition paragraph which had apparently never been written out, though its character was suggested. these, of course, had all to be disregarded. the condition of things, furthermore, was much worse with the four which had not been so fully completed as the two just mentioned. in the case of these the matter had to be collected and pieced together, at no slight expenditure of time and trouble, from scattered leaves of manuscript, in which it was not always easy to trace out the exact order. unfortunately, one essay, intended to be the longest and most important of all, could not be included in this volume. professor mclaughlin had been for many years an ardent admirer of dante. to a study of the early life of the great italian poet he had devoted years of patient research. it was the one subject in which he had the deepest interest, and upon which he had expended the most labor, and he purposed to make the essay dealing with it the principal piece in the work he was preparing. but, as was not unnatural, it was the one essay which needed most the revising hand of its composer. the gaps in it were too numerous and important to justify its insertion in the unfinished condition in which it existed, and this particular piece, upon which the author himself set most store, has been reluctantly laid aside. but while it is simple justice to state the facts just given, it must not be inferred that these essays, unfinished and even fragmentary as they might have seemed to the writer, will so appear to the reader. few there will be who will detect that any part of them has failed to receive the full attention to which it is entitled. nor is it likely, indeed, that the sentiments expressed in these essays would have undergone any material modification, whatever changes might have been made in the manner in which they were set forth. doubtless some of the points now found in them would have been amplified, others would have been retrenched. other views again, to which no allusion is made here, would have been introduced. still, so complete in themselves are the essays in most particulars, that no thought of their incompleteness would have arrested the attention of any save the smallest possible number of readers, had not the condition in which they were left been mentioned in this introduction. but even had these essays needed much more than they do the revising hand of the author, none the less cordially would they have been received by those who were familiar with his personal presence. especially is this true of students possessed of literary taste, who have been under his instruction, and it is largely in compliance with their wishes that the publication of this volume was determined upon. for as a teacher professor mclaughlin, though still young, had attained eminence. he had in particular the rare quality of inspiring those under him with the same zeal for learning and the same love of literature that animated himself. the teacher of english, it must be confessed, has set before him a task of special difficulty. in the case of other tongues the business of translation, with the verbal and grammatical investigation implied by it, must always constitute the principal part of the work of preparation for the class-room; and the skill and knowledge with which it is performed will of necessity be the main element in testing the proficiency and success of the student. but in the case of english this main part of the usual preparation has been reduced to a minimum. the business has already been done at the pupil's hands. he knows, at least after a fashion, the meaning of the words, even if he does not always comprehend the meaning of the phrase or sentence as a whole in which they are found. the hard task is, therefore, given the teacher of english of starting in his instruction at the point where the teacher of other languages ends. he is, furthermore, to make his subject one of pleasure and profit to that select body of students, who are eager to gain from the pursuit of it all the benefit possible. he is at the same time expected to exact some degree of labor from those who, whether by their own fault or the fault of others, have no interest in this particular subject, if indeed they have interest in any subject whatever. the temptation naturally presents itself to sacrifice the former class to the latter. especially does this appeal to instructors who are deficient in the literary sense, or who possessing it, lack the ability to arouse it in those under them. the easy process is resorted to of turning the study into one of a purely linguistic character, in which the discussion of words will take the place of the discussion of literature. this is a cheap though convenient method for the teacher to evade the real work he is called upon to perform, and while it may be followed by some incidental advantages, it is almost in the nature of a crime against letters to associate in the minds of young men, at the most impressionable period of their lives, the writings of a great author with a drill that is mainly verbal or philological. it was the rare fortune of professor mclaughlin that he solved this problem, presented to every instructor in english, with a felicity that does not fall often to the lot of those engaged in the same occupation. it was not so much in imparting knowledge that his peculiar distinction lay; it was in his success in inspiring interest in the subject and zeal for its prosecution. it is, therefore, more especially to those who have been under his teaching that this little volume is addressed as a memorial of one to whom many will acknowledge is due the first bent their minds received to the study and appreciation of what is best and highest in literature. what its author would have accomplished with his remarkable powers of acquisition and assimilation, had he lived to carry out and perfect plans which he had in contemplation, it is idle to conjecture; and the world, which cares but little for what is actually done in the field in which he was largely working, cannot be expected to concern itself with that which was never more than projected. but there are some to whom the result of his labors, shown in this volume, will prove of interest for what it is; while to those who have known him personally, it will, even in its comparatively imperfect state, furnish a suggestive intimation of what might have been. t. r. lounsbury yale university, march , . [decoration] mediÆval life and literature the mediÆval feeling for nature. on the th april, , mt. ventoux, near avignon, was the scene of a remarkable occurrence. petrarch was the hero, and on the evening of that day, while the impression was yet strong upon him, he wrote an account of it to a friend. the incident was nothing less than climbing a mountain for æsthetic gratification. that he cared to do it showed that petrarch was on the outskirts of mediævalism. the narrative is so interesting that i may translate a part of it; for the great humanist's letters are inaccessible to general readers. he says that he had thought of climbing the mountain for many years, since he had known the country from early boyhood, and the great mass of rocky cliff, entirely rugged and almost inaccessible, was constantly and everywhere visible. he took with him his brother and two servants. as they were starting on the ascent, they fell in with an aged shepherd, who tried to dissuade them. fifty years before he had climbed to the summit, moved by a boyish impulse--and he supposed himself the only one who had ever done it; his recollections were full of awe and terror. but the poet pressed on, beguiling the weariness, which at times amounted almost to exhaustion, by moralizing on the labor as a type of spiritual attainments. at the summit of the highest peak, "moved deeply at first by that vast spectacle, and affected by the unusual lightness of the air, i stood as if overwhelmed. i looked, and under my feet i saw the clouds." his thoughts turned to the classical myths, and the history of his beloved italy. he recalled that ten years before, on that same day, he had left bologna and his studies. how many changes in his ways. his wrong loves--he loved them no longer, or rather he no longer liked to love them. he thought of his future. "thus rejoicing in what i had gained, regretful of my weakness, and pitying the common instability of human affections, i seemed to forget where i was and why i had come. at last i turned to the occasion of my expedition. the sinking sun and lengthening shadows admonished me that the hour of departure was at hand, and, as if started from sleep, i turned around and looked to the west. the pyrenees--the eye could not reach so far, but i saw the mountains of lyonnais distinctly, and the sea by marseilles; the rhone, too, was there before me. observing these closely, now thinking on the things of earth, and again, as if i had done with the body, lifting my mind on high, it occurred to me to take out the copy of st. augustine's _confessions_ that i always kept with me; a little volume, but of unlimited value and charm. and i call god to witness that the first words on which i cast mine eyes were these: 'men go to wonder at the heights of mountains, the ocean floods, rivers' long courses, ocean's immensity, the revolutions of the stars,--and of themselves they have no care!' my brother asked me what was the matter. i bade him not disturb me. i closed the book, angry with myself for not ceasing to admire things of earth, instead of remembering that the human soul is beyond comparison the subject for admiration. once and again, as i descended, i gazed back, and the lofty summit of the mountain seemed to me scarcely a cubit high, compared with the sublime dignity of man."[ ] in these sentences we find the new life and the old in the same mind. such an action would have been impossible for a genuine son of the middle ages, but could petrarch stand on a mountain top to-day, such an outcome of it would be equally impossible. his feeling for nature was intense even to a sense of the charm of ruggedness in hills, as burckhardt, who refers to this letter in his work on _the italian renaissance_, shows by ample quotations; but the intense lover of nature in the nineteenth century, though his ethical sense be as deep as wordsworth's, finds a different influence in such a scene. indeed, read in wordsworth himself, the modern contrast: "ocean and earth, the solid frame of earth and ocean's liquid mass, in gladness lay beneath him; far and wide the clouds were touched, and in their silent faces could he read unutterable love. sound needed none, nor any voice of joy; his spirit drank the spectacle; sensation, soul, and form, all melted into him; they swallowed up his animal being, in them did he live, and by them did he live: they were his life. in such access of mind, in such high hour of visitation from the living god, thought was not; in enjoyment it expired. no thanks he breathed, he proffered no request, rapt into still communion, that transcends the imperfect offices of prayer and praise." how far apart is the piety of the two poets, how different their absorption. this identification of the human mood with nature, and the spiritual elation that arises from the union, is thoroughly characteristic of the present century. wordsworth's peculiar beauty, as hartley coleridge told caroline fox, "consisted in viewing things as amongst them, mixing himself up in everything that he mentions, so that you admire the man in the thing, the involved man." and hartley's inspired father uttered a great criticism on the modern feeling for nature, when in the _ode on dejection_ he cried, "oh, lady, we receive but what we give, and in our life alone doth nature live." no literary contemporaries were ever more apart than wordsworth and byron, yet _childe harold_ has the same note: "i live not in myself, but i become portion of that around me; and to me _high mountains are a feeling_. . . . . the soul can flee and with the sky, the peak, the heaving plain of ocean, or the stars, mingle and not in vain." we discover the same sentiment, more delicately held, in keats, as in some of his sayings about flowers, and shelley, speaking of the longing for a response to one's own nature, says: "the discovery of its antitype, this is the invisible and unattainable point to which love tends.... hence in solitude, or in that state when we are surrounded by human beings, and yet they sympathize not with us, we love the flowers, and the grass, and the waters, and the sky. in the motions of the very leaves of spring, in the blue air, there is found a secret correspondence with our heart, that awakens the spirits to a dance of breathless rapture, and brings tears of mysterious tenderness to the eyes, like the enthusiasm of patriotic rapture, or the voice of one beloved singing to you alone." yet this spirit, with which our later poetry is almost everywhere touched, "this mysterious analogy between human emotions and the phenomena of the world without us," as von humboldt expresses it, in its present comprehensiveness is new to literature. to feel for mountains, forests, or the ocean, with mingled awe, love, and ecstasy, seems so natural to us, that we can hardly realize that gray was striking a novel and significant chord when he wrote at the grande chartreuse, "one of the most solemn, the most romantic, and the most astonishing scenes.... not a precipice, not a torrent, not a cliff, but is pregnant with religion and poetry." in petrarch's letter we observe the deficiency in absorbing enthusiasm for the grander forms of nature, as well as his sense of the isolation of such sentiment from true spiritual life. yet this letter is the most significant indication which we possess from the middle ages of a capacity for enjoying the sublimity of heights. in _præterita_, ruskin, while describing his eagerness at the first sight of the alps, as a boy, has written two or three sentences that we may employ to illustrate the contrast between petrarch and his predecessors: "till rousseau's time there had been no 'sentimental' love of nature ... st. bernard of la fontaine, looking out to mont blanc with his child's eyes, sees above mont blanc the madonna; st. bernard of talloires, not the lake of annecy, but the dead between martigny and aosta. but for me, the alps and their people were alike beautiful in their snow, and their humanity; and i wanted, neither for them nor myself, sight of any thrones in heaven but the rocks, or of any spirits in heaven but the clouds." others, beside the bernards, men from whose culture and intelligence we should expect fine appreciation, felt nothing august or inspiring in the material world. so far as we have any record, the fourteenth-century laureate was the first of the moderns to climb a mountain for the æsthetic pleasure of the view. burckhardt's suggestion that this honor belongs to dante, on the strength of a passage in the fourth canto of the _purgatory_, is surely not tenable; for the top of bismantova possessed a citadel in dante's time to which business may easily have called him. all through the middle ages, the lofty elevations between central europe and italy were constantly being crossed. the most cultivated men were going back and forth as couriers on business of the church, and the political relations, especially between italy and germany, kept up a continual stream of travel. yet one recalls no lines in any mediæval poem that describe or express sensations of the least interest concerning the sights that have bowed the strongest souls of our era, that have been felt by thousands, and put into words by so many poets. there is, indeed, in the beginning of a passage from a famous scholar, john of salisbury, an apparent exception to this strange indifference; but a few clauses correct the hasty judgment. writing from lombardy, he explained why he could not send a letter from the great st. bernard: "i have been on the mount of jove: on the one hand looking up to the heaven of the mountains; on the other, shuddering at the hell of the valleys; feeling myself so much nearer to heaven that i was more sure that my prayer would be heard." yet this was due to no rapture of soul, for--"lord, i said, restore me to my brethren, that they come not into this place of torment." he goes on to specify the perils of ice, precipice, and cold, and nothing disturbs him so much as that his ink was frozen. but there is not a suggestion of anything worth looking at. even cæsar, as von humboldt reminds us, composed a rhetorical treatise while crossing the alps. but the poet of vaucluse did climb a mountain for the love of the view, and the very fact that his æsthetic attention was distracted by ethical introspection is an indication of that serious sensibility which was destined to become such an essential element in our feeling for nature; what for every wordsworthian is summed up in the second mood of _tintern abbey_. this incapacity for appreciating mountainous sublimity involved a blindness to the rugged and picturesque on smaller scales. in minor chords, and in combinations of tone superficially discordant, we have learned to recognize some of nature's richest harmonies; this is one of our marks of development. closely linked, too, with this first of modern passions for nature, indeed unified with it by the qualities of strength and massiveness, is our feeling for the ocean and great woods. "there is a pleasure in the pathless woods, there is a rapture on the lonely shore: there is society where none intrudes, by the deep sea, and music in its roar." even deeper than the idea of companionship here is the mystical sense of absorption into that physical world which seems the very dwelling-place of the infinite soul, which finds one of its most remarkable manifestations in an intense and almost defiant sensation of human transitoriness and unimportance, and which is frequently blended with very exultation in the reflection that presently we ourselves shall be unified forever with the unconscious life that stretches out before us: "rolled round in earth's diurnal course with rocks, and stones, and trees." there is a strange fascination to the modern mind, in presence of the majesties of nature, in this thought of humanity's return to the earth-mother. innumerable generations have come home to her, as many or more are to be born that they may follow them, and she remains. perhaps we are never so serenely conscious of self, as in these rare moments when we bear without a pang the thought of losing personal identity. there is something more here than the certainty of at least materialistic immortality, and the impression of infinite repose and beauty. the projection of our immediate sensation into the long future silence suffuses nature with pantheistic life, until the eager and buoyant thrills of spiritual realization render one grateful to have been permitted to gain such a sensation at what seems the trivial cost of feeling oneself the mere creature of a day. such a mood as this certainly comes but seldom, but probably every one who has ever experienced any imaginative sensibility to a grand landscape will recall a heightened sensation that is beyond description.[ ] but still stranger than the failure to catch the finer suggestions in the more strenuous forms of nature, is the way in which such sights are ignored. in southern europe, mountains, storms, rocks, the ocean, are scarcely ever described, even as objects of awe or terror. when in the course of a story they have to be mentioned, the treatment is brief and matter of fact. heinrich von veldeke in his famous epic, makes nothing of his necessary introduction of a storm at sea, nor does gottfried, or indeed any one of this whole period. _gudrun_, that epic of the people which deserves to stand near the more famous _niebelungen lied_, treats constantly of the ocean, yet never with any feeling except dread of shipwreck. this poem, however, shows a more northern tone in one or two descriptions of winter, that are at least elaborated. in the scene, for instance, when herwig and ortwin arrive at the shore where hildeburg and gudrun, almost naked, are washing the clothes for their cruel mistress, we find some realistic touches, such as their trembling before the march wind, in which their hair was streaming as they toiled on the beach, while before them the sea was full of cakes of ice that had broken up under the early spring. in another connection, too, the poet compares something to a thick snowstorm, driven by mountain winds. the sense of fitness in a sympathetic natural environment for the human action, that has been so generally regarded in literature, as by shakespeare, is indeed occasionally found in mediæval poetry; so in an interesting french romance that relates the trials of a heroine who barely escapes with her life, after the loss of everything dear: "the lady is in the wood and bitterly she wails. she hears the wolves howl, and the screech-owls cry; it lightens terribly, and the thunder is heavy, rain, hail, and wind--'tis wild for a lady all alone." exceptions occur now and then. dante, for example, was impressed by the mountains; no readers of the _purgatory_ need to be reminded of his experience in climbing them. the setting for a mood of unrealized love in one of his lyrics is in winter, among the whitened hills: "he wooed the lady in a lovely grassy meadow, surrounded by lofty hills." but the arbitrary verbal repetitions of the _sestina_ modify the original face of the image of the mountains towering about the lover's plain, and the pensive beauty of the whole poem may be connected with an allegory. but i believe that even in dante we never catch the sense of exultation in the earth's power and majesty. our modern feeling for forests is not only at times sombre and oppressive; we also derive a sense of sublime composure from them. this latter sentiment was hardly shared by the mediævals. dante was only following earlier poets when he located the opening of hell by a gloomy wood, and his repeated metaphor of life as a forest, "confusing," "gloomy," and "dark," accords with the feeling of his age. he would not have appreciated chateaubriand. he has left us, however, a rare and interesting reference to the soughing in the pines on the adriatic, which shows how well his ear could interpret its solemn beauty. the mystical apple-tree, moreover, near the close of the _purgatory_, whose blossoms are so exquisitely defined, indirectly reminds us how exceptional is a mention of fruit trees in flower. yet the provençal, french, and german lyrics constantly begin with the joyousness of spring, and the happy contrast from the season that destroys flowers and foliage. nothing is more conventional than these nature preludes. over and over, till we close our books impatiently, we hear reiterations of the charm of spring and summer. there is a slender kind of grace and sincerity that would lend interest to many of these, if they had come down by themselves; but they lie together in books in wearisome uniformity. a dandelion in april is much prettier than the dandelions in june. these preludes are usually in keeping with the love-phrases that follow, cold and imitative. for poets thought and felt in exterior generalities, rather than in detachment and inner consciousness. their typical landscape may be seen in a passage from gottfried von strassburg,--one of germany's most brilliant poets--where tristan and isolde have fled to the forest grotto, in fear of king mark. the grotto is fitted up luxuriously, in keeping with the temper of the entire poem, but since it is in the wilderness, far away from roads or paths, in a description of its surroundings we might certainly look for a sense of the picturesque. but so far from caring for the wild and rugged, gottfried does not even like a quiet woodland simplicity. "above the entrance stood three broad lindens, no more; but below, stretching down the slope, were innumerable trees that hid the retreat. on one side was a level stretch where a fountain flowed, a fresh, cool stream, clearer than the sun. above it, too, stood three beautiful shady lindens that shielded the spring from rain and the sun. bright blossoms and green grass struggled with each other sweetly on the field. one caught also the delightful songs of birds which sang more delightfully there than anywhere else. eye and ear each had its pleasure, there was shade and sun, air and breezes soft and pleasing." he goes on to describe the lovers, in a passage from which i translate the opening: when they waked and when they slept, side by side they ever kept. in the morning o'er the dew softly to the field they drew, where, beside the little pool, flowers and grass were dewy cool. and the cool fields pleased them well, pleased them, too, their love to tell, straying idly thro' the glade, hearing music, as they strayed. sweetly sang the birds, and then in their walk they turned again where the cool brook rippled by, listening to the melody, as it flowed and as it went: where across the field it bent, there they sat them down to hear, resting there, its murmur clear. and until the sunshine blazed, in the rivulet they gazed. these lines are characteristic of gottfried, even to the lingering verbal repetition, and the picture certainly is pretty, as is the whole account of the lovers' life that follows. nothing in early german literature comes closer to refined modern sensuousness than gottfried's best passages; there is a dreamy passion in them, and sometimes they flash. his rich voluptuous strain has more of the poet than the free-liver, and his general tone is curiously modern. it would be a showy phrase to call his _tristan_ the _don juan_ of the middle ages, for the poems are very dissimilar, yet it is safe to say that we think of byron as we read him. contrast these representative poets of the thirteenth and nineteenth centuries in this matter of their feeling for nature. for once among german settings we have a wild scene. but we observe how studiously it is modified into the conventional meadow, with trees in uniform little groups, a grassy field is sprinkled with flowers, there is a spring, and the little stream that escapes from it instead of tumbling down over a rocky bed into a glen, flows across the field. gottfried mentions mountains and rocks that lie round about, only to point out that they are types of the difficulties and perils to be undergone before reaching love's shrine. the almost inaccessible retreat was necessary as a shelter for the fugitives from mark's court; the poet has done his best to obliterate the reality. if we turn to byron, and look for instance at that incomparable passage in which he relates the early love of juan and haidee, we observe where he voluntarily places his lovers: "it was a wild and breaker-beaten coast, with cliffs above and a broad sandy shore; guarded by shoals and rocks as by a host, with here and there a creek, whose aspect wore a better welcome to the tempest-tost; and rarely ceased the haughty billows' roar." "and thus they wandered forth, and hand in hand, over the shining pebbles and the shells, glided along the smooth and hardened sand, and in the worn and wild receptacles worked by the storms, yet worked as it were planned, in hollow halls, with sparry roofs and cells, they turned to rest; and each clasped by an arm, yielded to the deep twilight's purple charm." and, to pass over the description of sky, sea, moon, and starlight, that follows, as elements in the nature-setting, notice the scene where juan is sleeping: "the lady watched her lover, and that hour of love's, and night's, and ocean's solitude, o'erflowed her soul with their united power, amid the barren sand and rocks so rude, she and her wave-worn love had made their bower." it would be easy to parallel these two situations; the older by no means ends with the middle ages, for eden's "blissful bower" is no exception in modern poetry before the romantic age: while in our own century counterparts to this conception of untrained and strenuous natural surroundings for even the happiest of emotions will occur to every one.[ ] the idle triteness in those inevitable scenes of spring, was manifest to some of the poets themselves. so the comte de champagne declares foliage and flowers of no service to poets, except for rhyming and to amuse commonplace people. the great wolfram himself derides the conventionality of all romance narratives falling in spring and early summer: arthur is the man of may; each event in every lay, happened or at whitsuntide or when the may was blooming wide. and uhland cites from the lives of the troubadours the contemporaneous criticism upon a minor poet of the twelfth century, who wrote in the old style about leaves, and flowers, and the song of birds,--nothing of any account. we may recollect that such criticisms go far back of the middle ages: horace glances at his contemporaries' conventional descriptions of a stream hastening through pleasant fields. in the widely popular romances of enid we find illustrations of welsh, french, and german treatment in the hands of leading authors, and there is one point in the narrative where we may compare their feeling for the natural environment. readers of tennyson will recall the passage in the wandering, where, after one of geraint's struggles with bandits, he comes upon a lad carrying provisions. chrestien's treatment of the episode is clear and straightforward; the youth and two comrades are taking cheese, cakes, and wine to the count's meadows for the haymakers. the young man notices the travellers' worn appearance, and invites them to sit down "in this fair meadow, under these ironwood trees," to rest and eat. hartmann von aue (whose paraphrase of the french poem is, by the way, far from the merit of his _iwein_) narrates the incident in the same manner, omitting the poetically specific touches of the haymaking, and the shady spot in the field; but characteristically inserting some courteous concern on the part of the young man, for the comfort of enid. but if we turn to the _mabinogion_ we come upon something very different: "and early in the day they left the wood, and they came to an open country, with meadows on one hand, and mowers mowing the meadows; and there was a river before them, and the horses bent down and drank the water. and they went up out of the river by a lofty steep, and there they met a slender stripling with a satchel about his neck, and they saw that there was something in the satchel, but they knew not what it was. and he had a small blue pitcher in his hand, and a bowl on the mouth of the pitcher." how charming it is, even to the lovely touch of color. we know here that the unremembered writer saw nature and cared for it as we do. indeed, this mediæval welshman satisfies us quite as well as does even tennyson's transcript: "so through the green gloom of the wood they passed, and issuing under open heavens beheld a little town with towers, upon a rock: and close beneath, a meadow gemlike chased in the brown wild, and mowers mowing in it: and down a rocky pathway from the place there came a fair-hair'd youth, that in his hand bare victual for the mowers." there we have a simplicity treated with tennysonian artifice, which "victual" does not succeed in correcting; beautiful in its way, though its way is perhaps not so fine as the prose. yet we notice the modern spirit in the appreciation of the "brown wild" as well as the meadow, and out of the more general and evasive "steep" is developed the picturesque "rocky pathway." except for the interest in establishing these forms of nature-appreciation from such older and more original sources, we might have satisfied ourselves with illustrations of them from chaucer's early poems, where his descriptions are almost wholly derivative. his feeling for "the smale, softe, swote gras," that was sweetly embroidered with flowers; the earth's joyous oblivion of the cold, in her enthusiasm of may; his constant delight in the "smale foules," and the like, are purely conventional, though the unction with which he writes shows his real enjoyment. there are touches in chaucer, however, that we miss in his romance predecessors, such as his eye for delicate effects--most interesting as marking the growth of accurate observation and sensitive rendering, like the description of twilight in _troylus and creyseyde_, when "white thynges wexen dymme and donne for lakke of lyght," or the graceful illustration in the same poem of a sudden troubling of one's mood: "but right as when the sonne shyneth brighte in march that chaungeth ofte tyme his face, and that a cloude is put with wynde to flyght, which overspret the sonne, as for a space, a cloudy thought gan through his soule pace." such a touch makes us feel how modern he is. yet he does not love the picturesque. under the influence of a breton lay, he writes in the loveliest of all his tales, of the rugged sea-coast on whose high bank dorigen and her friends used to walk (since "stood hire castel faste by the see") and look down upon "the grisly rokkes blake," which, in her apprehension for her lord's safe return, she would call "these grisly, feendly rokkes blake." but we feel that even had arviragus been at her side she would never have regarded the coast as we should regard it. still we observe the advance in observation and literary expression. in the _knight's tale_, the wild picturesque is employed again to connote the terrible, but no poet, from statius to boccaccio, his guides in the passage, had written such lines as his setting for the temple of the god of war: "first on the wal was peynted a forest in which there dwelleth neither man nor best, with knotty, knarry, bareyne trees olde of stubbes sharpe and hidous to biholde, in which ther ran a rumbel and a swough, as though a storm sholde bresten every bough." nothing even in _childe roland_ sketches desolating natural effects with more power. yet chaucer had a superior, in the sympathetic eye and adequate expression for the stern and stormy phases of nature, in a countryman of whom perhaps he never heard. we do not know the name of the author of _sir gawayn and the grene knyght_. but the poem marks on the whole the noblest conception in our literature before spenser. it possesses moral dignity, romantic interest, simplicity, and directness, united with deep seriousness of style, creative imagination in dealing both with character and with nature. chaucer wrote nothing so spiritual, though much of course more artistic and poetically valuable. in regard to this one matter of the interpretation of nature, it would be difficult to point out passages in the whole range of mediæval literature so fine and so remarkable as such descriptions as follow, of the northern winter scenes through which gawayn passed on his weird mission. a forest full deep, and wild to a wonder, high hills on each side, and crowded woods under, of oaks hoar and huge, a hundred together. the hazel and hawthorne were grown altogether everywhere coated by moss ragged, rough; many birds on bare branches, unhappy enough; that piteously piped there, for pain of the cold. wondrous fair was the earth, for the frost lay thereby; on the mist ruddy gleams the sun cast, as on high he coasted full clearly the clouds of the sky. they beat along banks where the branches are bare, they climbed along cliffs where clingeth the cold, the clouds yet held up, but 'twas ugly beneath. mist lowered on the moor, dissolved on the mountains. each hill had a hat, a huge misty cloak. brooks boiling and breaking dashed on the banks, shattered brightly on shore. that is what we find in the north, and such english feeling for the sublime is nothing new; it goes far back beyond these lines into the generations that seem misty as the air which their poets are wont to describe. mr. stopford brooke's recent volume on anglo-saxon poetry makes it unnecessary to enter into the subject of old england's eye and ear for nature. its accounts of the sympathy for the bold and fierce bear out what one might guess without knowledge--that the stern northern climate and familiarity with ocean life found large poetical expression. luxury, southern artifice of sentiment and literary manner, had not invaded the rugged men of the north; they delight in describing elemental conflicts, and sometimes with studied elaboration. but if the pictures of the german and french poets are uniform in their mildness, those of these anglo-saxons are marked by their stormy aspect. we exchange spring for winter. the same contrast holds true when we take up the scandinavian poets; they show much feeling and power, but little susceptibility to the beauty of gentleness and grace. mr. brooke has remarked upon a similarity between the _tempest_ of cynewulf and shelley's _ode to the west wind_. a closer parallel may be observed in the _lines among the euganean hills_ and the so-called helgi poet; where we find a curiously identical image of rooks and hawks flying into the early morning with wings sparkling from the mists through which they have passed. the norse poems are fond of screaming eagles, and ravens on the high branches. that weird northern imagination too has vivid pictures, as the shields of the night-warriors shining in the waning moon. nature also occasionally speaks to their personal moods, both by harmony and contrast. a poet's boat is swept fiercely by the tempest, as he dies with thoughts of his "linen-clad lady" in his heart. another watches the sea dashing against the steep cliff, and thinks of his far-away love, in the control of his rival. like the early english, they feel exultation in sea and storm. they know them intimately and their descriptions are spirited and faithful. they love them, but they love fiercely, terribly, as they do their women. yet even as in their human passions, there are tranquillities. "they rode their steeds through dewy dales and dusky glens: the air, a sea of mist, shook as they passed by." we linger behind the storming horsemen for a moment, to look back as the silence steals in again through those dusky glens. but to return to what is our real subject, the sentiment for nature in what we may term the polite literatures of mediævalism. the reason for their feeling about winter is summed up in one of the latin student songs, "the cold icy harshness of winter, its fierceness, and dull, miserable inactivity." it kept them within, when their interests and concerns were so mainly out-of-door. the poets are for ever singing in praise of spring, not so much because they loved it for itself, as because it brought them a life that was gay and easy. they seldom introduce touches of appreciation in their descriptions of the wintry season. snow may have appeared lovely to them, but we observe dante as doing something singular when he compares the talking of ladies, which was mingled with sighs and tears, to raindrops interspersed with beautiful snowflakes (_cp._ _inf._, , ; , ), and one of the most memorable lines in his friend guido cavalcanti's poems is the one which mentions the dreamy sinking down of snow, falling when the air is windless. the old-time gentlemen apparently hugged the fire and drank of "their bugle-horn the wyn," and ate "brawn of the tusked swyn," when winter came, instead of watching the snow, through their little windows. there are many phases of nature which it seems to us impossible not to notice and enjoy, of which we seldom find a trace. we should expect them in the large body of lyrical verse, and still more in the copious romance literature, which corresponds to the modern novel, both in incident and in the invitation to bits of passing local color. clouds, for instance, aside from their glory of line and mass, and the grace and loveliness of their lighter forms, are curious and oddly suggestive, as antony reminds eros, and they are constantly before the eye; yet let any reader of mediæval poetry recall how imperceptible a part they play in it, even as plain facts of description. a line in one of the latin songs expresses the feeling: their thought of clouds is, how delightful not to see them. moonlight, too, is seldom dwelt on as poetical; the most romantic touch that comes to my mind in connection with it, is in chrestien de troyes, where it shines over the reconciliation of estranged lovers. just as we find little notice of sunrise, sunset, clouds, and moon, we find little feeling for the stars. they are mentioned occasionally in a facile way, though scarcely ever with manifest sentiment. there are two or three passages, however, in _aucassin et nicolette_, that show the daintiest sort of sentiment for moonlight and stars. here, for instance, where the lovers are confined for the sake of thwarting their love: "'twas in summer time, in the month of may, when the days are warm, long, and clear and the nights calm and cloudless. nicolette was lying one night in her bed, and she saw the moon clearly shining through a window, and she heard the nightingale singing in the garden and she thought of aucassin her lover, whom she loved so much." so making a rope of the bedclothes she lets herself down into the garden. "then she caught her gown by one hand in front and by the other behind, and tucked it up on account of the dew which she saw was heavy on the grass, and she went down through the garden.... and the daisy-blossoms that she broke with the toes of her feet, that lay over on the small of her foot, were even black, by her feet and legs, so very white was the dear little girl. along the streets she passed in the shadow, for the moon shone very clear, and she went on till she came to the tower where her lover was." and again when the lover is in pursuit of her, after she had built herself a lodge in what she thought a safe retreat; he does not know where she is, and his thoughts are so absorbed that he falls and puts out his shoulder, and then creeps into her vacant shelter: "and he looked through a break in the lodge and saw the stars in the sky, and he saw one brighter than the rest, and he began to say: 'pretty little star, i see where the moon is leading thee. nicolette is with thee there, my darling with the golden hair; god would have her, i believe, to make beautiful the eve.'" yet even here there is nothing of the deeper sensibility to midnight sky, common alike to ancient and modern seriousness. yet we find notes also of this. it is hard, for example, to think of giving up the genuineness of dante's letter refusing to return to florence, if only for the rare touch of everywhere seeing the sun and the stars (_nonne solis astrorumque specula ubique conspiciam?_), that bears out such evidences as the last word of each of the divine canticles and other fine proofs that he felt the high wonder and peace of the stars at night. who can doubt that he did--that every deep nature always has? yet the poetical evidence for it is curiously scanty throughout these centuries. it is a surprise to come upon such an exclamation as this of freidank's: "the constellations sweep through heaven as if they were alive,--sun, moon, the bright stars,--there is nothing so wonderful!" indeed, i can recall no writer to whom the material world seems to suggest such inner sensations as he who called himself freidank, the german free-thinker. he was not much of a poet, so far as his verses go, but his soul knew life as mystery. he also made one of the band of reformers three centuries before luther. he saw the corruption of the church, yet he revered the sacred institution; in spite of his faith, he was a christian rationalist. some of his sentences almost startle us, as words before their season: "if the pope can forgive sins by indulgence, without repentance, people ought to stone him if he allows any one to go to hell." "god is constantly shaping new souls, which he gives to men--to be lost. how does the soul deserve god's wrath before it is born?" he is haunted by the secret of life: "how is the soul made? no one tells me that. if all souls could be in a hand, none could see or grasp their glory." "earth and heaven are full of the godhead. hell would be empty, were god not there." "whatever the sun touches, the sunlight keeps pure. however the priest may be, the mass is still pure. the mass and the sunshine will always be pure." "i never cease wondering how the soul is made. whence it came, and whither it fares--the path is hidden. nay, i know not who i am myself.[ ] lord god, grant me that i may know thee, and also myself." so when freidank hears the roar of the wind, its invisible might reminds his skepticism that the soul may well be great, though none can see it: while he watches the wide mist which no hand can seize upon, a symbolism of the soul comes to him again. he is oppressed by the restless energy of being: "our hearts beat unceasingly, our breaths are seldom still:--and then, our thoughts and dreams!" as he rides through spring, he observes the infinite diversity of nature: many hundred flowers, alike none ever grew; mark it well, no leaf of green is just another's hue. "many a man looks out at the stars, and tells what wonders take place there. let him tell me now (something closer at hand), what is the weed in the garden. if he tells me that truly, i shall be more ready to believe the other." it is the germ of tennyson's _flower in the crannied wall_. nature's commonplaces hold the heavenly mystery in a common bond with their own. such subtle blendings of the outward and inward vision could come only from a refined and pensive spirit--such as his who sums up thus the discipline of life: "many a time the lips must smile when the heart weeps." one of the marked deficiencies of all these descriptions of nature is in the indefiniteness of the terms employed. in minute accuracy, dante, to be sure, is one of the world's greatest masters; but elsewhere it is rarely that we come upon anything concrete or specific. it is not until centuries later, indeed, that, so far as nature goes, we find habitual composition "with the eye upon the object," but, as it seems, most mediæval poets never carried their observation beyond the barest general impressions. we do not expect tennyson's "more black than ashbuds in the front of march," or browning's eye for the fact that when "the leaf-buds on the vine are woolly," the red is about to turn gray. the outer world's "open secret" is not open enough to make us demand minute attention. but it is surprising that they did not more frequently record easy impressions, and in their inventions introduce definite details. the poetical effect of even apparently prosaic precision is at times imaginative, but the art of this was kept for the later romanticists. there is a lyric, however (belonging, i believe, to the twelfth century), by a poet of northern france, and written as a satire on the love-romance literature of the age, which contains one or two happy instances of just this missing trait. so charming it is in itself that i have translated it as a whole, though it belongs to an essay on the lyrical romances, instead of on nature. what a light touch the unknown writer shows, what dainty fancy! sir thopas is hardly a parallel to this blending of poetry with humor, a humor too gracious to be derisive, whose genial satire sparkles and dances to meet its sister wave of sentiment and beauty, till they ripple together, and each seems to have absorbed the other. the opening stanza is the poet's introduction of himself, and from the olive we may draw an inference respecting his local associations: will ye attend me, while i sing a song of love,--a pretty thing, not made on farms:-- nay, by a gentle knight 'twas made who lay beneath an olive's shade in his love's arms. . a linen undergown she wore, and a white ermine mantle, o'er a silken coat; with flowers of may to keep her feet, and round her ankles leggings neat, from lands remote. . her girdle was of leafage green; spring foliage, with a fringing sheen of gold above; and underneath a love-purse hung, by bloomy pendants featly strung, a gift of love. . upon a mule the lady rode, the which with silver shoes was shode; saddle gold-red; and behind rose-bushes three she had set up a canopy to shield her head. . as so she passed adown the meads, a gentle childe in knightly weeds cried: "fair one, wait! what region is thy heritance?" and she replied: "i am of france, of high estate. . "my father is the nightingale, who high within the bosky pale, on branches sings; my mother's the canary; she sings on the high banks where the sea its salt spray flings." . "fair lady, excellent thy birth; thou comest from the chief of earth, of high estate: ah, god our father, that to me thou hadst been given, fair ladye, my wedded mate!" everything here is definite and concrete, and how delightful the picture all is. such plastic art as the "rose-bushes three" is not unworthy of the great modern poets of whom its magic and romantic definiteness reminds us,--as the "five miles meandering of alph, the sacred river," or the "kisses four" with which the pale loiterer shut the eyes of la belle dame sans merci. the description of the nightingale on its high branches, too, is a noticeably accurate touch, as we compare it, for example, with coleridge's nightingale descriptions. the explanation for the usual vague and indefinite description is not found in saying that they could not describe minutely. we meet with abundant details of such material interests as embroideries or armor. there is artistic emotion in villehardouin's account of the glorious sight of constantinople, as it rose before the crusaders, just as distinctly as in lord byron's letter. but, to their simple eyes, nature not only failed to suggest associated fancies, like shakespeare's "wrinkled pebbles in the brook," or wordsworth's ash, "a soft eye-music of slow waving boughs," but they see natural objects as units, without lingering upon their parts. when we find, for example, a line that marks the jerky flight of a swallow, we are surprised at the specific touch; we look almost in vain for such landscape details as the colors of autumn. neidhart von reuenthal is marking his originality, when he speaks of the red tree-tops, falling down yellow. the want of observation and the shallow sympathy with nature shown by most poets before dante are much more surprising than their preference for placid effects. it is unusual, for instance, to meet such a suggestive note of association as in the stanza by the frenchman gaces brulles: the birds of my own land in brittany i hear, and seem to understand the distant in the near; in sweet champagne i stand, no longer here. this paraphrase, indeed, is unworthy of the charming simplicity of the original. surely, when matthew arnold made his sweeping characterization of mediæval poetry as grotesque, he forgot what a straightforward evolution of narrative or of quiet sentiment, and what a transparent expression, we find in some of these minor poets. they are as direct and unadorned, as they are graceful. it is almost impossible to translate them without substituting for the fresh and delicate touch, some metaphysical warping of the idea, or some rhetorical consciousness in words. what for instance could be more elegantly remote from the grotesque than this literal translation of brulles' expression of his sensibility to the song-birds of his home: "the birds of my country i have heard in brittany; by their song i know well that in sweet champagne i heard them of old." * * * * * we may sum up these outline statements to this effect. the northern poets described storm, winter, the ocean, and kindred subjects, with considerable force and fulness. in the cultivated literatures to the south, natural description was mainly confined to the agreeable forms of beauty; the grand, awesome, and inspiring were scarcely felt, and the literal fact of their physical expression was hardly ever noticed. the exterior world was not made a subject of close observation, nor was its poetic availability realized as a setting for action, or as an interpreter of emotion. the people of the north, through being habituated to severer weather, not merely as a fact of climate, but from their rougher, less politely organized habits of living, [we should especially observe their activity on the sea,] regarded the violent seasons and aspects of nature with the sympathetic acquiescence of custom. moreover, this influence tended to develop sturdier and more rugged character, race-temperament obviously being in part a geographical result, which acts with the forces of social organization, especially those that affect the moral qualities, such as rude or luxurious living. this vigorous character was more susceptible to impressions of native power, as well as from association more interested in recalling them. accordingly, we find the early northern poetry an anticipation of the seriousness of modern english literature, and, as well, of its unequalled recognition of physical symbolisms of the sublime. where the northern force blended with more southern lightness and elegance, as it did in the _mabinogion_, we find a deeper poetic sentiment; where it coincides with moral earnestness, we find such nature sensation as in the poetry of _sir gawayn_. but the literature of the germans and their romance originals, aim at courtly levities; they artificialize sentiment and thought, as well as manner. the deeper and more spiritually sympathetic minds did not as a rule devote themselves to _belles-lettres_. the church drew them into her sober service, and even though they wrote, the close theological faith was not favorable to their poetic expansion. most of all, there was but little individualism, and any artistic sensation of our modern complex inner consciousness was still crude, even when it existed at all. one point, however, should be observed in any inquiry into the reasons for the inadequateness of these ages' feeling for nature; that many latent sympathies may never have found a voice. many through the centuries before our later ease of publication, may have felt the modern sensations, without ever thinking of putting them into words. in any new movement, of art as of practice, a great leader of expression is needed. men are sheep to their leaders in various admirations, and many genuine æsthetic tastes are acquired, through stages of more or less unconscious imitation. browning puts this in an acute sentence where fra lippo lippi explains his usefulness as a painter: ". . . we're made so that we love, first when we see them painted, things we have passed perhaps a hundred times, nor cared to see." there were few new departures, there was little originality, in the methods of mediæval literature. descriptions of the physical world as a field of power and sublimity would have fallen dead on the ears of a public who had never dreamed that storm and cliffs were beautiful. what if wordsworth had tried to support himself and win fame by singing at castles? nor is it easy, though the taste has been established, to describe a sunset, or the sublimity of the alps. we say to each other "how beautiful!" "how grand!" seldom more. rare imagination and the tact of genius are necessary to tell what we really need to show. the sense of physical sublimity is complex. its distinctive element is moral or spiritual emotion. for a full delineation it requires a more subtle, verbal repertory than those popular poets usually possessed. yet these modifications no longer apply when we come to dante, and superior as his interpretations are to his predecessors' we miss even in him, as we miss in the great poets for four hundred years afterwards, appreciation of the material world's sublimity. macaulay and others have said that it was not until man had become the master of nature that he learned to love its stern and violent aspects. but thunder storms, for example, are as dangerous now as they ever were, at least to a traveller. still, byron wrote of them with raptures amid the pindus mountains as his predecessors did not. winter was scarcely colder or bleaker for mediæval poets than for scottish peasants a century ago, yet burns would sing as they could not: "e'en winter bleak has charms for me, when winds rave through the naked tree." others have accounted for this change by the era of science, with its close scrutiny of the world, and its enthusiasm for physical knowledge. but the scientist masters the world as a reality where the poet sees it as a symbol. the two modern tendencies may be the result of a common cause--that recognition of complexity, and disposition to observe, which is a main fact in man's expansion. a better explanation may be found, i believe, in modern refinement and ethical sensitiveness. side by side with the new appreciation of nature may be observed a steady growth in sensibility. our modern moods of inward contemplation--we are famous for them--our modern zeal for humanity down to its lowest grades; nay, even our tenderness for the brutes, have been distinguishing marks of the poet guides under whom we have learned to appreciate our new physical symbolisms of human emotion. modern melancholy, as well, a melancholy more subtle and thoughtful, more poetical too, than that of mediævalism, has touched men with its pensive fascination. philosophical pantheism such as wordsworth's or tennyson's, feels deity in nature; the new christianity incarnates divinity in universal man. man is more than he used to be, his moods are deeper, his thought freer. he seeks more ardently than of old, because with less constraint, the mystery in whom he lives and moves and has his being. he no longer quails before the majesty and awe of its forever elusive presence. for he knows that though he cannot find it, it enfolds him with love and beauty, it cries back to his passion and pain in winter and storm; from the solemn mountains it reminds him of himself, an unconquerable partner of its own eternity. [decoration] footnotes: [ ] _lit. fam._, iv., . [ ] since this passage was written, i have met with the following extract from a letter of tennyson's, dated in , though with no direct reference to the experience being associated with nature: "all at once, as it were out of the intensity of the consciousness of individuality, the individuality itself has seemed to dissolve and to fade away into boundless being; and this not a confused state, but the clearest of the clearest, the surest of the surest, utterly beyond words, where death was an almost laughable impossibility, the loss of personality (if so it were), seeming no extinction, but the only true life." [ ] any student of dante, who recalls his lovely early sonnet, _guido, vorrei che tu e lapo ed io_, and compares it with shelley's almost parallel conception of lovers sailing away in indivisible companionship, in the latter part of _epipsychidion_, will obtain an excellent illustration of this same difference of feeling about the natural setting for a happy love. in dante the sentiment is vague, and only what is peaceful, while shelley's ideal haunt of lovers admits owls and bats with the ring-dove, an "old cavern hoar" left unadorned, mossy mountains, and quivering waves. [ ] we recall his great countryman's modern cry: "wohin es geht, wer weiss es? erinnert er sich doch kaum, woher er kam." [decoration] ulrich von liechtenstein. the memoirs of an old german gallant. any one who has read freytag's excellent studies of german social life will recall a curious illustration in his first volume of the lawless violence of thirteenth-century knighthood, in the imprisonment of ulrich von liechtenstein by his liegeman pilgerin. the account not only proves the author's point, but it goes on to suggest a good deal besides. for the victim's unsophisticated and plaintive manner under his misfortune, the fashion in which he relates what he suffered, his allusions to his own life and character, and most of all to the consolations of his love, are all stimulating to one's curiosity about the writer. when we go to the mediæval shelves of a german library we find this curiosity satisfied in a long poem by the unfortunate ulrich, and immediately we are in that chivalric age which wins most of its romantic lustre from its devotion to womanhood. if our guesses at a truth beneath the stories of widowed ladies rescued from bandits of the forest and recreant knights, or of lovely ladies rescued from worse than death by the capture of castles through the prowess of generous champions--stories which every one knows and incredulously likes--send us to a study of the times when they were composed, we find that the age, when stripped of romantic embellishments, in its actual life felt a sentiment for women unequalled by earlier times. we wonder what caused it. can it have been the increase in the culture of the virgin, that beautiful and beneficent phase of mediæval religion? in its larger development, this appears rather the parallel expression of some common influence, these adorations of the divine and human conceptions of woman seeming to be mutually impulsive, and drawn alike from some undetermined tendency of social and spiritual refinement. or was it the crusades? for a german essayist has suggested that we may count this increase of sentimentalism among their many influences upon western europe; the beauty of the women and the more luxurious habits of the east, its more effeminate emotionalism, finding impressionable subjects in the hearts of those stranger knights lying, wakeful for home, beneath southern stars. perhaps the conjecture is equally reasonable that the influence came from french poets who, as they travelled with the early christian armies, caught such suggestions from snatches of oriental poetry. yet it seems more natural to regard the growth of knightly sentiment toward ladies as the more delicate manifestation of a spontaneous increase of social personality, which was stimulated by that general motion in mind and heart which we observe in the progress of chivalric and crusadal life, and based, as we must not forget, upon that teutonic character, whose ancient deference to woman is recorded by tacitus side by side with his account of knighting youthful soldiers with spear and shield. but, to waive the question of its origin, we find its main expression in the old society, in that protracted and conventional wooing which, we should remember, was not usually directed toward marriage. as gentlemen grew hyperbolical and fantastic in their professions of regard and devotion, feminine coquettishness and love of admiration naturally became fastidious and exacting. ladies grew arbitrary and capricious, and began to demand substantial proofs of their lovers' concern for them. it became a trait of elegant culture for a lady to pose as inexorable, while still retaining her control over the wooer; while he, complaisant to the sentimental fashion, sighed in a cheerful melancholy, obeyed, adored, and waited. the mistress set tasks, often no trifles, which the loyal subject must perform--hard feats of arms, long and perilous journeys, abnegations of pride or comfort. when these were accomplished, he sometimes returned to receive a new test, involving a continued delay of his reward. these mediæval ladies were as pitiless as the mystic spiritual dictatress of browning's _numpholeptos_, to their devotees: "seeking love at end of toil, and finding calm above their passion, the old statuesque regard." in the fourteenth century something of this romantic tyranny survived. we find chaucer, for instance, in one of his early poems, mentioning in praise of his heroine that she did not impose dangerous expeditions to distant countries, or extravagant exploits upon her lover: "and saye, 'sir, be now ryght ware that i may of you here seyn worshippe, or that ye come agayn.'" extended probations, courtships long enough to satisfy ruskin, were an established convention. wolfram von eschenbach, in the seventh book of _parzival_, represents obie as indignantly telling her royal lover, who has asked her to marry him after what seems to him a reasonable love-making, that if he had spent his days for five years, in hard service, under full armor, with distinction, and she had then said "yes" to his desire, she would be yielding too soon. jane austen, in the novel to which trollope gave the palm of english fiction before _henry esmond_, has expressed in mr. collins's address to elizabeth exactly the notion of the significance in a rejection, held by well-bred gentlemen six centuries earlier: "'i am not now to learn,' replied mr. collins, with a formal wave of the hand, 'that it is usual with young ladies to reject the addresses of the man whom they secretly mean to accept, when he first applies for their favor; and that sometimes the refusal is repeated a second or even a third time. i am therefore by no means discouraged by what you have just said, and shall hope to lead you to the altar ere long.'" but these exercises, as was suggested, were not usually directed toward the altar. a characteristic of the age is the relation, less or more sentimental, between a married knight and a lady not his wife; a relation rather expected of the former, and countenanced in the latter. this peculiar dual system of domestic and knightly love may be ascribed to various influences, such as the prosaic influence of early and dowered marriages, subject to parental arrangement, or the feudal life which for considerable periods kept gentlemen away from their own homes in residence in the larger castles, or the idleness of such a society, or again the popularity of love-lyrics and romance-recitals, which would tend to sentimentalize their audience. at any rate, it came to be a fashionable idea that the highest love was independent of marriage, and the most poetically inclined,--the troubadours and the minnesingers--were famous for their impassioned and submissive service of married ladies. it is from these poets' accounts of their own love-trials that we learn most about this phase of mediævalism, and in their contented sufferings we see once more that the joy of all romantic love is in the lover. although there is danger of generalizing too widely from literary indications, we may believe that chivalric society was appreciably marked by formal amatory disciplines. was it all for nothing these ceremonial disciplines? can it be that these don quixote prototypes, who trifled away their frivolous days in lady-worship so trivial, did anything to help the prince to take cinderella from the ashes? the ashes, then the fairy coach; first the drudge, then the sentimental plaything, then at last the friend. in those days, as perhaps always, the lover objectified himself in his love, to the extent of finding in her his own _ideal feminine_. the very fact that this self, which he probably called into conscious life only as he created it in another, represented the most refined side of his thought, as is shown in the old poets' recurrent epithets of "constant, chaste, good," etc., made the devotion a refining and dignifying experience, especially for the days when men and women had less in common than they have now. these lady-services, where the lover often was denied intimacy for a considerable time, kept up the illusion which the devotee himself may have half felt was sentimental and artificial. we may reply to little peterkin that some good did come of it at last, even for the more commonplace of these servants of abstract womanhood. even if the "visionary gleam" left no permanent illumination, the men were better for seeing it brightening through their darkness now and then. at its best, lady-loving gave the mediæval knights consideration for women and a measure of gentleness. if it only stimulated some to fight hard, they would have fought anyway, and the motive was a shade less brutal than a directly selfish one. but such an eccentric social idea, especially when the poetic exhilaration of its earlier hours has passed by, was sure to bring out extravagant sentimentalists, whose romantic sensibility with no check from practical judgment, ran wild steeplechases of nonsense. such, for example, was the provençal poet, peter vidal, one of the most famous troubadours, who carried his romantic infatuations so far that he became crack-brained. the name of one of his ladies was lupa, mistress wolf; and if he had contented himself with assuming a wolfish device for his coat-of-arms, as he did, and having himself called mr. wolf, he would have done nothing very peculiar, for that age. but it occurred to him that it would be a graceful symbol to wear a wolf's skin, and after he had procured one which quite covered him, he got down on all-fours, and trotted through the street; and all went charmingly until one day, while he was exhibiting himself in this fashion about his lady's estate, a pack of dogs was deceived by the metaphor, and the allegorical lover was badly bitten before rescue arrived. but the most detailed example of mediæval gallantry is that presented in the work already mentioned, the autobiography of the thirteenth-century minnesinger, ulrich von liechtenstein. the poem is a prolix narrative of his amatory religion, extending through some sixteen thousand lines, and containing a large number of lyrics composed in the wooing of two ladies to whom he consecrated his literary and romantic life. we utterly tire of the commonplaces in which he praises them. we reflect that not a single specific incident is ever introduced to illustrate the inner character of either; the descriptions have no color, except in the heartlessness of the first beloved, whose virtue and humor alike ulrich apparently misses. yet this presumably undesigned caricature of the more poetic twelfth-century chivalric love gives important suggestions of the times, and ulrich himself is a knight and a poet worth knowing. the impression that his romance makes upon a modern reader is something like that of a beetle hovering above a lily. he played zany to the gentlemen of an early generation who had amused their leisurely lives by courtly lady-service; as he emulated their feats of sentimental gallantry, he stumbled and fell. the odd thing is that after each fall he called for his tables: "meet it is i set it down." undoubtedly many marvelled and admired, as they looked on: others marvelled and laughed. perhaps he mistook the laughter for applause. it may be that the sound was lost in the applause of his own simple-minded complacency. but yet, though this gallant was born to a foolish horoscope, his life gained a good fortune denied multitudes who lived sensibly,--he saw the stars of his destiny, and he loved them. their combination caused a silly career, yet individually they were admirable,--simplicity of nature, theoretical reverence for womanhood, patient love, regard for stately old usages. if defective eyesight makes a man fancy a burdock a rosebush, and if he tends and cherishes the absurd idealization,--at least, the man has a sentiment for roses. the earliest fact which ulrich has confided to us, is that in his childhood he used to ride about on sticks, in imitation of the knights, and while in that simple age he noticed that the poetry which people read, and the conversation of wise men which he overheard, kept declaring that no one could become a worthy man without serving unwaveringly good ladies, and that "no one was right happy unless he loved as dearly as his own life some one whose virtue made her fitly called a woman." whereupon, he thought in his simplicity that since pure sweet women so ennoble men's lives, he, whatever happened, would always serve ladies. in such thoughts he grew up until his twelfth year, when he began a four or five years' term as page to a lady who was good, chaste, and gentle, complete in virtues, beautiful, and of high rank. she was destined to give ulrich much trouble, and the lover's sweet solicitude began at once, as he started in his teens. for his constant attention found nothing in her but what was good and charming, and he feared--this boy of thirteen--that she might not care for him. his ups and downs of fortune are reported for us in the popular mediæval form (used for example by map, and one as late as by villon), of a dialogue between his heart and his body. heart is hopeful, but body has the better wit. yet even if she is too high-born to notice him, he will always serve her late and early, and in the interim between his childish page-waiting, and the bold knighthood to be his when he grows up, he gathers pretty summer flowers, and carries them to her. when she took them in her white hand, he was happy. as the time came near for him to leave her household, the youth grew emotional: when at table water was poured over those lovely white hands, he transformed her finger-glass into a tumbler. a german dry-as-dust has laughed at ulrich for this. but the tender little teutonic blossom could unfold its youth no longer in the sunshine of its lady-desire. the stern father appeared, and transferred the lover, his "grief showing well the power of love," to the service of an austrian margrave. "my body departed, but my heart remained"; and ulrich pauses for a moment to point out the strangeness of the paradox. "whenever i rode or walked, my heart never left her; it saw her at all times, night and day." his new master was a knightly gentleman, professedly a lady-servant, and the lessons that ulrich had caught as a child from the conversation in his father's hall were reinforced by this margrave henry. he was taught the best style of riding, the refinements of address to ladies, and poetical composition, and assured that whoever would live worthily must be a lady's true subject. "it adorns a youth--sweet speech to women.... to succeed well with them, have sweet words with true deeds." after four years of such instruction, his father's death called him home to inherit his property, and he spent the three years that followed by tourneying in the noviciate of knighthood. at vienna, in , during the great festival in celebration of the marriage of leopold's daughter, where five thousand knights were present, and tourneying and other entertainments of chivalry were mingled with much dancing, ulrich made one of the two hundred and fifty squires who received their spurs. but the occasion was otherwise memorable to him, for here he saw his lady again. she recognized him, and told one of his friends of her pleasure at seeing become a knight one who had been her page when a little fellow. the mere simple foolish thought that she would perhaps have him for her own knight, as he tells us, was sweet and good, and put him in high spirits. indeed this was all the contentment which the blushing young knight desired: "dreams are true while they last, and do we not live in dreams?" ulrich did not wake from his to do anything so practical as to speak face to face with her, but gaily rode off to a summer of adventure in twelve tournaments, wherein he invariably fared well, thanks to his devotion. german sentiment has always shown a butterfly's sensibility to winter and rough weather, and with the last of autumn, ulrich's spirit grows heavy. he longs to see his lady, he knows that now he would speak to her. there are no tourneys to distract him, and in care of heart he rose, lay down, sat, and walked. as it chanced, a cousin of his knew this only lovely one, and the taxing office of a lover's confidante fell heavily upon her, and remained for some years. after beating about the bush with her for a while, he confessed the truth, only to receive point-blank advice to give up so hopeless an aspiration. never! on the contrary she must help him in his perseverance by visiting the lady and presenting her with a copy of the verses which ulrich has been composing for her as a confession of his love. his cousin consented, but her mission resulted in a scornful rejection of the suit, softened by compliments upon the poem. he was advised to abandon his quest, for the lady seriously objected to his mouth. "nothing but grim death can drive me from her; i will serve her all my life," he exclaimed. but he felt that the criticism upon his mouth was a fair one, and he determined to pay attention to it. poor ulrich, with so much sentiment, yet with such physical deficiencies; with such correct perception of the use of lips, yet having such uninviting ones of his own. in one of his songs he tells us: when a lady on her lover looks and smiles, and for a kiss shapes her lips, he can discover never joy so great; his bliss transcends measure: o'er all pleasures is his pleasure. but until he was quite in his twenties, his experience of this blessedness must have been of those "by hopeless fancy feigned on lips that are for others"; for ulrich confesses to the deformity of what he calls three lips; that is, a bad hare-lip. but this protagonist of mediæval quixotism has energy and nerve, as well as sentiment. in spite of his cousin's dissuasions (this plain-minded lady tells him to take the body god has given him, instead of arrogantly improving upon his creation), ulrich rides off to find the best surgeon in the country, and submit to an operation. but the doctor decides that the time of year is unsuitable; he must wait until winter is past, keep his three lips until may. at last spring comes and ulrich returns to the doctor. upon the way he meets a page of his lady's, to whom he confides the purpose of his journey, and whose presence he secures as a witness. early one monday morning the surgeon received his patient, laid out his instruments before him, and produced several straps. at sight of the latter, martial dignity recoiled, and ulrich refused to allow himself to be bound. it was to no purpose that he was told of the danger involved in even a twitch; he said with spirit that he came of his own will, and if anything happened amiss he alone would be to blame. whereupon he sat calmly upon a bench, and without a tremor allowed the surgeon to "cut his mouth above his teeth and farther up. he cut like a master, i endured like a man." ulrich describes the discomfort which he experienced during the healing of the wound, in details which give an unpleasant notion of the methods of mediæval surgery. as he was able to eat and drink scarcely anything, he wasted in flesh, and his only comfort was the thought of her for whom he had suffered. during the confinement, he composed another dancing song in her honor, which, after his recovery he entrusted to his cousin, who forwarded it with a letter of her own. presently an answer came. the lady is to spend the next monday night near by, in the course of a journey, and she will be very happy to see her friend's relative, and learn from himself how things are. time changes the significance of letters, among other things. this lady-like note, which gave such a heart-leap to ulrich's sentimental hope, interests scholars to-day as being the earliest prose letter in german. on tuesday morning, when ulrich appeared at the chapel where the lady's chaplain was singing mass before her, she bowed without speaking. after the service she rode off, and ulrich had found no chance to meet her. his cousin, however, told him that everything was favorable, and that the lady would allow him to ride with her that day. so he galloped off in gay spirits, and soon overtook the cavalcade. but alas for his self-possession; when he reaches her his head drops and he cannot find a single word. another knight was riding with her. ulrich's heart makes a speech to his body, reproaching it for cowardice; "if you go on without speaking to her now, she will never be good to you again." so he rides up to her and gets a sweet glance, but still he cannot speak. heart nudges body and whispers: "speak now, speak now, speak now!" all through the day body tries, he tries over and over, but he cannot. alas, as a poet of his own day said: "mit gedanken wirt erworben niemer wîbes kint: . . . . . . . des enkan sî wizzen niht."[ ] when they reach their lodging-place for the night, he wishes to assist the only one in dismounting, but she is not sufficiently flattered by his attentions to accept them; she says that he is sick and useless, and not strong enough to help her down. the attending gentlemen laugh merrily at that, and the ever sweet, constant, good, and so forth, as she slides from her horse, catches hold of ulrich's hair, without any one's noticing it (however that can have been done), and pulls a lock out by the roots. "take this for being afraid," she whispers; "i have been deceived by other accounts of you." reproaching himself, and wishing god to take his life, he stood gawkily where she left him, absorbed in remorse for his awkwardness, until a knight admonished him to step aside and allow the ladies to go by to their rooms. whereupon he rode off to his inn, and swore that he was ill. as he tossed restlessly through the night, he talked with himself as usual, lamenting his birth, and assuring himself that should he live a thousand years he could never again be happy. "not to speak one word to her! my worthlessness has lost my lady." but in the morning he rode up to her on the street. no silence this time: "thy grace, gracious lady! graciously be gracious to me. thou art my joy's abiding place, the festival of my joys." like many shy people, ulrich talked fluently enough when he was once started, and he was only in the midst of his protestations when the lady interrupted him. "hush, you are too young; ride on before me. talking may hurt you, it never can help you. it would be amiss for others to hear what you are saying. leave me in peace; you grow troublesome." then she beckoned to another knight, and directed that she should never again be attended by less than two gentlemen. it was in the book of lady-service that no repulse was a discouragement. "this morning," says the heroine in bret harte's parody of _jane eyre_, "this morning he flung his boot at me! now i know he loves me." ulrich rode off, thinking that he had met with good success in telling her a part of his love, before the interruption. another summer passed in tourneying, and during another winter he tried to amuse himself by making poetry for his lady. this time he sent her a more pretentious tribute, his first "büchlein," a poem of some four hundred lines. like most of its kind, it is formal, sentimentally prolix, and supplicatory, yet not without a certain pleasant interest. he begs her from the wealth of her loveliness to grant him some trifling favor which she never can miss: what is worse the bloomy heath, if a few flowers for the sake of a garland some one break? he wishes it were himself that the messenger is about to deliver to her: little book, i fain would be, when thou comest, changed to thee. when her fair white hand receives thine assemblement of leaves, and her glances, shyly playing, thee so happy are surveying. and her red mouth comes close by, i would steal a kiss, or die. but the unsatisfactory manuscripts were returned at once. the lady told the bearer that she recognized the merit of the poetry, but she would have nothing to do with it. like many poets of those days when monks and ladies constituted the educated classes, like his predecessor, the great master of high mediæval romance, ulrich could neither read nor write, and for such delicate personal affairs as correspondence with his lady he depended upon his confidential clerk. this confidant of his passion was absent when the "büchlein" came back, but the eager eyes of the poet looked through the pages over which they had evidently wandered before he dismissed his labors to their fate, repeating the lines from memory as he looked over the characters which should interpret his loving patience to the lady who would not let him speak it to her; and as he looked, he detected an addition to what he had sent, an appendix of ten lines. the slighted letter found a home in his bosom, and for ten days he awaited his secretary's return. his happy hopes--those ten days were so cheerful. but when the little response was at last interpreted, away with hopes and cheerfulness. to make plainness trebly plain, his cruel correspondent had copied out three times the sentiment: "whoever desires what he should not, has refused himself." summer again, and the lover has diversion in the sports of chivalry. any one interested in the details of mediæval tournaments will find in ulrich's narrative a valuable and lively record of the tourney held at friesach in . his sense for material splendor is well shown by his full accounts of the costuming and tent equipments. the trustworthiness of the minor points may be questioned when we recall that the _frauendienst_ was composed more than thirty years later, but as a sketch of thirteenth-century chivalry, no doubt it is accurate. the heralds running hither and thither, and shouting as they arranged for the contests, with their cries to "good gallant knights to risk honor, goods, and life for true women"; the squires crowding the ways, loud noise of drums, flute-playing, blowing of horns, great trumpeting,--we have the old picture, made vivid in english by chaucer in the _knight's tale_, and by tennyson. ulrich rode in disguise, prompted by the sentimentalist's self-consciousness, always delighted in attracting attention and making himself talked of. according to his own account, he did good hearty tourneying, breaking ten spears with one antagonist, seven with another, five with a third, six with a fourth, in a single day. the meeting continued for ten days, and ulrich grows prolix in his particulars, though he is modest enough about his own exploits, pronouncing himself neither the best nor the worst of the participants. the accidents of jousting, through which many were left at friesach with broken limbs and other injuries, and the misfortunes which compelled others to have recourse to the jews for loans, did not disturb the musical contestant. at the end he rode cheerfully off to his cousin with another song for the same inattentive ear. she promised to report, as she sent it, that no one in the great tourney had excelled him. this lyric is the poem by which modern german students of their old literature have been best pleased, and we shall hardly dissent from scherer's commendation. for it is both a typical minnesong, in its treatment of nature and love, and also fortunate in its union of sentiment, force, finish, and a ring of personal meaning. omitting two of its stanzas, it goes as follows: now the little birds are singing in the wood their darling lay; in the meadow flowers are springing, confident in sunny may. so my heart's bright spirits seem flowers her goodness doth embolden; for in her my life grows golden, as the poor man's in his dream. ah, her sweetness! free from turning is her true and constant heart; till possession banish yearning, let my dear hope not depart. only this her grace i'll pray: wake me from my tears, and after sighs let comfort come and laughter; let my joy not slip away. blissful may, the whole world's anguish finds in thee its single weal; yet the pain whereof i languish, thou, nor all the world, canst heal. what least joy may ye impart, she so dear and good denied me? in her comforts ever hide me, all my life her loving heart. but elegant and tender as in the original these verses are, their object returned a slighting answer, and added that the messenger must not be sent again. people would come to have suspicions. ulrich made another set of verses, and went off to another joust. there one of his fingers was seriously wounded, and in his anxiety to save it he offered a surgeon a thousand pounds for a cure. the treatment was unsuccessful, and, after showing a good deal of temper, he went to a new surgeon, on the way beguiling himself of his pain by composing another poem upon the old theme. but a shock was at hand; a friend divulged to him his closely kept secret. "this lady [still unnamed to us] is the may-time of your heart." what though this friend believed that the lady cared for him? "my head sank down, my heart sighed, my mouth was dumb," in terror lest it might be through his fault that the object of his devotion had been discovered. for secrecy was the first of a chivalric lover's virtues, even about the object of his passion. yet the pain was not without compensation, inasmuch as this gentleman, who declared that he had already kept the secret for two years and a half, volunteered to make another appeal. so off to the home of the inexorable went anew the story of unflinching devotion, the loss of a finger in a tournament for her glory not unmentioned. ulrich's cause was pleaded with fervor, and in winning style. the lover was praised and prayed for. the song he had sent was even sung, instead of being formally delivered. a faithful and versatile legate was this proxy wooer, but it was all to no purpose. the lady declared that she would grow old in entire ignorance of any love but her husband's. she warned the messenger that ulrich would find himself in trouble if he should persist in annoying her with such sentimental folly; she would not receive such attentions from the highest-born--not even from a king. the news saddened, but did not cast down. "what if she refuses me?" cried ulrich; "that shall not disturb me. if she hates me to-day, i will serve her so that later she shall like me. were i to give up for a cold greeting, could a little word drive me away from my high hope, i should have no sound mind or manly mood. whatever the true, sweet one does to me, for that i must be grateful." but now another summer was over, and he diverted himself by a pilgrimage to rome. after easter he returned, on his way composing this sweetly conceived and rather pretty lyric: ah, see, the touch of spring hath graced the wood with green; and see, o'er the wide plain sweet flowers on every spray. the birds in rapture sing; such joy was never seen: departed all their pain, comfort has come with may. may comforts all that lives, except me, love-sick man; love-stricken is my heart, this drives all joys away. when life some pleasure gives, in tears my heart will scan my face, and tell its smart; how then can pleasure stay? vowed constantly to woo high love am i; that good while i pursue, i see no promise of success. pure lady, constant, true, the crown of womanhood, think graciously of me, through thy high worthiness. the knight passed his summer in steierland under arms, and after pleasant experiences he sent his messenger again, only to have his suit repelled with the same coldness and decision as before. the report was even more discouraging, for the lady, who had been told of his losing a finger in her service, had now learned that he still had it; nor was she moved by the assurance that it was almost useless. the desire to keep the wounded member had led him to large expense of money and time, but he cared for it no longer. he set about the composition of another long elegy, which explains how his heart loves her, and weeps for her favor, as a poor and orphaned child weeps after comfort; so ardently he loves her, that he gladly sacrifices anything, and as a pledge of his constant fidelity, he sends her one of his fingers, lost in that service for which it was born. after the poem was ready, he directed a goldsmith to make a fine case, in which he enclosed it. but he put in something more; he had the convalescent finger amputated, and sent it to the chiding critic as a proof that he had not lied in saying that he had lost it for her. yet even this failed to please so unsympathetic a mistress. she said she wondered how any one could be so foolish as to cut off his finger: he would have been able to serve ladies better by keeping it. however, she would retain the token of his consideration, but a thousand years of his service would be lost on her. ulrich was jubilant, for he was confident that with this memento, she would always think of him.[ ] now a large idea visits this sanguine gentleman. gone to rome on a pilgrimage, that is what he will pretend; he rigs himself out with a wallet and staff which he obtains from a priest, and trudges off. but something more novel and magnificent is haunting his ingenious mind. it is to venice that he goes--cautiously, so as not to be observed. upon his arrival, he takes lodgings in an out-of-the-way inn, so that no one may hear of him. there he spends the winter, making a liberal expenditure for costumes for himself and a retinue. he dresses himself as queen venus, in complete feminine attire, even to the long braids of hair which figure so prominently in the descriptions of the ladies of that age. when spring came, he sent a courier over the route that he intended to take on his journey homeward, with a circular-letter that contained a list of thirty places at which lady venus would appear, and joust with all contestants. a ring which makes beautiful and keeps true love, was offered to whoever might break a spear against her. if she should cast a knight down, he should become a loyal knight to women everywhere; if he were to overthrow her, she would give him her horse. but to no one would she show her face or hand. thirty days later he started on his disguised errantry. his retinue consisted of a marshal, a cook, a banner-bearer, two trumpeters, three boys to take charge of three sumpters, three squires for the three war-steeds, four finely dressed squires, each holding three spears, two maids--good-looking, he tells us,--and two fiddlers. who raised my spirits, fiddling loud a marching tune, which made me proud. behind these he rode himself, dressed, like the entire cavalcade, entirely in white,--cape, hood, shirt, coat reaching to his feet, embroidered silk gloves, and those hair-braids hanging to his waist. "in my love-longing heart, i rejoiced thus to serve my lady." the narrative of this "venus-journey" is prolonged, detailed, and tedious, and only two or three episodes need be mentioned. at treviso, a crowd of women are gathered about his lodging, when he comes out on his way to early mass, and he takes comfort in thinking how well-dressed he is. in the church, a countess suggests kissing him, conformably to the kiss of peace custom; the attraction is stronger than the desire for disguise, and he lifts his veil. she sees that lady venus is a man, but she kisses him nevertheless. "that raised my spirits," ulrich confides to us, "for a lady's kiss is delightful"; and he goes on to say that "every one who ever kissed a lady's mouth knows that nothing is so sweet as the kiss of a noble lady. a high-born true woman who has a red mouth and a fair body, whenever she kisses a man he can judge of a lady's kiss, and of it he is ever glad. a lady's kiss is still better than good, and it fills a heart with joy." no wonder that many ladies collected at his inn, to bid so sentimental a knight god-speed. from their prayers he assures us that he gained good fortune, "for god cannot slight ladies' petitions," an imputation of gallantry to god, for which we find curious mediæval parallels. wherever the knight goes, numerous contestants are awaiting him, in this idle age when no one had anything to do. some of these, also, assume disguises, one as a monk, another in female costume, his shield and spear æsthetic with flowers. but the travelling combatant is always the winner. at one point during the journey he steals off for a couple of days to a place which he has never mentioned previously: namely, to his home. the love-stricken lady-servant speaks with the most unaffected simplicity of the joy with which he rode away to see his wife: "who was just as dear to me as she could be.... the good woman received me just as a lady should receive her very dear husband. i had made her happy by my visit. my arrival had taken away her sadness. she was glad to see me, and i was glad to see her; with kisses the good woman received me. the true woman was glad to see me, and joyously i took my ease and pleasure there two days." this appears tautological, but it also seems sincere. but a wound was in store for his sensibility. one day he had gone to a retired place for a bath, and his attendant had gone to bring a suit. while thus left quite alone and unprotected, a lady sent by her servant a suit of female garments, a piece of tapestry, a coat, a girdle, a fine buckle, a garland, a ring with a ruby red as a lady's sweet mouth, and a letter. to receive such a gift from a lady not one's love was treason. he bade the page take the things away, but he would not; nay, he presently returned with two others, carrying fresh beautiful roses, which they strewed all about ulrich in the bath, while he raged and fumed to think of the insult offered to his unprotected condition. to think of receiving a gift from any but his own lady! and, of all gifts, a ring! the next present that came was received very differently. after all these years of neglect, the mistress of his life sent ulrich an affectionate message, and a ring which her white hand had worn for ten years, as a token that she took part in the honors which he was gaining, and rejoiced in his worthiness. possibly the knight's name was gaining currency as genuinely valorous. but fancy his ecstasy! "this little ring shall ever lift up my heart. well for me that i was born, and that i found a lady so true, sweet, blissful, lady of all my joys, brightness of my heart's joys," and so forth. he was informed that many knights were waiting to contest with him at vienna. "what harm can happen to me, since my lady is gracious? if for every knight there were three, i could master them all." outside of amorous and knightly themes, ulrich's mind is not active, but he occasionally shows a philosophical observation on social topics, as in the present context, where he comments on female vanity in dress: "woman's nature, young and old, likes many clothes. even if she does not wear them all, she is pleased to have them, so that she can say, 'an if i liked, i could be better dressed than other people.' good clothes are becoming to beautiful women, and my foolish masculine opinion is that a man should take pleasure in dressing them well, since he should hold his wife as his own body." certainly ulrich took pleasure in dressing himself well. the venus-journey ended, and ulrich counted up the results. two hundred and seventy-one of his spears had been broken, and he had broken three hundred and seven; he had brought honor upon his lady by his loyalty and valor; and had shown her constant devotion, even though he had momentarily fallen in love with a bewitching woman at one of his stopping-places, and taken advantage of his disguise to kiss various fair ones at mass. is it possible that the anonymous heroine heard of such trivial infidelities? at any rate, the next visit of the messenger brought a bitter dismissal, with cruel charges of inconstancy. she would always hate him, and never hold him dear; she was angry with herself for giving him a ring; she bade him return it at once. alas, poor ulrich! never had he entertained a false thought; if he had ever been guilty of one, he would in no wise have survived it. "i sat weeping like a child; from weeping i was almost blind. i wrung my hands pitilessly; in my distress my limbs cracked as one snaps dry wood." well may the poet declare that exhibition of grief no child's play. as the lover and his bosom friend sat weeping together, ulrich's brother-in-law admonished him that such behavior disgraced the name of knight; moreover, there was no reason for melancholy now, when the champion ought to be happy in the fine reputation just made. "if women hear how you are behaving, they will always hate you for this weak mood." ulrich tried to tell about his grief for the lady whom he had served so long, but the strain was too great: "the blood in truth burst out from my mouth and my nose, so that i was all blood." it was perhaps natural for his friend to thank god that "before his death he had been permitted to see one man who truly loves." yet he bade him be courageous. "nothing helps so much with ladies as good courage. melancholy doesn't succeed with them at all. joyousness always has served well with women." water is stable compared with ulrich's temperament. close upon the anguish of this renewed rejection he goes home for a ten-days' visit with his wife,--"my dear wife, who could not be dearer to me even though i had another woman for the lady of my life." within eight lines this mercurial poet speaks of his comfort with his wife, and of the suffering of his love-languishing heart. another message from his dream brought a renewed expression of coldness. she felt kindly to him, but she never would grant favor to any one. but another song and messenger secure at last the promise of an interview. yet notice the conditions. evidently this lady was a humorist, to whom her former page was amusing when her less complaisant mood did not find him tiresome. and perhaps she thought that he could not accept her terms. she says she will see him if he will come the next sunday morning before breakfast, dressed in poor clothes, and in company with a squad of lepers who have a camp near her castle. but even then he is to indulge in no hope of her love. the distance is so great that he thinks he will be unable to cover it in time; but he is told that he must, for "women are very strange; they wish men constantly to carry out their desires, and to any one who fails to do so they are not well disposed." on saturday he rode thirty-six miles, lost two horses by the forced journey, very likely over rough country, and was wearied by the exertion of so hard an effort. but he succeeded, and as soon as they reach the neighborhood of the castle, he and his two companions put on poor clothes--the shabbiest they could procure,--and with leper cups and long knives for their safety among such outcasts of society, they go to the spot where thirty lepers are huddled together. mediæval charity and religion are illustrated by this incident; the miserable beggars explain that a lady of the castle is ill, and therefore they often receive food and money in recompense for their prayers for her recovery. beating his clapper like one of them, he goes toward the castle gate, and meets an envoy maid who bids him beware of failing to obey every command literally, and adds that her mistress will not see him yet awhile. that personal vanity which always marked him had submitted to stains of herbs to disguise his face, as well as to miserable and ragged dress, and off he went, in the servitude of love, and sat among the lepers, ate and drank among them--nay, even went about begging for scraps, which, however, he threw under a bush. the foul odors and the filthiness of the wretches about him made the day almost insufferable, but at last night came, and he hid himself in a field of grain, getting well stung by insects and drenched in a cold storm. but he told himself that "whoever has in his troubles sweet anticipation, he can endure them." in the morning he went to the castle again, and was encouraged to believe that he would be received that evening. so he returned and ate with the beggars; then he escaped to a wood, and with true old german nature-sentiment, he sat down where the sun fell through the trees and listened to the birds--many were singing--and forgot the cold. toward evening he secured another interview with the maid, and received directions for the night. he and his companion hid in the ditch before the castle, skulking from the observation of the patrol, until well after dark; then when the signal light appeared at a certain window he went beneath it, and found a rope made of clothes hanging down. in this he fastened himself, and hands above began to raise him, but when he was half way up they could raise him no farther, and he was let down to the ground. this happened three times; and yet, guileless ulrich, you had no glimmering that perhaps it was a joke? the companion was lighter than his lord, and it occurred to the two that they had better change places. so they did, and the substitute was lifted into the window by the waiting ladies above, and then ulrich himself arrived there. he was given a coat (an accident below had compelled him to leave his on the ground), and, blissful moment, he was ushered into the presence of the woman whom he had so long served without even a glimpse. it was a brilliant social scene which broke upon those enamoured eyes, indeed too brilliant and too social to correspond with a lover's sentiment for "dual solitude." his soul's desire, richly dressed, sat upon a couch, surrounded by a bevy of ladies. her husband, it is true, was not present, but with an absence of tact (as it must have seemed to ulrich) she fell to talking about him and her complete happiness in his love. their mutual confidence is so strong that he is quite willing to have her receive any visitors whom she pleases, and she added that her true mind served him better than any safeguard which he could put upon her. awkward as such a line of conversation made it, ulrich began to tell the story of his heart, and entreats her to respond to his devotion. she assured him that she had no thought of ever loving him; she had consented to this interview only to assure him of her kindly feeling, and satisfy him from her own lips that he must cherish no romantic hope. if he continued to ask her to love him, he should lose her favor. "i was horrified," he declares, "and started up at the threat." at this point in the interview he withdraws to talk to his cousin, who was with other ladies in an adjoining apartment, and who advised him to return and plead again. but an abrupt dismissal sends him into a moody reflection, which culminates in a desperate resolve. now or never; he sends her word of his determination, and then rushes in and tells her that if she will not say she loves him, he will kill himself then and there. the lady sees that such a suicide would be compromising, and tries to persuade him that perhaps she may some time. ah, no such coyness; she must confess her love to-night. finally, as a last resource, she thinks of employing the usual right of a courted woman--putting her lover to a test of his devotion. he has already given her so many that a trifling, a merely formal one will serve now. let him just get into the clothes-rope again and be lowered part way down, and pulled back; then she will say she loves him. a glimmer of suspicion flits over his mind, but she gives him her hand as a pledge, and he gets into the rope. now he is hanging outside the window, still holding the dear hand, and such sweet things as she whispers, as she leans out--no knight was ever so dear to her; now comes his contentment, all his troubles are past now! she even coddles his chin with her disengaged hand, and bids him kiss her. kiss her! in his joy he lets go the hand he was holding, to throw both arms about her neck, when suddenly he is dropped to the ground so swiftly "that he ran great peril of his life."[ ] in the rooms above a score of voices ringing with laughter, on the ground a too credulous child of mars and venus, cursing his day. ulrich spies a deep pool and is about to drown himself, when his companion arrives with a little present sent by the lady. she promises--(the gentleman afterward confesses that this is a falsehood of his own to preserve ulrich from despair)--that if he will return in three weeks, she will assure him of her real affection. but now it is near day, and they must hasten off; providentially there is a tournament awaiting them, which will distract his attention. but he sends his friend back to have a talk with the lady, who is in a rather humorous mood, and says that ulrich made so much noise when he fell that one of the guard thought it was the devil. but though she laughs, she evidently has had enough of such fun, for she tells the messenger that if his lord wishes her favor he must make the journey over-sea. ulrich agrees to go, but he is warned against the almost hopeless dangers of that most formidable of pilgrimages; he is reminded that no one ever took such a perilous journey except for god, and that he would surely sacrifice his soul, if he lost his life thus for a woman. but one grows tired of the story, which runs on with ups and downs, over the long thirteen years through which ulrich served this lady. toward the end of the period he was plainly growing impatient. he wrote more lyrics, which suggest here and there that devotion without love in return is foolish, and that he is contemplating a change. finally he conceived himself treated shamefully (we are not told what the discourtesy was which he could not idealize), and he made a final break with his old worship. but now the time passed wearily, and he felt that he must still have a lady to serve. "how joyfully once the days went by; alas, no longer have i any service to render. how happy ladies' service makes one." but the knight has learned the lesson of his trials, and this time he arranges for a judicious passion. he runs over all his female acquaintance, to see which of them he had best select. finally he fixes upon one who, of course, is beautiful and good, and wholly free from change; who has finished manners and gentle ways, chastity and force of character, and to her he offers his service, which she accepts. from this point in ulrich's memoirs we have an increasing number of lyrics; he likes them all, but complains that one or two were not appreciated by the public, though whoever was clever enough to understand his poetry, he tells us, did appreciate it. perhaps we are not clever enough to understand it all; but some of the songs, as he himself says, "are good for dancing and very cheerful; the martial ones were gladly sung when in the jousts fire sprung from helmets," and more than one of his poems is a contribution to the graceful though minor work of the later minnesingers. for example: summer-hued, is the wood, heath and field; debonair now is seen white, brown, green, blue, red, yellow, everywhere. everything you see spring joyously, in full delight; he whose pains dear love deigns with her favor to requite-- ah, happy wight. whosoe'er knows love's care, free from care well may be; year by year brightness clear of the may shall he see. blithe and gay all the play of glad love shall he fulfil; joyous living is in the giving of high love to whom she will, rich in joys still. he's a churl whom a girl lovingly shall embrace, who'll not cry "blest am i"-- let none such show his face. this will cure you (i assure you) of all sorrows, all alarms; what alloy in his joy on whom white and pretty arms bestow their charms? and again: sweet, in whom all things behooving, virtue, brightness, beauty, meet, little troubles thee this loving, thou art safe above it, sweet. my love-trials couldst thou feel from thy dainty lips should steal sighs like mine, as deep and real. sir, what is love? prithee, answer; is it maid or is it man? and explain, too, if you can, sir, how it looks; though i began long ago, i ask in vain; everything you know explain, that i may avoid its pain. sweet, love is so strong and mighty that all countries own her sway; who can speak her power rightly? yet i'll tell thee what i may. she is good and she is bad; makes us happy, makes us sad; such moods love always had. sir, can love from care beguile us and our sorrowing distress? with fair living reconcile us, gaiety and worthiness? if her power hath controlled everything as i've just told, sure her grace is manifold. sweet, of love there's more to tell thee; service she with rapture pays; with her joys and honors dwell; we learn from her dear virtue's ways. mirth of heart and bliss of eye whom she loves shall satisfy; nor will she higher good deny. sir, i fain would win her wages, her approval i would seek; yet distress my mind presages; ah, for that i am too weak. pain i never can sustain. how may i her favors gain? sir, the way you must explain. sweet, i love thee; be not cruel; thou to love again must try. make a unit of our dual, that we both become an "i." be thou mine and i'll be thine. "sir, not so; the hope resign. be your own, and i'll be mine." the latter part of this prolix autobiography is occupied by a detailed account of a long tourneying trip, which he contrived as a parallel to his venus-journey, this time under the disguise of king arthur. but the narration of that ends at last, and ulrich becomes reflective upon the seasons and his lady. "whoever sorrows at winter, and is made glad by summer, lives like the bird which rejoices in sunny may. how distressing is bad weather! yet whatever the weather, her goodness gives me joy which storms cannot disturb." presently he tells us his feelings about the life around him, for the social critics of mediævalism felt the inequalities of fortune and happiness quite as strongly as do the social critics of to-day. some time earlier ulrich, in criticising a number of knights whom he met, showed a noteworthily refined feeling for generous qualities, and resistance against hardness and selfish aims. in spite of this love-singer's belief in cheerfulness ("no one does well to be sad except about sins," he wrote), the roughness of the age troubled him, as it had troubled earlier and greater authors of his nation. "instead of being good, the rich work one another harm; the only profession is that of plundering, the service of ladies is forsaken. the young men are spendthrifts, and with pillaging consume their youth." indeed, the golden hour of chivalry had struck when ulrich wrote, in his later life, just past the middle of the thirteenth century. but this sentimental absurdity, whose fanciful devotion and melodramatic moonings we find so preposterous, kept a strain of the higher manhood. he was good-hearted; he believed in the refined side of life, so far as he knew it; in a rough time and place he loved gentleness; though born with a large streak of the fool, he had also a pleasant element of the simple-minded gentleman; and as he grew old amid fading ideals, over which he had hung with effeminately romantic faith, the brutal and joyless hardness of men perplexed and saddened him. yet his simplicity was his trouble's best physician; nature, the beauty and goodness of true womanhood, his sense of inner virtue as opposed to worldly estimates, and his poetry--in these he found comfort. "whatever people have done, i have been happy and sung of my love." after ulrich has told the story of his worldly and sentimental career, he stops to think over the cause to which that career has been consecrated. has he made a mistake? never! "when beauty and goodness unite in woman, she is admirable; one whose goodness is clothed with a noble spirit wears the best of garments. even though a woman has little beauty, if she has the raiment of goodness, men yet call her fair. be sure that no clothes better become a lady than goodness--it is better than beauty, though that is excellent. by goodness a poor woman will become truly a lady, and this the rich cannot be without it; nay, shapely and noble though she may be, without this she is still no womanly woman." ... "whoever loves the sight of pretty women," he goes on, "and will not notice their goodness but only their bright charm, is like one who gathers pretty flowers for their bright beauty's sake, and twines them into a garland; then, finding that they are not fragrant, he is sorry that he gathered them. but whoever understands plants, lets those grow which have no sweet odor, and breaks off fragrant flowers." for over thirty years he has served ladies, and he knows no truth so certain as this, that nothing equals the mutual happiness of a true woman and a loving man. yet sentiment can play only a minor part in life, after all. there are four main objects of exertion, and upon these, as he ends his book, the poet stops to reflect: the grace of god, honor, ease, and wealth. some strive for one, some for another, while others aim ineffectively at all, win none, and hate themselves. and what has this old german gallant to say of himself? in all these revelations of his life, we catch no suggestions of selfishness or meanness, but while fancying himself enacting high chivalric drama, he has been wearing cap, and bells, and motley, lance in his left hand, a bauble in his right. then, too, he has been so self-satisfied with his rôle. well, the play is finished now, and ulrich is sitting in the green-room, thinking. his coat is flung aside, with one last jingle the bells fall to the floor, he has dropped his bauble, and as he bows his head and in his musing runs his fingers through his hair, the coxcomb falls too. it is here in the green-room that he speaks his epilogue: "of this last class am i; i have lived my life trying not to give up the three for any one. i desired and even hoped that i might obtain all the four. this hope has still deceived me, and i am made a fool by it. one day i will serve him who has given me soul, life, thought, whatever i have; the next as a man i will strive for honor; then for wealth; on the fourth day i am for ease. thus inconstant, i have passed my entire life." nothing accomplished--nothing even steadily aimed at. nothing? with characteristic buoyancy the gray-haired poet puts aside this sombre mood of dissatisfaction with his fifty odd years. for in one point, at least, he has been true. in this book, written only because his lady commanded, he has spoken very many sweet words for worthy women, and throughout his life he has been faithful to his love. "and i do believe that the very true sweet god, through his very high goodness, will think on my fidelity to her, and my constant service." [decoration] footnotes: [ ] "a woman is never won by what is in one's thoughts: . . . . . . . . of that she can know nothing." [ ] with this extravagant but probably veracious incident, one naturally compares the sacrifice of guillem de balaun's finger nail. [ ] these poet lovers seem to have been frequently laughed at. for instance, pierre vidal was promised in their amusement anything by the ladies whom he loved. na alazais was so indignant when he took encouragement to steal his one kiss, that he was compelled to flee, and go with richard to the east. [decoration] neidhart von reuenthal, and his bavarian peasants. our liveliest pictures of old german peasantry come, as we should expect, from a singer of the knightly class. the masses had fewer and of course less accomplished poets, and these would be most likely to please their audiences by touching with the glamour of fashionable life such work as they cared to make contemporary and imitative. realistic social transcripts usually come from culture. it may be that neidhart von reuenthal had been brought up at the ducal court or in a castle, but there is as good reason for conjecturing that his origin was among the scenes of country life that he describes. most of the courtly poets belonged to the lower class of knights, and between this and the better order of peasants there was no wide dividing line; indeed, a farmer with a little land of his own and four free ancestors ("von allen vieren anen ein gebûre," as neidhart says bitterly of his enemy the swaggering ber), by the old saxon law stood higher than a knight not of free blood. the agricultural class in the thirteenth century was becoming more impatient of the costly conflicts of their military superiors and was also suffering severely from the pillaging domestic raids of lawless knights, who, as they grew bolder, established centres of reckless free-booting to which they attracted wayward youth of the middle classes. cities were also getting larger, and the tradesmen joined with the established gentry in thinking slightingly of the farming population. accordingly there was jealousy on one side and arrogance on the other, yet there was still a meeting-place between the two classes. depleted nobles would marry daughters of wealthy peasants, and a gentleman whose fief lay among well-to-do farmers might easily meet them in social relations. a grant from the bavarian duke evidently isolated neidhart from his own companions, and he appears to have mingled freely with the peasantry, though we cannot determine how early the contact began. he was born in the latter part of the twelfth century, we may say about , perhaps, and with the exception of absence on leopold vii's crusade of - , he apparently kept his home in his native bavaria until about , when he lost the duke's favor and turned as a homeless wanderer to austria, where he received welcome and another fief. the last date inferred from his songs is , in connection with the emperor's coming, and he was dead before the composition of meier helmbrecht, which is earlier than . so far as imitations prove popularity, he was one of the most popular of mediæval poets. it is easy to understand the pleasure that his verses must have given, striking as they did into a new field, and executed with literary skill, full of verve and humor, and appealing to strong class prejudice. we must think of him as a gentleman fond of society, of refined courtly habits, with an aristocratic contempt for pinchbeck upstarts, yet not unwilling now and then to play the good-natured acquaintance with middle-class people. though he ranks as a knight, his tastes were not military. he was lively, quick-witted, and satirical; clever at musical invention; genuinely interested in poetry. moreover, he gave early evidence of an independent literary taste, that dared to yawn at the methods practised by the great minnesingers of his youth. by his singing he had obtained sufficient favor with the duke to receive a fief though away among the peasantry; yet rather than relinquish a home of his own, that constant dream of his profession, he made the merriest and the best of the time he needed to spend on his estate. the feeling for spring is largely an animal sensation, as the lambs in the pasture, or dogs on the green, or little children remind us. the comparison of loving something "as goats love the spring," goes back to greek literature. it has also been habitually associated with physical sentiment, as the splendid proëmium of lucretius suggests. with this buoyancy of spirits and emotional susceptibility, serious minds touched with poetry have associated various deep and beautiful moods. but the moral element that enters into such spring poems as wordsworth's, is not present in mediæval literature. there we find poets feeling spring as animals, as children, as lovers. those were out-of-door generations; hunting, riding, fighting, and enjoying themselves beneath the open sky, were their chief employments. they found winter travel hard, for they had no beaten roads; it caused a dreary interruption to their principal engagements, and to a large extent confined them in narrow quarters, not too comfortably warmed. in spite of all the amusements that could be provided, the time must have dragged. if romans could cry out as ovid did at the significance of spring, what must the season have meant to the castled sons of central europe. it is not strange then that their nature-worship instituted in early times a festival to the genial conqueror of frost and snow, and that this ceremony, as the old superstitions died away, was continued in graceful traditions of village customs. the first flowers or the earliest boughs in leaf served as the signal for the ceremonial welcome of april or may. with widely varying details, the youth of the parish would stream out to the fields or woods, and come back singing spring catches, and dancing that long, skipping forward step which they practised out-of-doors, carrying with them trophies of the season. sometimes they fastened the first violet to a pole, and setting it up danced around it; sometimes they danced about the first linden that appeared in leaf. it is the linden that the poets are continually mentioning, whether in the centre of the courtyard or in the field, and the tree suggests the social life of the old times as happily as the pine under which charlemagne sat, in the great chanson, suggests the imperial master. customs related in herrick's _going a-maying_, such as the decoration of the houses of favorites with early greenery and the processions of girls and young men to the woods and fields, were familiar in germany long before. exercises to welcome spring became not only a social but even--so far as the rude country songs went--a literary habit. the earlier ritual dance around some altar or symbol of the summer deity grew into an entertainment from which all sense of its original significance had passed away. these celebrations became the main social feature of the warm months. at one time partners appear to have been taken for the year (a passage in _wilhelm meister_ reminds us of this usage), but not in the period before us. a summons to a holiday dance (and the large number of church festivals made holidays frequent) was usually given by a musician playing or singing through the street. the young men and women, and not infrequently their elders, came to the customary field, dressed for the gaiety; as they went along, tossing and catching bright-colored balls. this favorite ball-playing, mentioned by more than one poet of the age as a sign of spring, and especially entered into by girls, often formed a prelude to the dance. for one thing it gave the girls a way of choosing their partners, for the man who caught the ball tossed by a girl, according to some usages, could claim the right to dance with her. an anonymous poet of the thirteenth century gives a lively picture of one of these scenes. "all the time the young people are passing ball on the street. this is the earliest sport of summer, and as they play they scream. what if the rustic lad gives me a shove? how rude he is as he darts here and there, flying and chasing and playing tricks with the ball. then two by two they have a hoppaldy dance about the fiddle, as if they wanted to fly." as one of the fellows holds the ball, "what pretty speeches the girls make him, how they shriek, how wild they get. while he's hesitating to whom he'll throw, they stretch out their hands; now you're my friend (geveterlin),--throw it down here to me ... jiutelin and elsemuot hurry after it. whoever gets it is the best one. krumpolt ran, and cried, 'throw it to me, and i'll throw it back.' in the scrimmage some of the girls get pushed down, and an accident happens to eppe, the prettiest one in the field. but she picks herself up, and tosses the ball into the air. all scream, 'catch it! catch it!' no girl can play better than she does; she judges the ball so well, and is such a sure catch." another way of choosing partners was by presenting garlands, and one of the prettiest of the spring customs was the walk to the fields and woods after flowers for wreaths, either to give away or to wear. so one of the latin songs describes young people going out,-- "juvenes ut flores accipiant et se per odores reficiant virgines assumant alacriter, et eant in prata floribus ornata, communiter." it certainly is a genial phase of those old times, this out-of-door companionship of lads and lassies, gathering flowers and "dancing in the chequered shade." the custom has in a manner survived to our own day; in england, for example, mr. thomas hardy has introduced such scenes very pleasantly in some of his novels, but the zest and universality of it have not descended. even in elizabeth's england the hobby-horse was forgot; and back in the thirteenth century the may-time amusements were being frowned away. for preachers and moralists saw much evil in these summer gaieties. it is the old story: nature is such a puritanical stage-manager that she likes to bring on a tragedy for the after-piece to her pleasant comedy, and she is best satisfied when we take warning from the practice and stay away from the play. the insane frenzies into which meadow dancing was carried on some occasions, especially at the riotous midsummer festival, do not belong to our subject. neidhart assumes a flippant tone about matters of conduct, but his treatment of the summer merrymakings is usually innocent and agreeable. he comes as an artist, to the rude material provided in the traditional village songs for these occasions, and transfers to the polished verse of germany's already highly trained lyrical school, that fresh and gay subject-matter that is so remote from the formal phrases of most of his courtly predecessors. his songs are lyric in their introduction, but almost invariably epic or dramatic in the later stanzas, scarcely ever overstepping closely drawn lines. whereas, walther von der vogelweide's work in the popular poetry retains the lyrical mood throughout, and is far less realistic, never, i believe, treating a peasant element as such. those lyrical preludes attest neidhart's deep sentiment for nature; we feel that, in spite of the conventionality in them. he has the rare merit of an occasional specific note, and he touches even the hackneyed expressions about birds and flowers with a contagious buoyancy. look at a few of these introductions: "hedges green as gold; the heath dressed in bright roses. come on, you fine girls: may is in the land. the linden is well hung with rich attire; now hearken, how the nightingale draws near." "the time is here: for many a year i have not seen a fairer. the cold winter is over, and many hearts rejoice that felt its chill. the woods are in leaf. come then with me to the linden, dear." "summer, a thousand welcomes! whatever heart was wounded by the long winter is healed, its pain all gone. thou comest welcome to the world in all lands. through thee, rich and poor lose their sorrows, when winter has to go." and another, which loses its effect if we neglect the long, swinging metre: the forest for new foliage its grey dress has forsaken; and therefore now full many hearts to pleasure must awaken. the birds to whom the winter brought dismay, have never sung so well as now the praises of the may. the winter from the lovely heath at last has turned aside, and there the blossoms stand, arrayed in colors gaily pied. above them may's sweet dews are lightly shed; ah, how i wish i had a wreath, dear friend, a lady said. this stanza moves more quickly: forth from your houses, children fair! out to the street! no wind is there, sharp wind, cold snow. the birds were dreary, they're singing cheerily; forth to the woodland go. after such opening stanzas comes the action of the song, almost always an expression of a girl's longing to go to the dance, and her mother's unwillingness. the burden of the remonstrances is that of the song in _much ado_, "men were deceivers ever"; and though some of the conversations are amiable, often the two come to high words, and even to blows. the girl cannot think of going without her best costume, and this, in the prudent old domestic management, was always carefully folded up, and kept under lock and key. "who gave you the right to lock up my gown?" a daughter demands. "you did not spin a thread of it. where's the key? now open the room for me." finally, she obtained it by stealth. "she took from the chest the gown that was laid in many small folds. to the knight of reuenthal she threw her colored ball." but neidhart grimly brings in her mother at the close. another cries: "bring me my fine gown. the gentleman from reuenthal has sung us a new song. i hear him singing there to the children. i must dance with him at the linden." her mother warns her of what happened to her playmate jiute last year, "just as her mother said." but the gentleman had sent her a lovely garland of roses, and had brought her a pair of red stockings from over the rhine, which she was wearing then; and she had promised to let him teach her the dance. another song represents two girls talking of the same knight from reuenthal: "all know him, and his songs are heard everywhere. he loves me, and to please him i will lace myself trimly, and go." some of the mothers do more than remonstrate: "the wood is well in leaf, but my mother will not let me go. she has tied my feet with a rope. but all the same, i must go with the children to the linden in the field." her mother overheard and threatened to punish her. "you little grasshopper, whither wilt thou hop away from the nest? sit and sew in the sleeve for me." the girl is impudent, and the poem ends with a lively contest. love is too strong. "he kissed me," one of them says, "and he had some root in his mouth, so that i lost all my senses." perhaps the high-born poet bewitched these peasant-girls; he often assures us of it. one of them is plighted to a farmer, and whenever he expects to find her at home to entertain him, she joins the dancers, as toward evening "they bend their way down the street," and throws her ball to the knightly singer. even the mothers themselves are sometimes caught by the desire to dance with him, or at least with some of the men at the linden, and in two or three of neidhart's sprightliest songs the tables are turned, and the daughter tries to keep her mother from the gaieties that her years have outgrown. i have translated two of these summer dance songs in their exact rhythms, and so literally as to make them appear almost bald. in the first the nature opening may be omitted. "mother, do not deny me,-- forth to the field i'll hie me, and dance the merry spring; 'tis ages since i heard the crowd any new carols sing." "nay, daughter, nay, mine own, thee i have all alone upon my bosom carried; now yield thee to thy mother's will, and seek not to be married." "if i could only show him! why, mother dear, you know him, and to him i will haste; ah, 'tis the knight of reuenthal, and he shall be embraced. "such green the branches bending! the leafy weight seems rending the trees so thickly clad: now be assured, dear mother mine, i'll take the worthy lad. "dear mother, with such burning after my love he's yearning, ungrateful can i be? he says that i'm the prettiest from france to germany." bare we saw the fields, but that is over; now the flowers are crowding thro' the clover; at length the season that we love is here: as last year, all the heath is caught and held by roses; to roses summer brings good cheer. thrushes, nightingales, we hear them singing; with their loud music mount and dale are ringing: for the dear summer is their jubilee: to you and me, it brings bright sights and pleasures without number; the heath is a fair thing to see. "dewy grow the meadows," cried a maiden, "branches lately bare are greenly laden: listen! how the birds are crowning may: come and play, for, wierat, the leaves are on the linden; winter, i ween, has gone away. "this year, too, we'll dance till twilight closes; near the wood is a great mass of roses, i'll have a garland of them, trimly made; come, you jade, hand in hand with a fine knight you'll see me dance in the linden shade." "little daughter, heed not his advances; if thou press among the knights at dances, something not befitting such as we there will be trouble coming to thee, little daughter-- and the young farmer thinks of thee." "nay, i trust to rule a knight in armor; how then should i listen to a farmer? what! you think i'd be a peasant's bride!" she replied: "he could never woo me to my liking, he'll never marry me," she cried. at first neidhart seems to have maintained friendly relations with the young men of the district, for we find him addressing in amicable terms even engelmar, who later became his worst enemy, complimenting him upon his room, in a song apparently designed for a dance at his house. but it is difficult to believe that his critical genius would have gone long without expression, and he presently began amusing himself, and courting the admirations of others, by original snatches of songs that were imitated from the _trutzstrophen_ of humorous, rustic, and often roughly personal verses, that were evidently in vogue among the country people before neidhart's day. such jeering, gibing bits of peasant fun-making would grow out of the custom of songs at these rural gatherings, like the parallel practice sometimes found with us of country valentine-parties, where personalities are touched off with the freedom of anonymous and privileged license. we can readily imagine him beginning with hits at one and another, that contained no deeper offence than an inevitable tone of his amused sense of the ridiculous. but the country gallants, already jealous of their elegant rival, whose gentlemanly prestige and courtly accomplishments would naturally make him attractive to their sweethearts, would be quick to take umbrage, and boorishly ready to manifest their displeasure. neidhart certainly enjoyed at least as much of the poetic dower as "the hate of hate, the scorn of scorn," and must have answered their sullenness and rudeness with the contempt that falls with such a sting from gentility. then stung himself by their bad manners, he naturally composed sharper and more direct stanzas, holding those who had offended him up to the laughter of other men, and of the tittering damsels. it does not seem probable that the most cutting and individualized of these attacks were written to be sung at dances where the victims of the satire were present. when we consider the violence and recklessness that historically marked this whole class in the thirteenth century, we are sure that the poet would hardly have survived some of the recitations. many of them he probably composed to gratify his possibly irritated mood; for, as we shall presently see, his displeasure was deeper than the vexation of wounded social pride. but they strayed easily to the objects of their ridicule. as he strolled along the street, carrying his fiddle, and stopping to amuse himself at one house or another with any of the pretty girls whom he found idle like himself, he may have played and sung the piece over which he had just been working, or the minor singers who must have haunted him as he grew better known, would catch up and repeat far and wide the witty verses. the piece at which he was working, i said, for in an important sense the poems were professional labor. the natural comparison of the minnesinger on his farm to ovid among the goths, loses most of its force when we reflect that neidhart's absences from his various little romes were in some sense at his own pleasure, and that he must have kept riding about from castle to castle, and have made frequent sojourns at his patron's court, in the exercise of his now established musical vocation. the better his songs, the surer his hold on the duke's favor, and as his prestige might rise throughout the country, the more cordial his greeting would be, and the more generous his dismission whenever he chose to go. these mediæval poets were more than careless rhymsters: painstaking labor was assumed as necessary for success. their poetry was as subtle and difficult as the schoolmen's philosophy; though we may not care much for either, we at least respect the skill with which they mastered self-enforced technical difficulties. arnaut daniel's contest for a wager with another troubadour (king richard was to decide which produced the cleverer poem), illustrates the statement that time was thought necessary for composition. the provençal biography tells us that the contestants were shut up in separate rooms, and only ten days were allowed each for preparing his song. in neidhart's seclusion on his fief, then, he would naturally make studies for his more important literary appearances, studies in subject-matter, as well as in verse and music. and a large number of his poems, at least considered in their entirety, must be thought of as compositions intended for courtly audiences. it is to be presumed that neidhart began by writing in the conventional style of the love-singers. but his sense of humor and his originality were too vigorous to allow him to continue in the polished and monotonous manners of the school that reached its acme in reinmar. he possessed the creative faculty, and the rude village lyrics were a sufficient suggestion of the new departure that he at once instituted and consummated. he put in the place of lyrical elegies, lyrical snatches of epic; and instead of gathering his epic materials from the already familiar, even if not hackneyed, cycles of chivalry, he took them from the real life, and that a growing life, of the german villagers of his time. their boorish manners and arrogant social pretensions, their vulgar assumptions of elegance, and their jealous, recklessly brutal tempers, he sketches vividly. his touch is not to be called magical, there are no imaginative hauntings about the poems, there is little fascination of subtle poetry in his expression or his melodies. but his rude subjects are by no means treated rudely; he shows excellent technique in those elaborately built stanzas; his tone rather deepens than shrills in excited movements: in his dash and energy of feeling, he retains artistic self-possession; while he is such an iconoclast of sentimental poetry, that some have thought that walther had him in mind in his complaint of the new school. he invariably shows sentiment for nature in his preludes, as well as sympathetic tones for character, especially in what we may call his personal confessions. it is indeed by virtue of this combination of qualities, as well as by his novelty of subject, that he caught the approval of his age. romantic idealism was dying out, and a long period of coarse sensibility was drawing on; while there was yet still some feeling for sentiment, and an intellectual appreciation of artistic performance was, as usual, lapping over the first stages of literary decadence. if we accept the view which i have suggested, that at least as wholes many of neidhart's songs were intended only for the gentry, we may find it easier to meet the question of their autobiographic and actual significance. it is possible to be unduly literal and too credulous of the historic reality of whatever is found in an old literature. especially in the works of the minnesingers, some modern germans appear unconscious that a poet may relate fictitious experiences and sensations. as i have remarked in an earlier essay, cowley's love-poems had many mediæval prototypes, and there seems no necessity for assuming a fact behind each of neidhart's statements. why is it not reasonable to suppose that having once made what we call a "strike" with some of his village characters, he occasionally invented continuations or parallels? we may go so far as to assert the possibility that the continual reappearances of engelmar, neidhart's most recurrent character, who is always associated with the beginning of his disasters, is due quite as much to the fact that his early treatment of the famous snatching of a girl's mirror proved, by virtue of the topic, or the melody, or both, a great favorite, as to the incident in itself having been of the fateful influence upon his life that is implied. in other cases, as in what we may term the episode of the ginger-root, neidhart certainly seems to be referring to some of his most popular earlier songs, for no other reason than that the reference would be agreeable to his audience and give a sort of continuity to his work. one of these instances is almost pathetic. the poet is old and song comes hard to him. after several stanzas of unusually serious tone, he says that people ask him why he does not sing as they are told he once did: they keep wondering what has become of the peasants who used to be on tulnaere-field. so he attempts to conclude with a strain of his old satirical gaiety. "i'll tell of the bold free ways of limizun, who is yet worse than our friend who took friderun's mirror, or those who bought mail awhile ago at vienna," as if by the mention of these popular achievements of his younger wit he could hide his dull present mood. so, too, as it appears to me, we may explain the recurrent complaints of his unhappy loves and of his desires frustrated by one and another of the boors. these lover's sorrows are just what we should expect from a poet in neidhart's relation to the fashionable love lyrics; he retains something of the tone of despondent yearning that was deemed requisite by all his predecessors, yet he gives it a piquant novelty by substituting irony and class animosities for vague and impersonal wailings, and the sense of humor in these courtly woes in behalf of mere peasant maidens would be a livelier attraction to the knights and ladies of his polite circles than we might suppose. surely neidhart was the victim of no deep passion for his rustic heroines. he may have been amused by them, or even have liked them, and he certainly was enraged at being interfered with or baffled by middle-class rivals; but his rôle is more a lothario's than a true lass-lorn wooer's. imagine a peasant farm-house with a large main apartment, such as neidhart had in mind in one of his earliest winter songs: "engelmar, thy room is good; chill is it in the dales: winter is hateful." the young farmers and the girls come trooping in by pairs and little groups, dressed in their best, smiling and gay: no better aid to imagining the scene could be desired than defregger's genial picture of a modern tyrolese peasant party. it is a change from the summer dances: "winter, thy might will drive us indoors from the broad linden. thy winds are cold. lark, quit thy singing: both frost and snow have said thee nay; alas, for the green clover. may, to thee i am loyal; winter is my bane." "winter gives joy to none but such as love the chimney-corner." they all think of the change from their summer gatherings, and the singer strums his fiddle and strikes into the nature prelude of his lyric, as they prepare to begin the dance. here is another opening, translated in the stanza system of the original: the green grass and the flowers both are gone; before the sun the linden gives no shade; those happy hours on shady lawn of various joys are over; where we played, none may play; no paths stray where we went together; joy fled away at the winter weather, and hearts are sad which once were gay. we are reminded again of herrick in his lines to the meadows: "ye have been fresh and green, ye have been fill'd with flowers; and ye the walks have been, where maids have spent their hours." the dance is under way now; if, as sometimes happened, they paid a surprise visit, the guests have taken hold and made the room ready: clear out the benches and stools; set in the middle the trestles, then fiddle; we'll dance till we're tired, merry fools. throw open the windows for air, that the breeze softly please the throat of each child debonair. when the leaders grow weary to sing, we'll all say, "fiddler, play us the tune for a stylish court-fling." (they apparently piled the table-frames in the middle of the room in place of the linden, about which they danced on the lawn.) the singer goes on to remind them of the preparation for the party: "i advise my friends to consult where the children shall have their fun. megenwart has a large room: if it like you all, we will have the holiday party there. his daughter wishes us to come. all of you tell the rest. engelmar shall lead a dance around the table." again: "let kunegunde know; we shall be blamed if no one tells her about it, and don't forget hedwig." once more: "come along, children, to the farm-house at hademuot's; engelbrecht, adelmar, friderich, tuoze, guote, wentel, and her sisters all three; hildeburg, pretty child; jiutel and her cousin ermelint." still again, in one of the cheerful early songs, before neidhart's bitter tone came in: "now for the children who've been asked to the party. jiutel shall tell them all, that they are to step after the fiddle with hilde. 'twill be a great dance. diemuot, gisel, are going together; wendel, too, engelmuot, for heaven's sake! go out and call künze to come. "tell her the man is here; if she cares to see him, as she has all the time been wishing to, let her put on a little jacket and her cloak; i should prefer to have her come here, than to have him find her there at home in her every day clothes. "künze tarried then no longer, but came, as engelmuot bade her. she was in a hurry; quickly she dressed. both sides of her gown were red silk. the finest of girls! no one could discover through the country, one i should be so glad to give my dear mother for a daughter. "haha! how she pleased me, when i saw what she was; such hair, and red lips. then i asked her to sit by me, but she said: 'i don't dare; i've been told not to talk with you, or even sit by you. go and ask heilke over there by vriderune!'" "i hear dancing in the room," he sings at another time; "a crowd of village women are there; two fiddles; when they pause, gay outbreak of talking and laughing. through the window goes the hubbub. adelber never dances but between two girls." sometimes the knightly guest entered into the gay interlude of conversation, entertaining a merry screaming group. but when his moody vein, or vexation at some common man's successful rivalry, dulled his social spirits, he would stand apart, or go to one side with one of the peasant maids, and satirically note the men scattered over the room. the young farmer's assumption of the dress and manners of gentility, carrying arms, discarding rustic fashions, affecting polite speech ("_mit sîner rede er vlaemet_," neidhart says of one of them,--he talks like a fine gentleman from abroad),--all this was ridiculous to the courtly poet, and his sense of the humor of it was associated with the bitterness of social contempt. "look at engelmar, how high he holds his head. what elegant style he has, at the dance, with his showy sword; something different from his father batze. his son is a poor gawk, with his rough head. he puffs himself out like a stuffed pigeon, that sits crop-full on a corn-chest." and again: "did you ever see so gay a peasant as he is? good lord! he is first of all in the dance. his sword-band is two hands broad. proud enough he, of his new jacket; it has four and twenty small pieces of cloth in it, and the sleeves come down over his hand."[ ] "there are two peasants wearing coats in the court style, of austrian cloth. uoze never cut them." then he goes on to say: "perhaps you would like to hear how the rustics are dressed. their clothes are above their place. small coats they wear, and small cloaks; red hoods, shoes with buckles, and black hose. they have on silk pouch-bags, and in them they carry pieces of ginger, to make themselves agreeable to the girls. they wear their hair long, a privilege of good birth. they put on gloves that come up to their elbows. one appears in a fustian jacket green as grass. another flaunts it in red. another carries a sword long as a hemp flail, wherever he goes; the knob of its hilt has a mirror, that he makes the girls look at themselves in. poor clumsy louts, how can the girls endure them? one of them tears his partner's veil, another sticks his sword hilt through her gown, as they are dancing, and more than once, enthusiastically dancing and excited by the music, their awkward feet tread on the girls' skirts and even drag them off. but they are more than clumsy, they have an offensive horse-play kind of pleasantry that is nothing less than insult. they put their hands in wrong places, and one of them tries to get a maiden's ring, and actually wrenches it from her finger as she is treading the bending _reie_. "why should i not be angry at his insolence? yet i would not mind the ring so much, if he had not hurt her hand." and just so, engelmar snatched her mirror from neidhart's darling vriderune. this last, as has been said, is the most famous incident in the neidhart story. from it he dates all his misfortunes, and he reverts to it, over and over, with bitterness that can hardly be regarded as merely ironical humor. yet numerous as the references are, there is a mystery about the affair that has not been cleared up. it has been suggested that vriderune's way of taking the rudeness made it clear to neidhart that it was her peasant lover, and not himself, whom she really liked, but it would seem more natural to associate the occurrence with something violent. possibly the poet's indignation at the boorish familiarity led him to a personal attack, just as in another connection he threatens to strike an obnoxious fellow, and the resulting quarrel may have been taken up by friends of both, with such serious consequences that various annoyances followed on their part, which he could only return by insulting hits in his songs. the chances are all in favor of the poet's having been a slighter man physically than these farm-workers, at one of whom he sneers for the sacks that ride on his neck, and there are suggestions in the pseudo-neidhart poetry of his having had helpers to a revenge. in one of these imitations it is said that through neidhart's injury thirty-two had their left legs cut off, an evident exaggeration of an earlier imitation, where the writer reminds his hearers of what happened to engelmar for taking vriderune's mirror, that he lost his left leg and had to go on crutches. such violent fights are authentically reported at merrymakings of the time, and as the aristocratic leader of such a brawl, neidhart no doubt would find his subsequent residence among the peasants uncongenial. yet why should he manifest such reserve, at the same time that he mentions the subject so constantly, referring to it long after he has left bavaria? is it possible that his jealousy and hot blood drove him to some underhanded attack in some such way as that in which a brilliant restoration poet tried to punish a supposed injury? this ill reputation as an aristocrat equally insolent and treacherous, might follow him to austria; he would hardly be pleased to acknowledge in his poem what he had done, while the constant references to his injury in the insult of vriderune, and the misfortunes to himself which it caused may be regarded as half defensive attempts to excite sympathy instead of disapproval. so much for possible explanations of this curious literary enigma, out of which we may make too much; for, as i have already suggested, neidhart may only be doing what novelists sometimes do when they repeat a popular hit in characterization. at any rate, vriderune seems to have been lost to her upper-class lover, "and ever from that time i have had some new heart-sorrow." neidhart constantly reverts to the peasants' brutality and eagerness to fight. "look out for a brutish fellow named ber. he is tall and broad-shouldered; he scarcely can get in at the door. fie, who brought him here? he is the nephew of hildebolt of bern, who was pounded by williher." lanze, again, "had got himself up for a champion, and thought nothing could resist him. he put underneath a coat of mail. snarling like a bear he goes; so ugly is he, one were a child who withstood him." and of another: "he wears a sword that cuts like shears, and a good safety hat. whoever you are, you may well keep out of his way. villagers, look out for him; his sword is poisoned. it's a well-tempered waidover, that sword of his." with such village-warriors, no wonder that the parties did not always end cheerfully. with a resemblance to modern slang neidhart tells how they threaten to put sunshine through each other. the lively episode of a quarrel over a rural gallant's presenting a young lady with a piece of ginger, neidhart says he cannot describe in full, for he came away. but "each began screaming to his friends; one called loudly: 'help, gossip wezerant.' he must have been in great difficulty to scream so for help. i heard hildebolt's sister shriek: 'oh, my brother, my brother!'" another dance ends with a milder disagreement. "ruoprecht found an egg--'i ween the devil gave it to him'--and threatened to throw it. eppe got mad, and dared him. ruoprecht threw it at the top of his head, and it trickled down over him." sometimes, evidently, peacemakers interfered, as they did in frideliep's and engelmar's disagreement about gotelint, so that the rivals did not fight, though "just like two silly geese they went toward each other, all the rest of the day." like all of those poets, neidhart, though he says "i" very often, lets us become but indifferent acquaintances. we read some of the mediæval lyrists without feeling sure that we detect a single genuine personal note; they had little of our modern sense of individuality. with neidhart we fare better than with most; yet, after all, we are hardly sure that some of his personal confessions are not formally or humorously assumed. yet of one trait we are left in no doubt, his strong german sense for the fatherland. with many other bavarians, he went to syria and damietta on the crusade of - , led by leopold vii. of austria, and he has left us two songs which, though certainly different enough from the deep religious feeling of such crusade lyrics as hartmann's or walther's, are unmistakably sincere. the first opens with the minnesinger's usual spring and love-lorn stanzas, but neidhart soon drops conventionality with the exclamation, "for my song the foreign folk here do not care: ah, blessings on thee, germany!" it reminds us of walther: nothing is like the german home. he thinks of sending a messenger, not we notice, to some town or castle, but to that village where he left the loving heart from which his constancy never wavers, and to the dear friends over-sea. "tell them from us all that they should quickly see us there, joyous enough, except for these wide waves. bear my glad service to my mistress, dear to me before all ladies, and say to friends and kinsmen that i am well. if they inquire how things are going with us pilgrims, tell them, dear boy, what ill these foreign folk have wrought us. haste thee, be swift; after thee assuredly shall i follow, quick as ever i may. god grant we may live to see the happy day of going home." "we are all scarcely alive," he goes on; "the army is more than half dead. ah, were i there! by my beloved gladly would i rest, in mine own place." "if i may only grow old with her!" he cries, and he breaks out impatiently against those who keep delaying through august, instead of moving westward. "nowhere could a man be better off than at home, in his own parish." at last the expedition, dissatisfied and worn, as the returning crusaders always were, are on the confines of the longed-for country. we can imagine the straggling company making their way along, their minstrel riding among them, fingering the old violin that he has carried over his shoulders all the two years, and thinking out a new song. he is still a young man, or at least only approaching middle age, and thoughts of home, friendship, love, and the spring gaiety of the village life, crowd upon him with buoyant thrills; he strikes the strings more firmly, and his voice rings out a home-coming lyric, full of life and feeling. "the long bright days are come again, and with them the birds; it is a long time since they sang so well. the winter-weary are gayer than they have been for thirty years. maidens, ye children, fine people all, let your hearts be free to the summer joy, spring quickly in the carols." dear herald, homeward go; 'tis over, all my woe; we're near the rhine! neidhart's poems are readily classified in two divisions, his songs for summer and for winter. both were probably sung as an accompaniment to the dances, either of the peasants or of the upper class, though there may be some doubt whether this is true of all the winter songs. almost invariably he opens with a nature-prelude, often an elaborate one, and the temper of the songs is always congenial to the season, gay for summer, and gloomy or critical for winter. there is no evidence that the difficulty with engelmar was the occasion of the poet's leaving bavaria, but his unpopularity with the peasants seems to have had something to do with the loss of his fief. he was cast down at the thought of parting with reuenthal, and said that he would sing no longer, since the name under which his merry lines had been known was taken from him; and with a play on the word, "i am put out undeservedly, my friends; now leave me free of the name!" but after he was settled by frederich on an austrian fief, he adapted himself cheerfully to his new home. "here i am at medelicke, in spite of them all. i am not sorry that i sang so much of eppe and of gumpe at reuenthal." the duke gave him money and a house, in response to musical solicitations, and neidhart appealed for exemption from his heavy taxes, that threatened to consume what his children needed. with our modern ideas this system of literary patronage upon which mediæval poets depended, and which usually required direct and even pressing solicitation, seems painful to self-respect; we forget how lately it flourished. in those days when princely giving was an established custom, and differed from a system of salaries mainly in being a less regularly appointed income, a poet's request for a gift was scarcely more than a modern author's reminder of an unpaid claim; there is nothing of the unmanly dependence of coleridge in these earlier suppliants for aid. none of them asked more gracefully--even chaucer is not more delicately suggestive--than neidhart in such lines as these: "whoever had a bird who satisfied him with song through the year, he would occasionally look to his bird-cage, and give him good food. then the bird could go on singing sweet melodies. if he always sang well to meet the may, he should be well cared for, summer and winter. even the birds appreciate kind treatment." but the times were bad, and even a box of silver, and a house to put it in, and remission of taxes, could not keep the poet gay as he passed into later life. he composed penitential lyrics, after orthodox precedents, of the love-singers, for they almost always grew old seriously. on these we need not linger, though there seems a cry fuller than the echo-note in his farewell to lady earth, and appeal for pardon for some of his foolish songs: "lord god of heaven, give me thy guidance; might of all might, now strengthen my heart, that i may win soul's health, and partake ever-enduring joy, through thy sweet will." but the wail of all of the thirteenth-century's serious minds, that things were going "ever the lenger the wers" in christendom, comes out nowhere more deeply than in neidhart's allegorical love-song to joy of the world, chiding her for her change of character during his long, unrequited service: "false, shameless folk nowadays people her court, and her old household, truth, chastity, good manners, none find these any longer. my lady's honor is lame all over. she is fallen so that none can rescue her. she lies in such a pool that only god can make her clean. men of wise mind be on your guard before her, in church or on street: women of worth keep far away." eighty new melodies he has sung in her service; this is the last, and not the most joyous. to this closing period we may refer a few summer songs that are an exception to the usually light-hearted verses of that form. their seriousness is all the more noticeable from their fair-weather setting; for once, the spring is not a panacea. "a delightful may has come, but alas, neither priest nor layman rejoices in its arrival. were it the emperor who had come, we might rejoice. trouble and sorrow dwell in austria." there is something here besides a sense that the joyousness of simple free-living and the loyalty of love-service are passing away; he attributes much of the social decline to national confusion and the political unrestraint. yet controversial as he is in social relations, he has little of walther von der vogelweide's thoughtfulness and energy in patriotic polemics. he drifts down the stream with a sigh. in the poem which meyer's elaborate study of the order of his work places last, though only conjecturally, he again considers his friends' entreaty for more songs. the world goes too sadly, he says; as he had said before that they must ask troestelin to sing; he himself had no longer a heart for poetry. yet there is one pleasant story that he can tell them: "to break down troubles comes one worthy to be praised; 'tis may, with all his might." there is something pathetic in such songs, that try to assume the cheerful strain in which the poet, now grown gloomy, wrote while he was young. they remind us of the stray leaves that we sometimes see caught up to their old home among the branches by a sudden march gust; the brown leaves that will never again uncrumple their green infancies, hover for a moment, then sink hesitatingly back to the ground. in this one song, the nature stanzas are transferred from the place of prelude to the conclusion. "may has conquered; wood and heath have adorned themselves with their lovely attire; blue flowers are here and the roses," and he ends with the old thought, that joyousness and virtuous honor go together. as an idle fancy it is "pleasant if one consider it," to regard these as the final words of this knightly singer of mediæval country scenes, the last of the great figures of that old german group, a parting reminder of the philosophy of a happy life which mediæval lyrists often maintained so earnestly,--that the secret of good living is blitheness of heart, and out-of-door life in spring and summer. for many of these old poets the two terms were convertible; their creed was surely a simple one. [decoration] footnote: [ ] we must remember that the unwillingness of the upper grade of society to have peasants assume its styles of dress, went so far that ducal edicts were issued forbidding them to use coats of mail and helmets, or to carry any weapons. bitter complaints were made of their wearing any stuffs so fine as silk, and clothes stylishly cut. [decoration] meier helmbrecht, a german farmer of the thirteenth century. the usual conception of the middle ages seems to consist of a few facts and theories about the feudal system and the crusades, the names with possibly some traits of a few eminent public figures and a general impression of confusion and obscurity. supplementing this central idea, one usually sees a panel picture on either side. one, sunshine flashing from the spears and armor of knights tilting in tournaments, and watched by dimly beautiful women; in the distance a solitary knight pricking over a plain, or, guided by the wail of an unseen and lovely captive, making his way through forest haunts of giants and gnomes. the other, a lowering twilight overhanging gloomy monastery walls, the shelter of melancholy, hypocrisy, manuscript illuminations, and a barren, difficult philosophy. sunshine and twilight on either hand, and in the background an impenetrable mist concealing the great masses of humanity, as well as all concrete actual lives even of the great. a little information and a little romance are unsatisfactory artists for a sketch of mediævalism. we soon discover that there is a great deal behind such a picture of soldiers living in wars, and in the tourneying pretence of war; or schoolmen contending in brilliant logical panoply within and without spectral philosophic fastnesses; or hermits, nuns, and monks fighting against god's present that they might win his future; or marauders beating down helplessness and innocence. yet we may study the middle ages laboriously, and find ourselves still confronted by the mist that hangs over the rank and file. our curiosity about these forgotten multitudes teases us. "how is it that you lived, and what is it that you did?" we ask these distant prototypes of wordsworth's peasant. we come to discover that there is much behind our slight old notion of chivalry and monasticism; though seven hundred years have changed its conditions, life then and now is yet less different than we had thought. but we find it difficult to acquire much information about those social substrata on which the learned and the polite classes rested. clio is the most aristocratic of the ladies nine, and that instinct of vitality whereby we count fame for ourselves something desirable, makes us think with a certain compassion of great armies of those generations filing sullenly on, not only as individuals, but as whole masses, to the grave of oblivion. the little that we know makes us sure only that they were wretched, their lives the most gloomy of all the lives of gloomy ages. we may read thousands of pages of the literature of those days with scarcely any addition to our knowledge of the work-a-day world, for most of the poetry is romantic, and in its imitative phases mainly a reflection of courtly customs and character. the middle ages in germany and france were anything but uncivilized, and the poetry of secondary cultivation is, as was said in the last essay, likely to prefer idealistic interpretation of its finest development to democratic realism. yet the student finds from time to time interesting material for an account of the average life, and in the poet whom this essay is designed to introduce to a modern audience, we obtain an extended study in this side field of literary interpretation. he wrote not of high life but of the middle classes, not in romance but in a literal yet at the same time artistic manner that we may call a heightened realism. he appears to have been himself one of the people, a poet who possibly made his living by reciting poems of incident, and by singing at their merrymakings, though of this there is no evidence. it has been thought by some german scholars that he may have been a monk, but the indications make rather against than for this view. we know in fact nothing whatever about him except for one single line, in which he tells us that his name is wernher the gardener. as was said, his poem is remarkable as being the heightened treatment of a plain story of the peasant classes a little before ; it is remarkable, too, for the liveliness and simple force of his treatment. he is an artist--though he works in chalks instead of water-colors;--unornamented, unassuming, he produces an impression of personal power, moral seriousness, a clear eye for what he saw, and the power to state it directly, one of the marks of a later and more developed age. he has no little dramatic liveliness, a sense of humor, and the pleasantest love for the plain beauties of character and home-life. he tells the story of a farmer, helmbrecht, and his wayward son. the boy has been the admiration of his peasant family as the oldest child, notable for his splendid yellow hair, and full of life and spirit. at the time the poem opens he has grown to early manhood, dissatisfied with the hidden and laborious life of tiller of the soil, vain of his appearance, fond of fine dress, and ambitious to live easily and be admired. he is petted and indulged by his mother and his sister gotelint, and when he desires a hood--a part of masculine costume much affected by gallant youths--they provide him with one so fine that it becomes famous far and near. embroidery, as every one knows who is acquainted with the mediæval arts, was the most artistic accomplishment of the period. ladies learned to embroider and weave the most complicated and elaborate devices; handicraftsmen of all sorts put on their work representations so copious that one sometimes wonders whether the literary descriptions of them are not exaggerations. can the frequency and detail of these passages, we wonder, be a faintly remembered tradition of the devices put by homer on the shield of achilles, or by vergil on the gates of the rising carthage? at any rate, tapestries, cloths, and garments, to say nothing of saddles and the like, were covered by picture after picture, in almost every important poem of the age. this young peasant helmbrecht's hood was embroidered, not, of course, by the rude country fingers of his mother and sister, but by a clever nun, who had run away from her nunnery to enjoy the pleasures of a lively youth. many were the wages of farm-produce by which she was persuaded to fit out the young man. the hood was covered with birds, parrots, and doves; on one side were representations of the siege of troy and the escape of Æneas; on the other, the stout deeds of charlemagne, roland, and oliver, in their wars against the heathen moors. behind, adventures of old german legendary heroes, in the cycle of dietrich of bern. in front, dances of knights, ladies, and of maidens and young esquires--the favorite and mediæval dance, where the gentleman stood between two ladies, holding the hand of each. after this acquisition the boy became ambitious for still more finery, and was indulged in an elaborate costume that need not be described. such white linen, such a splendid blue coat, all covered with buttons, gilded ones in double rows down the back, around the collar, and in front of silver. about the shoulders little bells were hung, that rang merrily when he sprang in the _reie_. ah, very love-lorn were the glances cast on him by women and girls at the dance. at last he is fully equipped by the love and sacrifice of his family, and they are happy in his elegance, and contented with themselves because the self-willed and capricious boy is pleased; when suddenly the simple household is thrown into grief and anxiety by his announcement that he is going to leave home. he must have a horse--there was none on the farm--to complete his outfit as a gentleman, and then he will ride away to some court and seek his fortune. in vain they remonstrate. "'my dear father, help me on. my mother and sister have helped me so that i shall love them all my life.' "his father was troubled to hear that he was resolved to go, but he said to him: 'i'll give you a fast horse for your outfit, good at hedges and ditches, for you to have there at court. i'll buy him for you willingly, if i can find one for sale. but, my dear son, now give up going to court. the ways there are hard for those who have not been used to them from the time they were children. my dear son, now drive team for me, or if you'd rather, hold the plough, and i'll drive for you, and let us till the farm, so you'll come to your grave full of honors like me; at least i hope to, for i surely am honest and loyal, and every year i pay my tithes. i have lived my life without hate and without envy.' "but the son replied: 'my dear father, keep quiet and stop talking; there's only one way about it, i'm going to find out how things smack there at court. your sacks sha'n't load my back any longer. i won't load any more manure on your wagon, and god hate me if i ever yoke oxen for you again, and sow your oats. that's not the thing for my long yellow hair and my curly locks, and my close-fitting coat, and my fine hood, and the silk doves the women worked on it. i won't help you farm any longer.' "'dear son, stay with me. i am certain that farmer ruoprecht will give you his daughter, with lots of sheep and swine, and ten cattle, old and young. at court you'll be hungry, you'll have to lie hard, and give up all comforts. now take my advice, and it will be to your interests and credit. it very seldom happens that a man gets along well who rebels against his own station. your station is the plough. my son, i swear to you that the genuine court-people will make fun of you, my dear child. do as i say, and give it up.' "'father, if i only have a horse i shall get on as well in the court ways as those who were born there. any one who saw that hood on my head would swear a thousand oaths that i never worked for you, or drove a plough through a furrow. whenever i put on the clothes my mother and my sister gave me yesterday, i sha'n't look much as if i ever took a flail to thresh wheat on the barn floor, or as if i ever drove stakes. when i get my legs and my feet in the hose and cordovan boots, nobody'll know that i ever made fence for you or any one else. let me have a horse, and farmer ruoprecht may go without me for a son-in-law. i'll not give up my future for a wife.'" the father goes on pleading with the boy to take advice and keep out of the disorderly life he is likely to get into about a court. by the silent assumption that his new master and his people will pillage from the peasantry, we get a suggestion of the lawlessness of the country--which had grown worse during the long absenteeism of frederic ii. but if the peasants catch you, he tells his son with energy, you will fare much worse than one of the gentlemen would. they will take the quickest revenge, and think that they are doing god service when they find one of their own kind stealing. but the son only goes on to repeat that he will leave the farm. he talks just as an ambitious country fellow will talk to-day about the slow life and small profits. he becomes bolder and more insolent. if it were not for that wretched horse he would be riding with the rest across fields and dragging peasants through the hedges; the cattle would be lowing as he drove them off. he says he can endure poverty no longer;--raising a colt or an ox for three years, and then selling them for just nothing. so his father traded a large piece of homespun, four good cows, two oxen, three steers, and four bushels of wheat,--all worth about ten pounds,--for a horse that could not have been sold for three ("alas for the wasted seven!"), and the young man put on his finery, tossed his head, and, looking around, jauntily declared that he could "bite through a stone, or eat iron, he felt so fierce." if he could catch the emperor or the duke, there would be some money coming in. "'father, you could manage a saxon easier than me.'" when he calls upon his father to release him from the family control, the latter assents, though with all his old reluctance. indeed he cannot let him go without one more appeal: "'i give you your liberty, my son. but take care that no one yonder hurts your hood and its silk doves, or viciously tears your long yellow hair. and i am afraid that at the end you will be following a staff, or some little boy will be leading you.'" then once more, after a pause, comes the abrupt: "'my son, my own dear boy, give up going. you shall live on what i live, and on what your mother gives you. drink water, my dear son, before you steal to buy wine. austrian pie, any one, fool or wise man, will tell you, is food fit for gentlemen. eat that, dear child, instead of giving an ox you have stolen to some inn-keeper for a chicken. your mother can cook good broth; eat that, instead of giving a stolen horse for a goose. my son, mix rye with oats sooner than eat fish in a dishonored life. if you will not obey me, go. but though you win wealth and great honors, never will i share them with you. and misfortune--have that alone too.' "'you drink water, father, but i'll drink wine. eat your mush, but i'll eat what they call fricasseed chicken there and white wheat bread; oats will do for you. they say at rome that a child takes after his godfather, and mine was a knight. thank god for giving me such high and noble ideas.'" but the old farmer replied that he liked much better a man who did right and remained constant to it. "even though his birth might be rather humble, he would please the world better than a king's son without virtue and honor. an honest man of lowly rank, and a nobleman who was not courteous and honorable,--let the two come to a land where neither is known, and the child of lowly birth will outrank the high-born. my son, if you will be noble, on my word i counsel you, do noble deeds. good life is a crown above all nobility." there is the old thought, so common in literature from ancient authors down to the poet of lady clara vere de vere, and especially a favorite with writers of the middle age. possibly some of them caught it from boëthius, who expressed it more than once in the testament of wise and generous character that he left to the world from his confinement at pavia, and that proved so singularly congenial to the mediæval mind; but we need certainly not require the aid of origins to account for its frequency. aristocratic as many phases of the times were, there were a number of important evening influences, conspicuously two: the church, in whose monastery cloisters the rich and poor met together as brothers of one impartial discipline, and from whose ranks members of low birth might rise to be the peers of dukes; and the orders of chivalry, which received approved squires from the middle class. thus, in addition to aristocracy of birth, there was a conditional gentility to which those who had the claim of merit might aspire. but though the thought that desert, and not descent, is the test for nobility, is so obvious in the days when position carried with it so strong a connotation of power, and when the upper strata of society bore down so hard and haughtily upon the lower, we always feel satisfaction in coming upon a trim statement of the fine old commonplace whose best mediæval expression we can quote from a poet of our own language: "look, who that is moost vertuous alway, pryvee and apert, and moost entendeth ay to do the gentil dedes that he kan, taak hym for the grettest gentil man." "'alas, that your mother bore you!'" the farmer exclaimed, when the boy's only answer to his appeal was to declare his hair and hood better fitted for a dance than for the plough or the harrow. "'thou wilt leave the best and do the worst'"; and he goes on to contrast the man who lives against god and the good of others, followed by every one's curses, with the man who helps the world along, trying night and day to do good by his life, and thereby honors god. this one, wherever he may turn, has the love of god and all the world. "'dear son,' he says, 'that man you might be, if you would yield to me. till with the plough, and plenty of people will be the better for your life, poor and rich; nay, even wolf and eagle, and everything that lives on earth. many a woman must be made more beautiful through the farmer, many a king must be crowned through the produce of the farm. indeed, there is no one so noble that his pride would not be a very small thing, except for the farmer.'" how natural all this sounds,--agriculture the basis of society, tillage of the soil alike useful and honorable. with what quiet manliness this old german talks of the dignity of labor, with no touch of the modern arrogance and discontent with the existing social condition. he will keep to his rank in life, and be loyal to his station, yet, though he looks up with a simple-hearted interest and wonder to the great world above him, he reflects as he follows his plough that without him that great world's pride "would be a very small thing." but there is a quality here that is still finer: the undercurrent perception of "the gospel of service." it is not only that honesty is the best policy, though the peasant is shrewd, and appreciates the practical side too; his conversation with the boy breathes the best nineteenth-century spirit of the duty of making one's life valuable to others. that sentence about working night and day to be useful, and thereby honoring god, is no commonplace for our century, to say nothing of the thirteenth. there is something pretty, too, in the touch of sympathy with the animal world; in some way, he feels that even the birds and beasts must be better off for a good farmer. these times seem often savage in their cruelties and recklessness of giving pain, but they have a gentle side as well, as may be seen in the tales cited by montalembert of friendly relations between monks and wild beasts, and in examples collected by uhland in his essay on the old german animal literature. it is pleasant in connection with such barbarities as we shall presently be reminded of in this very poem to recall the myth versified by longfellow, of the great minnesinger's legacy to the monastery, conditioned on the brethren's every day placing grain and water for the birds upon his grave; and more than one authentic story is told like that of the abbot of hirsan, who, when snow was deep in winter, would take oats from his barn to feed the birds. after the young helmbrecht has begged god to release him soon from his father's preaching,--"if you only had been a real preacher you might have got up a whole army with your sermons for a crusade,"--and has explained that instead of keeping on ploughing, he is resolved to have white hands, and no longer need to feel mortified whenever he holds ladies' hands at a dance, his father resorts to his last resource--an appeal to superstition, that he has been keeping in reserve. he tells him what he has been dreaming--three dreams that he interprets as ominous of the loss of sight, feet, and arms, and worst of all, a final dream of one of those sights so common for many centuries before and after, but made no less dreadful by familiarity. "'you were hanging on a tree. your feet were a fathom from the ground. above your head on a bough sat a raven, by its side a crow. your hair was all tangled. on the right hand the raven combed your head for you, on the left the crow.'" but the hopeful rode gaily off through the bars, and came to a castle where a warlike lord was glad to receive any addition to his force. there he stayed for a year, leading the extreme bandit life of whose outrages and oppressions we read so much during this troubled period. he quickly obtained reputation as daring and merciless: "into his sack he stuffed everything; it was all one to him. nothing was too small, nothing too great. helmbrecht took it all, rough and smooth, crooked and straight. he took horses, cattle, jacket, sword, cloak, coat, goats, sheep. from women he stripped everything, and well enough his ship went that first year, 'its sails full.' but after a while, as people are wont to think of going home, he took leave of the court, and commended them to the good god." they heard at the farm that he was coming on for a visit, and in accordance with the ancient custom of giving a present to the bearer of good news, the messenger received a shirt and pair of hose. but when the young man himself arrived, "how he was received! did they step forward to meet him? nay, they ran, all together; one crowded past another; father and mother sprang as if they had never had a care." it is touching to notice the suggestiveness of a single line in the poet's description of the scene. the plain people understood that their son was no longer one of them, and they knew how his earlier false pride must have grown in this year's absence in the outer world. so in their anxiety that everything should gratify this brilliant, wayward eldest son of their admiration and hope, and that nothing should interfere with his being pleased and gracious to their yearning, timid love, and knowing how in the homely heartiness of their joy at seeing their young master again the two servants would treat him at once in the old familiar way of peasant-farm equality, they instructed their man and their woman in what they thought to be polite salutation. so when the guest appeared, "did the woman and the man cry 'welcome back, helmbrecht'? nay, they did not; they had been told not to. they said: 'master, in god's name be you welcome.'" there is a touch of humor in their rushing forward and being the first to greet him, in their rude good-feeling; but we also get a sense of tenderness from seeing the father and mother keeping in the background, behind their daughter gotelint. little education as there was in the middle ages, people fully appreciated the elegance as well as the utility of a knowledge of foreign languages, and no accomplishment was held more desirable. especially the germans, representing an outlying civilization, would send their sons, while still boys, to some french court to serve as pages and acquire especially the language as well as other branches of knightly culture. the praises of various heroes of french as well as german romances, give to linguistic attainments a high place; gottfried, for example, in his account of the training of tristan, who was the typical gentleman of the romances, says that from the age of seven until he was fourteen he was studying languages under the care of a tutor, by travelling through different lands. since this was the fashion, imitations were sure to become popular, and a thin veneering of foreign speech became the mark of a pinchbeck culture, just as it has been so frequently since. accordingly, after the servants have cried out their "master, in god's name be you welcome," and gotelint has thrown her arms about her brother, the young gallant calls her his dear little sister in a phrase of salutation touched with low dutch, which he follows by the elegant "gratia vester." then the younger children ran up, and last of all the farmer and his wife, who greeted him over and over. he addressed his father in french: "deu sal"; his mother in bohemian: "dobraytra." they looked at each other; four strange languages all together--there must be some mistake. "the housewife said: 'my dear, this is not our son. this is a bohemian or a slav.' her husband replied: 'it is a frenchman. my son whom i commended to god, certainly this is not he, and yet he looks like him.' and gotelint suggested: 'he answered me in latin; may be he is a priest.' 'faith,' put in the hired man, who had caught the phrase in dialect, 'he has lived in saxony or brabant, for he said, "liebe susterkindekin"; he must be a saxon.'" the old peasant was devoted and loving, but he had resolution and self-respect under it all. he told the accomplished youth that before he would take him for his son he must talk german. if he would do that and declare himself helmbrecht, well and good. he should have a chicken boiled, and another roasted, and his horse should be well cared for. but a bohemian, or a slav, or a saxon, or a brabanter, or a frenchman, or a priest, should be given nothing. the youth began to reflect. it was getting late, there was no place near by where he could go; so he concluded to waive his elegant manners, and speak in the old style. but the shrewd peasant feigns incredulity, and decides to test his son a little further. in vain the young man protests himself helmbrecht. his gentility must stoop to vulgar peasant identification, and tell what he knows about the oxen on the farm. he rattles over all four of them, grazer, black-spot, rascal, and white-star, with a little praise for two, and the reconciliation is accomplished. thereupon the repressed fondness and devotion obtain free expression. the father hurried out to attend to the horse, the mother sent her daughter for a pillow and cushion--"run, now, and don't walk for it"--and makes a couch for him on the bench close to the stove, so that he may have a nap while she is preparing his dinner. when the boy woke the meal was ready, and wernher assures us that any gentleman might have enjoyed it. after washing his hands, the usual first step in a meal, a dish of fine-cut sauer-kraut was put before him, by it bacon, both fat and lean, and a rich mellow cheese. then there was as fat a goose as ever roasted on a spit--and with what good-will they provided that extraordinary peasant luxury--a roasted and a boiled chicken. a knight out hunting, and happening on such a meal, would like it well. for besides this they had managed to get delicacies in which peasants never think of indulging. "'if i had any wine you should be drunk to-night,'" the farmer said; and he added--with such a noble union of dignity, simplicity, and sentiment for the plain homely blessings which he had appreciated and loved all his life: "'my dear son, now take a drink of water from the best spring that ever came out of earth. i know no spring fit to be compared with it, except the one at wankhûsen.'" "'tell me, son,'" he continued, as they went on with their dinner, for he could not wait to ask him, "'tell me how about the court fashions, and then i will tell you how they used to be when i was young.'" but the son was too busy eating to stop to talk then, and he allowed his father to relate his early reminiscences. "'when i was a boy,' he began 'and your grandfather helmbrecht had sent me to court with cheese and eggs, just as a farmer does to-day, i took note of the knights, and marked their ways. they were courteous and cheerful and had no rascality about them in those days, such as many men and women too have now. the knights had a custom, to make themselves pleasing to the ladies, that was called jousting. a man of the court explained it to me when i asked him what they called it. two companies would come together from opposite directions, riding as if they were mad, and they would drive against each other, as if their spears must pierce through. there's nothing in these days like what i saw then. after that they had a dance, and while dancing they sang lively songs, that made the time go quickly. presently a playman came forward and struck in with his fiddle; at that the ladies jumped up, and the knights went to meet them, and they took hold of hands. that was a pleasant sight--the overflowing delight of ladies and gentlemen, dancing so gaily, poor and rich. when that was over a man came out and read about some one called ernest. each could do whatever he liked. some took their bows and shot at a target; others went hunting: there was no end to the kinds of pleasure. the worst off there would be the best off with us now. those were the times before false and vicious people could turn the right about with their tricks. nowadays the wise man is the one who can cheat and lie; he has position and money and honor at court, much more than the man who lives justly and strives after god's grace.'" we find here as in so many other places in thirteenth century poetry, that the serious-minded were already looking back. just as we have seen walther and ulrich bewailing the lost sunshine of chivalry, wernher laments that the old-time honesty has gone, and with it the knightly light-hearted honorable joys. already, before , there was a halo about the chivalric court; ladies were honored, knights tourneyed for their pleasure; dancing with them attracted gentlemen quite beyond drinking bouts; the poet's narratives of old german heroes were yet in fashion. all this seems amusing to the young man; what sappy and goody-goody fashions those were. he thinks it manly to swagger about the new ways, and tell how the fashionable cry is "trinkà, herre, trinkà trinc!" it used to be good breeding to dangle about pretty ladies, but the correct thing now is just to drink. "'this is the kind of love-letters we have: "you dear little bar-maid, fill up our cups. what a fool a man is who wastes his life for women, instead of good wine." it's a genteel thing to be sharp with your tongue, and get the best of people, and tell clever lies.'" the old man hears, and with a sigh wishes back the day when gentlemen shouted "hey[=a], ritter, wis et fro!" in the tourneys, instead of these new cries of riotry and pillage. the son would tell him more, but he has ridden far and wishes to go to sleep. there were no linen sheets in that farm-house, but gotelint spread a newly washed shirt on his bed, and he slept until high day. the next morning he displayed the gifts he had brought: for his father, a whetstone, scythe, and axe; for his mother, a fox-skin; for gotelint, a head-dress with a band of silk and gold, better fitted for a nobleman's child than for her; shoes with straps for the farm-hand; and for his wife, a cloth to cover her hair, and a red ribband. he remained at home for a week, and then he became restless to return. his father again took up his entreaties, begging him in the tenderest tones to stay from the bitter and sour life he has been leading. as long as he lives he will share what he has with him, even if the young man will do nothing but sit still and wash his hands. only he must not go back. what, not go back with so much to do? has not a rich man ridden over the field of his god-father? has not another rich man eaten bread with crullers? and still a third, while eating at a bishop's table, loosened his girdle? each one must be taught better manners through wholesale plunder of cattle, sheep, and swine, to say nothing of a boor who blew the foam off his beer. he and some friends will give them a good training, and he runs over the list of his bandit companions with the cant names borne by each, such as lambswallow, hellbag, bolt-the-sheep, coweater, wolfthroat, and at last his own name, swallow-the-land. we may pass by the exploits of which he boasts--the children of the peasants near him eat water-gruel, their father's eyes he puts out, their beards he draws with pincers, he binds them in ant-hills, or smokes them in the chimney, and so forth, through a revolting list of barbarities. the youth uncloaks himself as a full-fledged desperado, and his father's short, stern warning in god's name of vengeance only throws him into a passion, and he declares that, though hitherto on their raids he has kept off his companions from the farm, instead of doing so longer, he will give up his father and mother to their will. he reveals what had been a main motive in his visit, an arrangement he had made with his comrade lambswallow to let him marry gotelint. but of that brilliant match her father's conduct has deprived the girl; also she will never find another man who can give her such luxuries of dress and fare. moreover, his sister was worthy of such a husband, and he stops to repeat the tribute he had paid to her while discussing the alliance with his friend. the lines bring before us a weird mediæval scene, to which these reckless free-livers looked forward as their assured end, and which they dreaded most from the lurid light thrown by superstition upon the picture. the ghastly swinging of their corpses on the gibbet ("the rain has drenched and washed us," villon says two hundred years later, "and the sun dried and blackened us. magpies and crows have hollowed out our eyes, and plucked away our beards and eyebrows."[ ]) troubled them less than the thought that their falling bones must lie unburied, and their lives be followed by no religious rites to mitigate the eternal justice. french poetry has interpreted this phase of crime and misery in villon's _epitaphe_; in english it has been interpreted by tennyson in _rizpah_, at once the most intense and the most piteous of all his poems, as free from self-consciousness as an early ballad, the most pathetic expression in all literature of a mother's love, and kept out of the category of the very greatest poems only by the intolerable anguish of its emotion. in this old german story we find an interpretation of it too; the briefest and much the simplest, yet not without an unobtrusive power. young helmbrecht declares that he told his comrade that he might trust gotelint never to make him repent his choice. "i know her," he represents himself as saying, "to be so loyal--on this you may count--that she never will leave you hanging long; she will cut you down with her own hands, and carry you to your grave at the cross-roads, with incense and myrrh--of this you can be sure. nightly for a whole year she will go about you. or if, less fortunate, you are blinded or crippled by the loss of hands or feet, the good, pure girl will guide you with her own hand over all the paths of every land; every morning she will bring your crutches to your bed, or cut for you, even till you die, your bread and meat." from the first, gotelint has been under the fascination of her brother, and as she hears his long account of the life the wife of lambswallow must live, she calls young helmbrecht aside, and arranges to run away from home and marry his friend. so at the appointed time she does, and a great wedding feast, provided at the cost of many widows and orphans, follows the curious mediæval marriage ceremony. in the midst of it a strange foreshadowing of evil comes over her; she wishes herself back at her father's simple fare; his cabbage was better than the luxury of lambswallow's fish. she tells her bridegroom that she is afraid strangers are at hand to harm them, and even as the players are receiving their gifts, the sheriff and his force break in upon the revellers. all meet quick justice; nine are hung; helmbrecht, the tenth, is sent off blind, and with only one foot and one hand. "what the forsaken bride suffered" let him tell who saw. the story works to its conclusion in a temper better fitted to the thirteenth century than to ours. the poet feels no complaisance for an obstinate wrong-doer. he says: "god is a worker of wonders, and this is the proper lot of a youth who called his father an old peasant and his mother a worthless woman." nor does he stop with his own exclamation; he tells in detail how the blind and maimed fellow is brought by a boy to the farm, only to receive his father's taunts and mocking. brutal and distressing as the passage seems, it is true to the age and to the character of the sturdy old farmer. while there was hope he had borne every insult; he had pleaded persistently, tenderly, and to every limit of generosity and devotion. but when the youth had proved himself susceptible to no claims of virtue or humanity, and, as a last stroke of evil, had seduced his sister from an honorable life, further pity seems sentimentalism. before the boy's first departure his father had warned him that he would take no part in any ill-won prosperity, and if misfortunes came, they, too, must be borne alone. the foreign phrases are on the father's lips this time, as the sightless cripple creeps up to the farm-house door. he runs over the proud speeches that have thus ended in shame and misery; nor will he listen to the entreaties for shelter, even as a beggar, for a single night. "'every one, the country round, is cruel to me; alas! so you are now. in god's name give me the charity you would give a poor sick man!'" but the farmer "laughed scoffingly, even though it broke his heart, for this was his own flesh, his child, who stood there before him blind." he struck the boy who was leading the wretch, and drove them off. "yet as they went away his mother put a loaf of bread in his hand, as if he were a child." for a year he crawled about, skulking in the woods and living on what he might. then one day, having wandered to the scene of some of his worst crimes, a set of peasants catch sight of him, and recount to one another what their farms, their babes, their daughters, had suffered from this outlaw and his band. as they talk they tremble with hate and rage, and, catching up a rope, they fulfil the last of the dreams that tormented the anxious night of the father just before his son rode out, with his rich clothes and fine horse and wonderful hood covering that long, beautiful hair, to seek his fortune in a court. why is it worth while to introduce to english readers this peasant tale of the middle ages? not on account of its antiquarian value, though it is full of interesting suggestions of old manners. nor primarily on account of its literary significance, notwithstanding the tact and nervous directness of wernher's style, and the heightened realism of treatment that gives him distinction beside the romanticists of the time. its main importance for us lies in that sense of the human unity which we derive from such a story of a time so remote from our own, and in most of its aspects so different. many of the influences that render man's life desirable--organized society, with respect for property and personal safety, ease of living, humanitarian sensibility even to the guiltiest suffering--we miss, and missing them we rejoice in the progress of our age toward the light. but the traits whereby life in all ages becomes estimable--simplicity of character, contentment with the station of one's birth, if only one can live there with dignity and usefulness; frugality, integrity, natural love which grows most tender and yearning when the kinship of moral worthiness seems in danger of dissolution--are our own best possession, and this identity of manhood then and now makes us feel less strange among those distant and dimly remembered generations. thus serious writers offer to our study many notable and interesting thoughts, and in their courtly poets we find scores of delightful pictures of gracious and noble dames and knights moving through the pleasures and pains of an ideal world. it is also pleasant to listen to a poet from among the people, and to touch the rough hand of an old german farmer, whose most brilliant recollection was of the time when, as a boy, he carried eggs and cheese to one of the courts of old-fashioned chivalry; whose virtue cast in a decadent era had looked at life sternly, yet whose austerity was softened by a homely simplicity through whose grace he grew old, with his heart true to his plain home life and his family, even to the assurance that no drink could be more refreshing than water from the spring on his own farm. [decoration] footnote: [ ] "la pluye nous a debuez et lavez, et le soleil dessechez et noirciz; pies, corbeaulx, nous ont les yeux cavez, et arrachez la barbe et les sourcilz." [decoration] childhood in mediÆval literature. when homer described the pretty fright of astyanax in his nurse's arms, amid the parting of hector and andromache; when vergil made damon recall the day when, as a little boy just able to reach up to the branches, he saw his mother and the child who was to be his fate gathering apples--the hyacinths of theocritus were daintier--they struck two chords of feeling, one charming, the other deeper and richer, which have started vibrations whenever they have met a sympathetic reader ever since. because we are susceptible to the poetry of childhood we are pleased to find that these ancient poets also cared for it. it adds a personal touch to our feeling for them. it gives us a thrill of the immortality of heart and its simplest, purest sentiment. there may be an element of the fictitious in our feeling about childhood. heaven may not be about our infancy, those "sweet early days" may not have been "as long as twenty days are now"; and they may not have been the types of innocence, simplicity, the loveliness of the race taken at first hand from nature, which we fancy them. but there is something beyond a fallacy in this sentiment; it is in our purer and more refined moods that we are sensitive to it. like a whiff of spring smoke, or woodsy odors, a reminder of our early life will sometimes throw us into a revery which is more than recollection. no one can write well about children without sensibility to youthful emotion and some love for family life. whoever looks back with genial wistfulness upon his own early days, and enjoys renewing them in the playthings of his fancy, can hardly be without a vein of quiet refinement. when an age listens with pleasure to such sketches, it is not barren of the homely affections, nor uniformly given over to restless and unlawful passions. as one wanders through the poetry of the middle ages, one observes the frequency with which it mentions children. these passages, judged absolutely, may not be remarkable for insight or tenderness, but in those days all emotional subjects were treated crudely. yet they are often interesting for themselves, and they show a fact which many seem to question that the sentiments of simple family life were felt by poets and people. so much has been written by critics upon the worse side of the society of chivalry, that it is well to recognize this other aspect of its affections. the public has frequently been assured that those days knew nothing of true family sentiment. how much truth there is in the statement that fashionable love disregarded marriage, has been shown in a preceding essay. but on _a priori_ grounds we should disbelieve that general society was permeated by artificial gallantry. even were the testimony of lyrical lovers uniform, we must recollect how conventional all their love-poetry was; most poets composed on formal lines impersonally, in spite of their pronouns. one of the troubadours, indeed, denied that this was possible when the husband of his theme challenged him, in the lonely place where he was hunting, by his liege truth to tell him whether he had a lady love. "sire," he replied, "how could i sing unless i loved?" but in most poems there was more business, or ambitious art, than nature. a large number of these poets impress us as having just as little emotional veracity in writing as had cowley in _the mistress_. moreover, even if a school of poetry, not conventionalized, should treat romantic and sensational sentiment to the exclusion of domestic, it would prove nothing. what if cynical critics some centuries hence should give mr. coventry patmore a place in their encyclopedias, simply on the ground that he was an exception to the nineteenth-century belief that love ended at the bridal altar? possibly by that time love, poetry, and fiction may deal mainly with domestic emotions after marriage, and then our own romances will very likely appear strange. from one point of view those centuries were too akin to undeveloped life to be prepared to represent it. europe seven hundred years ago seems like a vast nursery abandoned by its governess. the people are like children of various ages and sizes, degrees of education, and innate sense of right and wrong. children are impulsive, passionate, selfish, brutally inconsiderate; they are sometimes religious too. we find apparently sporadic susceptibility to isolation and prayer. they cry at trifles, and while their cheeks are still wet, they are smiling. bright and simple things please them; they are fickle and impatient; they love lively music; when they are tired playing, nothing pleases them like a story--they listen intently, credulously. when spring comes they can no more help running and dancing over the grass, than sunbeams on a brook. the gentler sit in the meadow making posies, while the rougher are setting traps, and racing, and fighting: but sometimes the rough boys will come and play in the meadow, and be pleasant to the girls. all these traits of children apply to the mediæval character, their barbarisms, their ethical inconsistencies, their delight in stories (no age has ever cared more for story telling), their love of play, their passion for spring, and the rest. undoubtedly the popular impression gives the period too little joyousness. mercurial childhood has capacity for sudden pleasures even when life goes ill, and life frequently went very well even then. but the mystery and grace of motherhood and dawning life are likely to appeal to a calmer and more retrospective age. the seriousness that takes pleasure in contemplating childhood is more serene and pensive than the usual moods of an era undeveloped emotionally. so it would not be a matter for surprise if the literary remains of those days had left us mainly incidental references to children. of such plain facts we have many, such as, for instance, that the little ones were entertained with pet dogs, birds, and squirrels (apparently never with cats), mice harnessed to a toy wagon, clay or wooden images of animals, and tiny vessels after kitchen models, toy men, women, and children, tops, and marbles; that they played blind man's buff, and many games attended with songs. as early as the interesting latin poem called _waltharius et hiltgunde_, which at least in a popular version walther von der vogelweide liked, we find the hero appealing to hagen, by the memory of the boyish games with which they had whiled away their childhood, and over which they never had quarrelled. we obtain considerable information about customs of education also; such as the attention paid to languages (a girl in a french romance is said to have understood fourteen tongues), and isolde knew french and latin as well as irish. boys were sent off on their travels early, going especially to paris. weinhold's quotation from hugo von trimberg illustrates the dangers that beset the pursuit of culture even then: "many boys go to paris; they learn little and spend much. but yet no doubt they see paris." when sir philip sidney derided the contemporary drama's habit of carrying a play through a large part of the hero's lifetime, instead of restricting the action to a developed episode, he made a poor criticism, out of tune, as are other parts of his criticism, with the genius of elizabethan poetry. but the passage is interesting as a reminder of the relation to that great literature of the romances which runs back through the middle ages to the later greek writings. such narrations as the _daphnis and chloe_, and the _aethiopica_, introduce their central characters while they are still children, and whether through transmitted influence or independently, the same course is pursued by the most important romance poems of mediæval france and germany. to this practice we owe pleasant domestic scenes of many a hero's early life, and sometimes, indeed, a narration of early joys and sorrows of his parents' love. the _tristan_ of gottfried von strassburg, for example, begins well before the birth of its subject, with noteworthy romantic episodes. this brilliant poem's account of the early years of chivalry's typical fine gentleman illustrates the admiration paid to intellectual training at a time when polite society in general was not well educated. tristan spent his first seven years under the care of his foster-mother, learning various lessons of good behavior; after that rual li foitenant provided a master, and sent him off to acquire foreign languages in their own lands, and "book-learning" as well. the luxurious temper of his chronicler stops for a long sigh at the hardship of such training, through the years when joyousness is at its best. so it is, he exclaims in his studied style, with many youth; when life is in its first bloom and freedom, away they are constrained to go from its free blossom. for seven years this young prince was constantly kept busy with the exercises of arms and horsemanship, in addition to his formal studies; he also learned hunting, and all courtly arts, especially music. then he was called home to be prepared for his political career. the education of children was assisted by not a few treatises on manners and morals, such as _babees books_, as the old english called them. they are usually manuals of etiquette, mediæval prototypes of such modern works as _don't_. chaucer's prioress had evidently studied the sections on table proprieties, and her gentility, which was so tender-hearted, might well have been developed under the admonishments of the ethical passages which often accompanied them. for a tender age many of these precepts were depressing. one of the gravest and most mature of these works is called _der winsbeke_, with a sequel, _die winsbekin_, for girls, the advice of a twelfth-century solomon, which moralizes certainly as well as most of its analogues. this stanza, for instance, shows a homely dignity: that bright candle mark, my son, while it burns, it wastes away; so from thee thy life doth run, (i say true) from day to day. in thy memory let this dwell, and life here so rule, that then with thy soul it may be well. what though wealth exalt thy name? only this shall follow thee-- a linen cloth to hide thy shame. these gnomic writings, running into a developed didacticism, are illustrated by the song of walther von der vogelweide on the restraint of eye, ear, and tongue. whether this poet was the teacher of the young king henry, as some have thought, or gained his experience in humbler ways, he evidently knew the trials of the pedagogue. "oh, you self-willed boy," he cries, "too small to be put to work in the field and too big to whip, have your own way and go to sleep." as for flogging, this prince of the minnesingers took the side of the matthew feildes against the boyers: "no one can switch a child into education; to those whom you can bring up well, a word is as good as a blow." apropos of the teacher's view, we also find the pupil's feeling for his teacher recorded in that little poem of the english school-boy, who was late in the morning, and explained to the master that his mother told him to stop and milk the ducks. the boy recounts the details of what follows, and afterwards, instead of taking up his interrupted studies, he words out a day-dream in which the master is turned into a hare, his books into hounds, and the boy goes hunting. there is a grain of humor, too, at least for the modern reader, in a much more sentimental child-play of the minnesinger hadlaub. though he mainly echoes the love singers who wrote a hundred years before him, one of the first songs in the collection of his poems raises a hope of something more than the ordinary, though this only leads us on to disappointment through the rest of his fifty-odd pieces. there is something very natural about this picture of the lover catching sight of his disdainful fair one playing with a little child. "she reached out her arms and caught it close to her, she took its face between her white hands, and pressed it to her lips and mouth and lovely cheek; ah, how deliciously she kissed it!" what did the child do? "just what i should have done; threw its arms around her, and was so happy." when she let the little one go, the lover went after it and kissed it just where her lips had been, "and how that went to my heart!" poor fellow! "i serve her since we both were children," and this is the nearest apparently that he ever came to the seals of love. but instead of delaying over estrays, pleasant scraps like those left us by heinrich von morungen, for instance, one of the few minnesingers for whom one really cares, we may pass on to three or four more detailed examples from the thirteenth century, of household love and sympathy with the poetry of childhood. but first i will translate a simple sesame for opening again the early gates. the poet is known as the wild alexander, but his mood was gentle and gracious when this revery of his boyhood came upon him: there we children used to play, thro' the meadows and away, looking 'mid the grassy maze for the violets; those days long ago saw them grow; now one sees the cattle graze. i remember as we fared thro' the blossoms, we compared which the prettiest might be: we were little things, you see. on the ground wreaths we bound;-- so it goes, our youth and we. over stick and stone we went till the sunny day was spent; hunting strawberries each skirrs from the beeches to the firs, till--hello, children! go home, they cry--the foresters. so he goes on to tell how their childhood took as a pleasure the hurts and stings that they received as they hunted for strawberries, and to recall the warnings against snakes that the herdsman sometimes shouted through the branches. apart from its graceful manner, and the breezy freshness of its universal childhood, the poem's specific touches are unusual. "from the beeches to the firs," for instance, does not sound mediæval aside from one's surprise that a german should have omitted the linden. we need not be as old as was lamb in , to look back with a touch of desire on the child, that other me, there in the background. perhaps there is the glamour of sentiment about that familiar association of childhood with purity and moral grace. yet the feeling appeals to us as true beyond mere beauty, and many may read with responsiveness these lines, hitherto unprinted, by one on whose lips, just parted for their song, silence laid her finger: "could i answer love like thine, all earth to me were heaven anew; but were thy heart, dear child, as mine, what place for love between us two? bright things for tired eyes vainly shine: a grief the pure heaven's simple blue. alas, for lips past joy of wine, that find no blessing in god's dew! from dawning summits crystalline thou lookest down; thou makest sign toward this bleak vale i wander through. i cannot answer; that pure shrine of childhood, though my love be true, is hidden from my dim confine: i must not hope for clearer view. the sky, the earth, the wrinkled brine would wear to me a fresher hue, and all once more be half-divine, could i answer love like thine." the spiritual subtlety of such a mood certainly is beyond the mediæval poets, yet we find pleasant proofs of sensibility to the tender, unselfish nature of a loving child. nowhere in such detail, perhaps, as in the most familiar of middle high german poems, the _poor henry_, of hartmann von aue. the story is known in longfellow's _golden legend_. this is not the place to discuss that poem, which contains some charming passages. the poet's treatment may be far from satisfactory, yet when he calls his original the most beautiful of mediæval legends, he certainly shows a more satisfactory side of extreme estimate than does goethe, in his curious fling at the poem (which we may notice he read in a modernized form). he says it gave him a "physico-æsthetic pain," and adds that the notion of a fine girl sacrificing herself for a leper, affected him so that he felt himself poisoned by the book. this judgment was pronounced in goethe's later life, and is consistent with his habitual want of sympathy with mediæval romantic literature. it shows, moreover, a lack of historical adjustment, for the dreadful disease was so common in the twelfth century that its repulsiveness was blurred for hartmann; yet he mentions it with the greatest reserve, though a description of its appearance could hardly be more painful than the famous conclusion of the _de rerum natura_. we are reminded of goethe's visit to assisi, interesting to him only as the situation of some remains of classical architecture.[ ] hartmann von aue ranks below his two great companions in german narrative poetry, for he is more of a translator than either gottfried or wolfram. his distinction is in his style; he has a very agreeable way of telling a story, and there is a quiet charm about his diction. "how clear and pure his crystal words are and always must be," is gottfried's tribute. we come to feel a personal liking for him, through his unaffected interest in his characters, his unassuming ways and the tact by which he lightens or deepens his accentuation. we feel that he was a gentleman, and we do not wonder at the kind regard in which all his fellow poets held him. we like his refined moral seriousness and that calm temperament of which he speaks in _gregorius_. the original for the _arme heinrich_ is lost, but though his introduction claims for himself no merit beyond a careful selection out of the many books that he takes pains to tell us he was learned enough to read for himself, we are probably justified in feeling that he took his heart into partnership when he made the version, receiving from it touches that he did not find in the earlier treatment. to appreciate the poem we have to put ourselves into harmony with the wonder-loving, credulous, and mystically religious world of seven hundred years ago. hartmann's simple earnestness and unobtrusive tenderness and piety constitute an ideal manner for the legend, and that ease of his soul which he hoped would come through the prayers of those who read the poem after his death, is perhaps equally well secured if he knows how some of his verses touch the sophisticated sense of to-day. he said that he was actuated in writing by the desire to soften hard hours in a way that would be to the honor of god, and by which he might make himself dear to others. he has succeeded. it is to the honor of god, and it wins the affection of others, when a poet leads his readers to a little well of pure unselfish love, hedged about by a child's religious faith. the hero of the legend is a gentleman of position and feudal possessions, whose free and generous career is cut short by an incurable leprosy. it is in vain that he consults masters at montpelier and salerno, the famous seats of medicine; and the honor and affection in which a genial life had established him among his friends cannot save him from becoming a social outcast. he disposes of his wealth between the poor and the church, and retires to a fief whose tenant is willing to receive his suzerain as a guest. here, on a little estate, away from all contact with the world, the gay lord resigns himself to the companionship of the farmer and his wife, whose gratitude for his kindness in the past distinguishes them among the multitude to whom his amiable disposition had made him a benefactor and friend. there were children in the family, the eldest a girl eight years old, when henry came. it was because their hearts were loyal that her parents were kind, but she kept close by him because she loved to be there. she was always to be found at his feet, and his affectionate nature liked her companionship. he bought her a hand mirror, a riband for her hair, a belt and finger ring, and whatever children care for. these gifts attached her to him, yet the main secret of her love was the sweet spirit that god had given her. after three years, as the family were sitting together one day with their high-born guest, the farmer asked him why it was that he had given himself up so hopelessly to his disease, and henry laid aside his reserve, and told for the first time about his visit to the great physician at salerno. the only remedy was an impossible one. he might indeed be healed, but not unless a virgin made a voluntary offering of her life. alas, god was his only physician. the little girl, who was so inseparable a companion that he jestingly called her his bride, listened as she was holding her sick lord's feet in her lap. she could not get it out of her head (the old german idiom is better, "out of her heart") the rest of the day, and when at night she lay in her usual place at her father's and mother's feet, she felt so sorry for her dear lord that she cried, and the warm tears fell on her parents' feet, and woke them. when they asked her what was the matter, she said that she thought they ought to be sorry, too; for what would happen to them all if their lord should die? some one else would own the farm, and no one could ever be as kind to them as he had been. they told her that was all true, but it could do no good to lament. "dear child, do not grieve. we feel as badly as you do, but alas, we cannot help him." so they hushed her, but all the night and the next day she continued to be unhappy, and whatever else she was doing, she kept thinking of this. when she went to bed, she cried again, till finally she resolved to herself that if she lived till morning she would surely give her life for her lord. straightway from that thought, she became light-hearted and happy, and felt free of all her cares, until it occurred to her that perhaps henry and her parents would not permit her to make the sacrifice; whereupon the poor little girl burst out crying again, and wakened her parents, as she had done the night before. it was only with difficulty that they drew from her this simple speech: "my lord might get well in the way that he told us, and if you will only let me, i am what he needs for being cured. i am a maid, and rather than see him pass away, i will die for him." a long dialogue follows, in which the parents remonstrate with the daughter, who replies in a strain of spiritual elation. she appeals not only to her parents' worldly dependence on their master's goodness, but also to their desire for her own highest welfare. how much better for her to pass to eternal life in unstained childhood, only anticipating the death that must come some time, no less unwelcome late than soon. her parents ceased to remonstrate, for they felt that the holy ghost was speaking through her, as they listened to the visionary cry. instead of taking, two or three years hence, some neighbor for her husband, she will choose "the franklin, who is wooing me to a home where the plough runs easily, where there is all abundance, where horses and cattle never are lost, where no wailing children suffer, where it is neither too warm nor too cold, where the old will grow young, where is nor frost nor hunger, no kind of pain, but all joy without toil; thither will i haste me, and forsake a farm whose tillage, fire, hail, and flood destroy, so that one half-day ruins the labor of a year. then let me go to our lord jesus christ, whose grace is sure, and who loves me, poor as i am, like a queen." unlike our modern analysts of character, hartmann does not stop to comment on the art of his delineation, and it is possible to miss the tact with which he keeps his heroine's renunciation consistent with a child's nature. hartmann is not treating this character inartistically, as a mere instrument for religious culture. earnest speech of a thoughtful parish priest; or phrases caught from the conversation of her lord touched by his sorrows, with the age's feeling _de contemptu mundi_, might have supplied her with some sentiments that seem beyond a child's invention, and children's emotions are sometimes precocious, especially in what seems a morbid religious development. those are the years of faith, credulous belief that burns with the white light of knowledge; a child's faith is a man's superstition. the peasant maid's imagination sees heaven and salvation a fact so infinitely desirable, that all dread of death was eliminated from the path of her love. the joyousness of her sacrifice, too, instead of being a romantic exaggeration, is far truer to life than a willingness touched with pain and hesitation could have been. in a noble dread, austerely controlled, lies calvary's dignity and pathos. but her gratitude and impetuous love for what seems to her simple mind a superior and infinitely deserving object, reached that finest pitch of selfishness, where self-sacrifice becomes the demand of impulsive egotism. to an enthusiastic temperament love's passionate altruism may be consummate self-will. as the little maid came away from her deliverance, though she was happy in her lord's restoration, she was less happy than as she went. for she did not have to die. in the tyranny of undeniable love, she broke down the opposition of her parents, and although henry indeed hesitated, she pleaded so anxiously and drew such an eloquent sketch of the advantage and gladness death would be to her, and the value of his life compared with hers, that at last, genial and affectionate as he was, the temptation to live by the sacrifice of a mere child's life (and the feudal sense of possession ought not to be overlooked) was too strong to be resisted. compare the scene with the one in _philaster_, where bellario wishes to offer herself for the man whom she loves with a hopeless earthly sentiment: "'tis not a life, 'tis but a piece of childhood thrown away." for her, continuance of life is only "a game that must be lost." but for the nameless german girl there is no pathos in living, beyond the thought of her master's death, and her sentiment was as childlike as when it began, while she was only eight years old. her love is a flame that burns impatiently away from the taper that feeds it; for her generous passion is after all a beautiful devoted wilfulness. when her parents wept to lose her, and her lord wept at his own weak hesitation, she wept above them all and her tears won the day. she rode with henry to salerno, and was unhappy only because the journey was so long. the great physician took her hand, and led her alone into a barred and bolted room. then he tried to frighten her and induce her to retract her consent, but she only laughed until she became afraid that he would not do his part, whereupon she broke out into an indignant scorn for his unmanly weakness. when he bade her undress, she did so without a blush; he bound her to his table, and took up his knife. he wished to render death easy (so he told himself), and taking a whetstone to make the knife sharper, he slowly whetted it--only as a pretext for delaying. the gentleman outside found himself restless. he listened, then he tried to look in and at last through a crevice in the wall he saw that "little bride" who had been his main companion and comfort during those three wretched years. by a fine touch of nature, the poet makes the sight of her perfect loveliness as she lay waiting for her celestial bridal, the force that broke the selfish charm which had enchained his manliness. he beat on the door, he called, and when no response came, he burst his way in. "the child is too lovely to die. for myself, god's will be done." it was now that her trial came, as she wailed and beat wildly at her body, to force on him the life he was unwilling to take. she talked bitterly and peevishly, as if she had been cheated of heaven through his cruelty. but it was in vain, he dressed her again in the rich garments which he had procured for the sacrificial journey, and they set out on their return to their distant home, the sobbing girl and the leper. but as they rode along, the divine might that seemed so near to mediæval faith was their companion, and touching the incurable disease, fulfilled love's miracle. henry took their daughter back to the peasants, and gave her rich gifts, while he presented them with the land which they had farmed, and all its serfs and chattels. then he went back to his estates, and to the welcome that the world was waiting to give him. by and by, when his people insisted that he should marry, he called an old-time conference about whom he should choose. there were numerous suggestions, but the advisers did not agree. he listened, and then telling them that unless they would approve his own choice, he should never marry, he stepped to the side of "the dear little wife" who had loved him as a leper. the romance of _fleur et blanchefleur_, which goes back, though not in its present form, to the twelfth century, enjoyed such popularity that it was translated into almost every european tongue. indeed, in some languages it is found in more than one version. the story tells of a saracen prince, whose royal father interrupts the smooth course of his true love for a christian girl. she was the daughter of a captive lady in the palace of the queen, and the royal boy and the bond girl had been born on the same day. from his birth, the mother of blanchefleur became fleur's nurse; the pagan law required that he must be suckled by a heathen, but in all other ways the infants were treated like twins. they slept in one cradle, and when they could eat and drink they were given the same food. thus they grew up together, until they were five years old, when the king, seeing his child as fine and promising a boy as could be found in any land, decided that it was time for him to begin his education. he selected a master, but fleur, when he was bidden to study, burst into tears and cried, "sire, what will blanchefleur do? who will teach her? i never can learn without her." the king answered that since he loved her so, blanchefleur should go with him to school. "so they went and came together, and the joy of their love was still uninterrupted. it was a wonder to see how each of the two studied for each; neither learned anything without straightway telling the other. at nature's earliest, all their concern was love; they were quick in learning and well they remembered. pagan books that spake of love they read together with delight; these hastened them along in the understanding and joy of love. on their way home from school, they would put their arms about each other, and kiss. in the king's garden, bright with all plants and flowers of various hues, they went to play every morning, and to eat their dinner; and after they had eaten, they listened to the birds singing in the trees above them, and then they went their way back to school, and a happy walk they found it. when they were again at school they took their ivory tablets, and you might have seen them writing letters and verses of love, in the wax. deftly with their gold and silver styles they made letters and greeting of love, of the songs of birds and of flowers. this was all they cared for. in five years and fifteen days, they both had learned to write neatly on parchment, and to talk in latin so well that no one could understand." when we follow the poem along, we find in the different versions many familiar romance expedients, conventional incidents of the pathetic, exciting, and marvellous, but the charm is in the unwavering love of these twins, who from the hour of birth breathed together, even in their sleep, yet no kin to each other, and blending brotherhood and sisterhood with the other love of man and woman in perfection, since for neither they knew the beginning. in this way the mediæval romance is even more ideal than beaumont's _triumph of love_, where gerard and violante passed from the sentiment of childhood "as innocently as the first lovers ere they fell." "gerard's and my affection began," the heroine tells ferdinand, "in infancy: my uncle brought him oft in long clothes hither; you were such another. the little boy would kiss me, being a child, and say he loved me: give me all his toys, bracelets, rings, sweetmeats, all his rosy smiles; i then would stand and stare upon his eyes, play with his locks, and swear i loved him too. for sure, methought he was a little love, he wooed so prettily in innocence that then he warmed my fancy; for i felt a glimmering beam of love kindle my blood both which time since hath made a flame and flood." in the early stages of fleur's love-trials his parents attempted to persuade him that blanchefleur was dead, and to give confirmation to their assertions they caused a superb tomb to be constructed, in a style that is of considerable interest in the study of literary origins from its obviously oriental tone. without delaying for its rich and curious eastern details, we may yet notice the sentiment in the figures of the boy and girl that were placed upon it. "never were seen images of fairer children, or more like to the lovers. the image of blanchefleur holds a flower before fleur, before her lover holds the fair one a rose of fine bright gold; and before her, fleur holds a blanched golden fleur-de-lis. close by each other they sit, a sweet look on their faces." a mechanical device is so contrived that when the wind blew and touched the children they embraced and kissed, and by necromancy they spoke to each other as in their childhood, and thus said fleur to blanchefleur: "kiss me, sweet," and kissing him, she replied: "i love you more than all the world." the story of fleur and blanchefleur was so popular that they became identified with the characters of another romance, and were sung of as the parents of berte-as-graus-pies, the heroine of an attractive legend, and the mythical mother of charlemagne. in the poem that relates her misfortunes after she has been sent from hungary to france as the wife of pepin, we find a suggestion of the depth of sentiment that was always associated with her legendary parents. she has been in france almost nine years without their having heard from her, and blanchefleur determines to undertake a journey to see her child again before she dies. the king, without opposing her desire, expresses a half remonstrance that we may add to the other proofs in mediæval poetry, that true love in our modern sense was familiar throughout those eras: "oh, my lady, how shall we be able to live so long without each other?" let us believe that in the utopia where these lovers who loved from their birth resided, they found, after their own sharp trials and the trials of their daughter were safely over, a serene old age, out of which they passed unconsciously some night, sleeping themselves away in each other's arms. this love between boy and girl was attractive to the old narrative poets. the greatest of them all touched the soul of young romance when he said of sigune and schionatulander, "alas, they are still too young for such pain, yet 'tis the love of youth which lasts." wolfram gives us pretty touches of childhood as far back as the nursery; like that of a mother and her ladies playing over the new-born baby, or of children learning to stand by taking hold of chairs, and creeping over the floor to reach them, or of sigune's care to take her box of dolls with her when she went away. "whoever saw this little girl thought her a glimpse of may among the dewy flowers." as she grew older, too, he describes her, assuming the airs of a young lady. "when her breasts were rounding and her light wavy hair began to turn dark, she grew more proud and dignified, though always keeping her womanlike sweetness." the story of her love with schionatulander has delightful stanzas; their long love-pleading dialogue is much truer than most of the minnesingers' work in its restraint and in the girl's coy sweetness. she is an earlier dorigen as she watches for the beloved who does not come, wasting many an evening at the window gazing over the fields, or climbing to the housetop to look. but what distinguishes the author of the _titurel_ above his fellow-poets is his sentiment for something more than romance. children are dear to him, and the wife is dearer. his idea of love consists no more in dante's platonic mysticism than in passion and inconstancy. without transcendentalism its dominant tone is spiritual. compare an earlier lover's cry in the loveliest of french romances: "what is there in heaven for me? i will never go there without nicolette, my sweet darling, whom i love so much. it is to hell that fine gentlemen go and pretty, well-bred ladies who love." compare that parisian type of feeling with this of wolfram: "love between man and woman has its house on earth, and its pure guidance leads us to god and heaven. this love is everywhere save in hell!" to such a poet we naturally turn for the deepest mediæval note in the treatment of childhood, and we do not listen in vain. "what a difference there is between women," wolfram exclaims. it seems to him the way of modern womanhood to be disloyal, worldly, selfish, like men: but in the days of which he writes in his chief poem there was a lady herzeloide, to whom after her husband's death in the wars, the sun was a cloud, the world's joy lost, night and day alike, who for heavenly riches chose earthly poverty, and leaving her estates went with her retainers far into the unreclaimed forest to bring up her infant safe from the strife and wiles of men. this only heritage of her lost lord was the boy parzival. she trusted that by hiding him away from all knowledge of the world, she might always keep him her own. she exacted an oath from her servants that they would never let him hear of knights and knighthood, and while they cleared farming land in the heart of the woods, she cared for the child. it was a desolate place, but she was not looking for meadows and flowers; she gave no thought to wreaths, whether red or yellow.[ ] the child grew into boyhood, and was indulged in making bows and arrows. as he played in the woods, he shot some of the birds. but after he saw them dead, he remembered how they had sung, and he cried. every morning he went to a stream to bathe. there was nothing to trouble him, except the singing of the birds over his head: but that was so sweet that his breast grew strained with feeling; and he ran to his mother in tears. she asked what ailed him, but "like children even now it may be," he could not tell her. but she kept the riddle in her heart, and one day she found him gazing up at the trees listening to the birds, and she saw how his breast heaved as they sang. it seemed to her that she hated them, she did not know why. she wanted to stop their singing, and bade her farm hands snare and kill them. but the birds were too quick; most of them remained and kept on singing. the boy asked his mother what harm the birds did, and if the war upon them might not cease. she kissed his lips: "why am i opposing highest god? shall the birds lose their happiness because of me?" "nay, mother, what is god?" "my son, he is brighter than the day; he took upon himself the likeness of man. when trouble comes upon thee, pray to him: his faithfulness upholds the world. the devil is darkness; turn thy thoughts from him, and from unbelief." this passage is wolfram's invention; the brilliant gallic poet whose romance he followed could not have contrived it. this sympathy with nature belongs to our later era; it seems less strange to meet it in keats, when the boy apollo wanders out alone in the morning twilight: "the nightingale had ceased, and a few stars were lingering in the heavens, while the thrush began calm-throated. throughout all the isle there was no covert, no retired cave unhaunted by the murmurous noise of waves. though scarcely heard in many a green recess, he listened and he wept, and his bright tears went trickling down the golden bow he held." one recalls nothing in the two centuries which wolfram touches that equals this picture of the mother watching her child's baptism with the sad and precious gift of soul, as he stands gazing upward in his forest trance, or listening to his dawning perplexities, or teaching him his first religious lesson, or jealous of the birds, because his dreamy love for them dimly warned her of a mysterious growing soul that would not remain within her simple call. those lines in the _princess_ of the faith in womankind and the trust in all things high, that come easy to the son of a good mother, certainly are appropriate to parzival, whose faith held true and simple through his whole career as the foremost knight of chivalric legend, living for a spiritual ideal, unseduced by beauty and the ways of courts from loyalty to his first wedlock: "true to the kindred points of heaven and home." the description of parzival's meeting with the knights, his mistaking them in their bright armor for angels, and his eagerness to make his way to arthur's court are narrated by chrestien with his own excellent vivacity, and here wolfram only follows. the welsh version of the story in the _mabinogi_ of peredur, though disappointing, contains a naïve sketch of the boy's rustic attempt to imitate the knight's trappings. but for the full tenderness of his mother's parting as he goes out from home to the fierce world we must turn again to the german.[ ] she kisses him, and as he rides away "runs a few steps after him" till he has galloped out of sight and then she closes forever the eyes whose light of motherhood shone like a star above the sea, over those tumultuous years. all through these centuries there are poems to the virgin, especially in latin, which manifest similar sensibility to infancy and motherhood. one of the most pleasing belongs to england, and is written in the commixture of latin and the modern tongue, which occasionally produces quaintly pretty effects. the glorified christ summons his mother, by the memory of their kisses when she calmed him in sweet song, to come and be crowned. "pulcra ut luna"--lovely as moonlight--"veni coronaberis." but perhaps the most delicate of all such sketches comes from an unexpected source. a young lawyer in the town of todi, whose early life had combined pleasure with sufficient study to gain the doctorate, was turned aside from a prosperous public career by the tragical loss of his bride. matthew arnold has given a symbolism to the story of her death in the sonnet beginning: "that son of italy who tried to blow 'ere dante came, the trump of sacred song." the sorrow struck deep, even to the point of partial mania; the gay young man forsook the world and devoted years to seclusion and religious culture. later in , he entered the order of the minorites, and ranks as one of their delirious enthusiasts, a mystic poet, a reckless satirist of evils in high places. his fanatic asceticism made him glory in bodily torments and the world's scorn. the nickname, jacapone, he carried proudly, and even the harshness of boniface viii. could not quell his zest for martyrdom. we should scarcely look to him for sympathy with the sweet gaieties of the nursery, yet this little sketch of the virgin's life with christ, the child, came from the same hand that wrote the sorrows of the _stabat mater_. ah sweet, how sweet, the love within thy heart, when on thy breast the nursing infant lay: what gentle actions, sweetly loving play, thine, with thy holy child apart. when for a little while he sometimes slept, thou eager to awake thy paradise, soft, soft, so that he could not hear thee, crept, and laidest thy lips close to his eyes, then, with the smile maternal calling, "nay, 'twere naughty to sleep longer, wake, i say!" the almost incoherent repetition of the word "love," in one of his poems, is suggestive of the man; despair for human love led to his half-crazed absorption in the divine. very sweetly sounds this sacred meditation's echo of his recollection of the nights of his own childhood, of which he has told, when his mother, as she waked, would make a light and come and lean over his bed, till sometimes his eyes would open to see her watching him there. his father did not spare the rod for the careless boy, nor in later years did the father of his soul; but the divine motherhood of memory and of present faith bent with yearning eyes, we may be sure, over his anxious sleep in prison or in the ascetic cell. but it was only the greatest of all these poets who could leave us the lovely image of the new-born soul that comes forth in its simplicity from the hand that loves it before its birth, playing like a young girl who weeps and smiles. yet dante's principal sensation about childhood is its helplessness, and the mother's eyes, which throw its aureole about infancy, do not seem to have held their tenderest meaning for him. he would never have gone beyond the original ten lines of "she was a phantom of delight." but he gives beauty to the child's frightened eyes when they meet its mother's, and certainly the vision, whether real or imagined, toward the close of the _vita nuova_ will please forever. this straying love is recalled to its old faithfulness by "the strong imagination" of a little figure that is habited in red, just as it had appeared to him when, perhaps in folco's florentine garden, the boy not quite nine fell in love with the girl of eight. perhaps boccaccio's story of the falcon is too familiar to quote, though it illustrates domestic love too well to be unmentioned. one hardly can choose the best of its touches--the bright account of the boy running over the fields with his mother's old-time lover, as he hawked, always eying with a boy's eagerness for ownership the famous falcon, the only remnant of frederick's gay and wealthy life, which he had lost for the unsuccessful love; or the picture of the mother again and again begging the child, as he lay ill, to tell her something which he desired, so that she might obtain it for him; until his feverish imagination persuaded him that to have the wonderful falcon would make him well again; or our thought of the impoverished gentleman, whose devotion had lasted under the years of exile on his little farm, his hope departed, who when suddenly visited by his widowed love, and finding nothing in the larder, nor money, nor even anything valuable enough for a pledge to secure some entertainment for her, desperately wrung the neck of his precious bird; or the delicate hesitation and awkwardness of the lady when she came to explain her errand, and the struggle, before love for her child bent both pride and pity; or the lover's broken heart when he found that his excess of devotion had cost him his only opportunity of pleasing her. the whole may be read in a little play of tennyson's later years, or among the _tales of a wayside inn_; but it is much better to read it in the narrative of the certaldesian. tuscany has sent us down no tenderer story. [decoration] footnotes: [ ] i will not quote goethe's famous disparagement of the _divina commedia_, for the context indicates that it was uttered petulantly. still, he certainly did not care for dante, or appreciate him, though he recognized his eminence. [ ] it may be worth noting that wolfram substitutes for the french original's usual conventionality of a pretty watered meadow, this harder and more appropriate setting. [ ] tennyson might suitably enough have had the marriage of parzival and condiuiramur in mind when writing the prince's aspiration. "then reign the world's great bridals chaste and calm." such passages in wolfram's poem as book iv. from line and book v. - may be commended to the critics who see nothing in mediæval love that is pure or faithful in the modern sense of marriage. [decoration] a mediÆval woman.[ ] when heloise was born, just after the twelfth century opened, abelard, through whom she was to experience the deepest ecstacies and the most poignant distress, and by whose union with her life she was to become the most famous mediæval woman, was a young man of twenty-two. he came of a rather high-bred family in brittany; his father, though an active soldier, was interested in letters and took pains to have his children instructed in the ornaments as well as the defence of life. this eldest son, so attracted by his early lessons that he determined to sacrifice his rights of primogeniture, and to renounce the distinction of a knightly career for the life of study, while yet a youth started out as a student-tramp, one of a multitude who wandered from town to town to hear lectures on the seven topics that made up the educational curriculum of the age. through this entire epoch, for generation after generation, this practice of student vagrancy continued: now the intellectual centre was england, now france, now germany; sometimes two or three teachers would draw crowds to the exclusion of all other schools, sometimes the numbers would divide up among scores of masters. poor, rich, coarse, refined, hard-working, indolent, quick-witted, stupid, scholars, impostors,--these student crowds were an extraordinary medley. to realize the irregularity and the strangeness of their lives we have to read such a story as freytag quotes[ ] from thomas platter, a wandering scholar of the fifteenth century. such german students were perhaps of a lower grade than the young men who travelled through france three hundred years before, and the standard of scholarship may have been inferior, but their general experiences must have been similar, and most of abelard's companions no doubt were mentally crude, arrogant, superstitious; many dissipated and even brutal. yet some were touched by the love of truth, and had vigorous minds, well trained by application. the majority of these better men were of course hedged in by the palisades of catholic tradition, and sought knowledge from the past, rather than from independent present thought: but there were some whose ideas were bolder, and who kept proposing questions which their teachers did not answer. the deferential attention with which roscellinus and william of champeaux were listened to, was broken in upon when the handsome youth abelard appeared at the schools of these leaders of european thought. the strength of each was in dialectics, the topic which then held intellectual interest to the practical disregard of almost every other subject except the theology into which it played, and they took opposite sides on the absorbing problem of general terms. in the school of each, abelard rose as a disputant; he challenged his teacher to argue with him as an equal until he triumphed in turn over the extreme nominalist and the extreme realist. then he set up schools of his own, which he moved from place to place, as the intolerant hostility of his vanquished chiefs and their upholders required. his reputation steadily rose, and he drew the largest and most enthusiastic following, for the keenest young thought of the generation recognized in him its natural leader. all independence and liberality of mind must be estimated relatively to the age concerned. from our outlook abelard seems a narrow and constrained thinker, but to the churchman of the opening of the twelfth century he was a rationalist, a daring explorer into the sacred mysteries that must be accepted by the sealed eye of faith. how absurd, he exclaims, to teach what you cannot give reasons for believing. so he tried to make belief a matter for intellectual comprehension; he argued where others asserted, and made bold to modify current opinions which his ingenuity, often childishly simple, could not explain. he had a noble grasp upon some conceptions far beyond the reach of his antagonists. he independently developed the ethical doctrine that the value of conduct is in motive, not in act; he taught that the main worth of the incarnation was to present the model of a perfect life; that the man christ jesus was not a member of the trinity; that the love of god is as freely bestowed on sinner as on saint; that god could not prevent evil, or he would have done so. for the sufferings that he endured in teaching his pupils to use not credulity but unflinching independent thought in their reflections even on theology, he deserves our grateful admiration. when abelard was thirty-eight years old he was at the height of his reputation. technical and abstruse as his intellectual interests were, he appears to have been anything but a dry-as-dust. though as a logician he had trained himself severely in precision of speech, the hesitating and half-frozen way of talking that most exact thinkers fall into, he seems to have escaped. we have a letter written about this time by a canon named fulcus, who, dwelling on abelard's intellectual cleverness, his power and subtlety of expression, makes special mention of the sweetness of his eloquence; _limpidissimus philosophiæ fons_, he calls him, too--philosophy's very clearest fountain. he was not only an easy and agreeable speaker, he had also the advantages of an attractive presence; he was a fine-looking man, in the prime of life. now for about twenty years he had been a hero of the schools. the philosophic and theological leaders of the age he had overthrown and trampled on; the audiences that he had been at the first successful in drawing had steadily increased. established in paris without controversy, a canon of the church, in the chair of notre-dame, the philosophical throne of france, he lectured to the best pupils of europe. fulcus, in his letter to abelard, described the geographical extent of his influence thus: "rome sent her sons to be taught by you, the former teacher of all arts confessing herself not so wise as you. no distance, no height of mountains, no depth of valleys, no road hard to travel or perilous with robbers, hindered scholars from hastening to you. the english students were not frightened by the tempestuous waves of the sea between; every peril was despised as soon as your name was known. the remote britons, the angevins, the picts, the gascons, the spaniards, the people of normandy and flanders, the teutons, and the suevi, all about paris and through france, near and remote, thirsted to be taught by you, as if they could learn nowhere else." such eminence had not come to him without effort. he had been a close worker, secluding himself from society. "the assiduity of my application to study," he says, "prevented my associating with refined ladies, and i had hardly any acquaintance with women outside of the church." the purity of his morals was only less famous than his intellect; he says that the notion of associating, as many churchmen of the time did, with coarse women was odious to him. but suddenly over this man already middle-aged, and, as one might suppose, established in self-control mentally and physically, there came a reaction. reputation had become an old story, his enthusiasm for philosophy seemed to dwindle when he believed himself the first philosopher of the world; no doubt, too, the intellectual pressure of his work had so worn upon him as to make a change of interests impulsive. so abelard turned to divert himself with immoral indulgences, and at thirty-eight began the life of passion. several years before this, a story had begun to circulate that another canon of notre-dame, fulbert by name, had a remarkable niece. she was then only a little girl in a nunnery at argenteuil, but year by year the accounts of her precocity grew more astonishing, and by the time she was sixteen we are told that she was talked about through the whole kingdom. this was heloise, and her uncle--people did not know whether he was prouder or fonder of her. he brought her back to his own house near the cathedral, and abelard met her to find the reports of her learning had not been exaggerated, and--something more interesting--to find that she was not merely a scholar, that she was a genius. the modern accounts of this famous story that i have seen (most of them mere imitations of one or two authors who really have taken the trouble to study the originals) declare that heloise was uncommonly beautiful, but there seems to be no authority for this. abelard says only, "_per faciem non infirma_"--"not lowest in beauty, but in literary culture highest." making allowance for his rhetorical contrast, we may say, without intensives, that she was attractive as well as brilliant. we should have to read a good many indecent chronicles, and get thoroughly familiar with don juan prototypes, to find as cold-blooded a story of seduction as this that follows. we have it from abelard's own pen, told in perfectly calm language, a clear-cut narrative without the slightest tremor of confession about it. he was delighted with her loveliness, her youth and innocence, her fame, and most of all with her brilliancy. he says that he believed no woman whom he might honor with his regard could resist the combination of his personal qualities and his reputation. but he wished cultivated, congenial companionship in his amours, and deliberately resolved to betray this girl of sixteen under the disguise of her teacher. at his own application, fulbert received him as a lodger, the board to be paid by private instruction of his niece. "he gave the lamb to me, a wolf"--such is abelard's well-chosen metaphor. she was to be taught at any hours, day or night, that her tutor found convenient. she was to obey him in everything, and if he thought fit it was enjoined upon him to discipline her with the rod. "to such an extent," abelard remarks, "was he blinded by his trust in his niece, and by my reputation for strict morality." nothing could be more repulsive than the coldly deliberate wickedness of abelard's plan, and it would be time thrown away to attempt any extenuation of it. but the crime once committed, it is a relief to find something in addition to brute passion present in the unscrupulous seducer. the girl who had fascinated him, won from him as complete love as his nature was capable of giving. week by week he resigned himself more and more to his happiness, he neglected the school, his lectures were only the repetition of formerly acquired views, and he wooed philosophy for no new truths. even the perfunctory teaching that he did grew irksome to him, and his knowledge of the great sadness, groans, and lamentations that he tells arose among his followers, was powerless to break the spell. for it was only a spell: he was pre-eminently an intellectual man with superficial affections; his heart was given to philosophy, and the only permanent passion of his life was ambition. but little as the praise is, to that little extent it is to his credit that where he had planned for himself a holiday from mental and moral severity, in which he was to enjoy relaxation selfishly and viciously at heloise's undivided cost, he found his better nature captured by this loveliest representative of womanhood in its fullest and most exceptional combination of elements that mediæval history has made known to us. after all, abelard was not wholly destitute of the moral sensibilities: i believe no narrator of this story has called attention to his love for his old home in brittany, or to his family's devotion to him and reliance on his guidance, or to the tenderness with which he mentions his mother. in spite of all the viciousness in his early and the hardness in his later treatment of heloise, we may credit him with real affection for her, from the early days of his crime. for a man of abelard's force and finish of mind, such a refined companionship must have been the first of pleasures. there are traditions, not to be accepted too credulously, that heloise was a larger scholar than her lover, and could read hebrew and greek--those rarest accomplishments of mediæval learning. that at least she knew latin literature well, we have abundant evidence, and the most positive proof that her scholarship was refined and appreciative, that she felt poetry as well as understood it. her mind responded also to the theological interests of the thinkers of the age, she was at home in the church fathers, and learned from abelard the main principles of his philosophical doctrine. in trying to conceive a character when information is so fragmentary as ours here, we are no doubt in some danger of making fanciful biography. three letters of her own, several of abelard's to her, and his autobiography, a few slight contemporary hints--these materials leave some important points of her character undeveloped. but given certain suggestions, our imaginative instincts cannot go far wrong, provided the inferences of sympathetic interpretation are held in check by judgment. these guides teach us to see in the girl heloise an extraordinary combination of thoughtfulness and bright temper, active thinking and religious deference, accurate scholarship (after the fashion of mediæval schools) and æsthetic sensibility, passion and maidenly delicacy. to this last quality abelard has borne complete testimony, and her own letters supply any evidence needed. absorbed though her whole nature was in her love, her lover himself has let us know that her modesty had to be conquered more than once by blows. her mind was mastered by the greatness of his reputation, her eye was taken with his beauty, her imagination was fascinated by his universal charm: it is no wonder that she was flattered and bewitched into loving him. but the completeness and devotion and ecstatic self-oblivion of the love she gave him is a wonder. her generous faith, though to an undeserving object, communicates to the ineffective results of her life an ideal value; by a supreme self-forgetting, she rendered herself worthy to be always remembered. abelard's was a stormy life in a stormy age, when the scholars fought quite as bitterly as the soldiers, and the last forty-four years of heloise's life were the tragedy of being buried alive, unable to die. but for a few months in this year , both found perfect happiness. we have a pretty picture outlined for us of the way their time went. abelard says: "we used to have our books open, but we talked more of love than about the reading, there were more kisses than ideas. love made pictures of each of us in the other's eyes more often than we turned our eyes upon the books." every now and then this great philosopher appeared in a new rôle. as to most of the highest men, nature had given him a great deal more than brains. he had a wonderfully fine voice, was fond of music, and as poets in those days went, he was a poet. he had stopped constructing dialectics, but his mind could not be inactive; so he took up the art of song-writing and song-making, and wrote love-lyrics and many of them, almost all directly in the praise of heloise. nor was he content to praise her to her own ears alone; the man was past all prudence in the violence of his new absorption. he let others hear them, and no doubt his hateful egotism was flattered by the thought that the most fascinating girl in all france would thus become known as his mistress. the lyrics at once caught the popular fancy; we hear of them as spreading over the country, sung everywhere by the light-minded. many years later, heloise wrote that if any woman's heart could have resisted abelard's other magic, to read his songs and to hear him sing them would surely have conquered her. the neglect of his work, and the notoriety of these love-ditties after a while made public abelard's real relation to his pupil. yet for some time after the world at large understood it, the devoted uncle and guardian of the girl heard nothing, and after the rumors did begin to reach him, he obstinately refused to believe them. nothing in the whole history shows the essential goodness of heloise more significantly than the canon fulbert's complete incredulity; for as the event proved, his nature was not so gentle as to repudiate harsh thoughts without the strongest prepossessions. when the truth was forced upon him, his distress was so intense that even the cold-hearted abelard was compelled to pity him. but if abelard pitied the uncle, how much greater his distress for the niece, and greater still, unfortunately, his apprehension for himself. egotist he proved himself, but he proved himself also heloise's real lover. "first we lived together in one house," he says, "but at last in one soul." in the crash of public disgrace, "neither of us complained of personal suffering, but each for the suffering that came to the other," and the bodily separation that ensued, he says with a touch of real feeling, was "the greatest linking of our souls." soon after the separation, abelard discovered that heloise required more care and comforts than the heart-broken and embittered fulbert would be likely to provide, and he devised and carried through a plan to take her back to his own country, to his sister's house. there, amid the scenes of her lover's boyhood, in that brittany whose legend and poetry have blessed us with so many of our loveliest romances, this heroine of a deeper romance than any of fiction found a home for several months. we may guess that the home was pleasant to her, for the lady with whom she lived afterwards entered the abbey of which heloise was prioress. abelard meanwhile was continuing his lectures in paris, fearing--he seems to have been at all times a great deal of a coward--the personal violence from heloise's family which the fierce habits of the age gave him reason to anticipate. at last the distress of fulbert touched his better feeling into the wish to give him comfort, this long separation from heloise he found hard to support, and his fear of revenge constantly increased. these motives induced a promise to rectify his offence by marriage. he made only one condition--that the marriage should be secret. on the whole, this is perhaps the most favorable exhibition of himself that abelard ever made. with all deductions for selfish considerations, it is reasonable to allow some weight to moral feeling, and a good deal more to devotion for the girl. this renders it all the sadder to find him some sixteen years later referring to this best act of his life with a feeble apology. "let no one," he entreats, "wonder at my offer of marriage, who has felt the power of love, and known how the greatest men have been overthrown by woman." even here when his feeling for heloise seems strongest, we see that his selfish ambition was stronger still. secular as his tastes were, bound to the church by his intellectual side only, he still hoped to rise to ecclesiastical dignities and power. from very early times the disposition for a celibate clergy had been strong, and five years before abelard's birth hildebrand had declared that no married priest should have any part in the celebration of the mass. quite apart from all questions of marriage, abelard seems to have had scarcely any chance of distinguished clerical dignity; the student crowds might follow him, but the leaders of the church were dead set against his rationalism; they feared and hated the arrogant and progressive thinker. if abelard had acted like a man, and had openly chosen married love with the girl whose mind and heart were, either of them, better than the best of life's other gifts, the misfortunes of his distressed later career might have been avoided, and heloise, after a happy and lovely life, would be no more remembered to-day than the flowers she had gathered, or the birds she heard sing. but because the man, not quite unprincipled, was yet not true, he brought death upon his own good name, and upon heloise a melancholy life with which she paid too dear for all the remembrance and love that the ages have given her. to his selfishness we owe the sweetest and saddest story which the middle ages have bequeathed us; but we think of the words of demodocus, as he recites in the odyssey the story of heroes dead: "this the gods contrived, and for these they ordained destruction, so that the people of times to come might have a song." his mind once made up, abelard started for brittany, to see the son of whose birth he had just heard, and to take back the mother as his bride. but when this resolution was known to heloise, he met an unexpected opposition. she said she did not wish him to marry her, and persisted in her refusal. unwomanly does it appear, this unwillingness of heloise to become her lover's wife? she knew abelard's vehement ambition, the impossibility of its being satisfied if he was known to be a married man, the practical certainty that her family would prefer the redemption of her reputation to her husband's success. so she told abelard that to marry her would be dangerous to him,--but still more, that it would be disgraceful. she talked to him in the rôle of a learned and ascetic mediæval preacher; she seems to draw a monk's rough robe about her girlish figure, to disguise her tones, and to muffle her bright face in a cowl. we have long, formally rendered objections, a crowd of citations from the bible, cicero, theophrastus, jerome, josephus, augustine,--to prove marriage less honorable than celibacy, devotion to knowledge a duty not to be interfered with by the responsibilities and annoyances of a family, conformity to the rules of the church the highest obligation. her desire for his own greatness completely overshadows her passion for his love. he is already the first of philosophers, but if he has outrivalled others, he must go on to surpass himself. for this, he must have quiet and solitude, freedom for thought. she quotes a roman maxim that all things are to be neglected for philosophy. what monks endure through love of god, the thinker ought to endure from devotion to truth. if laymen and gentiles have lived thus continently, bound by no religious profession, what does it become a clerk and a canon to do? "if you regard not god, at least care for philosophy." "for what harmony is there," she asks, "between a scholar and a nurse, a writing-desk and a cradle, books and spinning-wheels? who when absorbed in religious or philosophic meditation can endure hearing children cry, or having to listen to the lullabies of the woman who soothes them? rich people can get along, for they have abundant room and plenty of servants; but scholars are not rich." she has difficulty in keeping herself disguised: in the excess of her feeling she throws out her arms, and discloses the gracious outline of the unselfish woman. then, after reasoning, come personal pleadings. is he sacrificing himself for her? she is content as she is. now she holds him by the free gift of that love and favor to which he would have a claim in marriage. does he believe she feels herself disgraced by this relation? to be called his mistress is dear and ennobling to her. years later when she was past her middle life, she wrote to abelard that "the name of mistress, or even of harlot, was sweeter to me then the holier name of wife, so that by my greater humiliation i might gain greater favor and less injure thy fame. i call god to witness that if augustus would have set me by himself at the head of the whole world, it would have seemed to me more dear and noble to be called thy mistress than his empress." thus by argument, authority, protestation that her sacrifice is choice, she tries to conquer his decision. nay, she throws aside the cowl entirely, and by her natural bright humor tries to banter him into acquiescence. "and then think," she says in substance, "what a plague a wife is to a man. only imagine" (and she laughs, and abelard laughs too, at the inconceivable grotesqueness of the idea), "imagine what a shrew i might turn out! i might treat you as xanthippe treated _her_ philosopher." she reminds him of the passage where jerome tells the story about socrates' wife having fretted and scolded and raged one day through the house with desperate temper, until she wound up by throwing a basin of dirty water over him: "he took it patiently, and wiped his head: 'rain follows thunder,'--that was all he said." to abelard's credit, this impassioned unselfishness strengthened, instead of weakening, his resolution. heloise was forced to yield, but her instincts saw the dark shadows gathering about them: with sobs and tears she exclaimed, "in the ruin of both of us not less pain is to follow than was the love that came before." leaving the child with his aunt the lovers returned to paris; there they were married in great secrecy, and at once separated. after this they met but seldom, and then with careful precautions against their interviews becoming known. heloise's family, however, as she had feared, determined to redeem her good name by announcing that abelard had made her honorable reparation. when people came to her and asked if it was really true that she was the canon's wife, she denied the story angrily. when her uncle and other relatives contradicted her contradiction, the girl took religion's holiest name in vain, in her asseverations that abelard was not her husband. fulbert lost all patience, and attempted by cruelty and indignity to drive her to confess the truth. she told abelard of what she suffered, and one night he contrived to steal her away from her uncle and to carry her back to her old nunnery at argenteuil, where she assumed most of the dress of the order, and received only occasional visits from him. the conjecture that abelard designed to keep her there, and as soon as his attachment could be weaned to make her take the vows and thus save himself from all further trouble, suggests itself to us to-day: with greater force, it occurred to the people immediately concerned. the rage of the uncle and his friends at abelard's treachery, first and last, to themselves, and at his heartlessness toward the girl whose worth they understood so well, grew uncontrollable; they bribed a servant to admit them to his house by night, and avenged themselves. abelard's spirit was broken, as he saw all hopes of ecclesiastical promotion at an end, and his fame turned to notoriety. heretofore his public appearances had made the sensation of a king's: "what region did not burn to see you!" asked heloise. "who, when you walked abroad, did not hurry to look at you, rising on tiptoe and with straining eyes?" but now every look he fancied scornful. in this wild age there was always one refuge for the victims of the world or of themselves. to the monasteries flocked all classes, from fashionable knights broken down or unsuccessful or weary of conflict, to the half-witted clowns sheltered and utilized as lay-brethren. husbands forsook their wives, and wives fled from their husbands, to take shelter in the religious life. in this early part of the twelfth century, monastic houses were multiplying like hives of bees, constantly sending out from themselves colonies that quickly became parents of others. for some time the tendency had been to an easier discipline than the traditional, but at last asceticism had blazed out anew, and the rich and luxurious cluny paled in popularity before clairveaux or the grande chartreuse. in this single century the cistercians expanded from one abbey to eight hundred, a single one of which is said to have controlled seven hundred benefices. the one meal a day, the hard manual labor, the restricted sleep, the wearisome routine of prayer, reading, and penance, won by their very severity and by the mystical impression of sanctity and immortal safety which brooded about these retired prisons of self-condemned sin. "oh, hide me in your gloom profound, ye solemn seats of holy pain," was the cry with which multitudes approached the gates that should emancipate them from a freedom which did not satisfy. ben jonson's fear lest his inclination to god might be "through weariness of life, not love of thee," was realized in the case of numbers of convertites quite equalling and probably far exceeding those who entered the ascetic orders from the enthusiasm of visionaries. to this retirement, as a screen from the world's curiosity and fancied mocks, abelard now resolved to withdraw, as his father and mother in their later lives had done before him. his jealousy could not leave heloise behind, so he told her of his purpose, and hoped that she would volunteer to imitate him. but heloise made no such offer. in every way hers was a mind beyond her age, and the unnatural harshness of cloistral discipline, its artificial dreariness, its "hope to merit heaven by making earth a hell," seemed to her fine insight untrue. though she had suffered, she was yet in tune with life; her heart assured her that innocent pleasure is the soul's hymn of praise to god; bitterly as she shared her husband's misery, she saw no reason for separating her life and his; most of all, she revolted from the notion of professing religion with lip-service only. but abelard urged, insisted, even commanded, and, seeing it to be his wish, the girl-wife yielded. she told herself that only she was responsible for her husband's afflictions; except for her, his prosperity would have continued undimmed; so the day was fixed on which, in her old nunnery, she should take the vows of perpetual seclusion. it must have been a strange scene in that chapel at argenteuil. abelard was there, still in his habit of a mere secular priest, there to make sure that heloise's impulses should not burst out again, and cast her back into the world's sunshine. the bishop, attended by his priests, stands at the altar: upon it lies a newly consecrated veil. the nuns, kneeling in their accustomed places, are praying. all wait for the votaress, but she is detained by a crowd of friends. there were many of them there, as abelard has told us, and they could not endure that this girl, personally so charming, perhaps the most accomplished intellectually of all the women of france, should consummate the sacrifice that she had already in such large measure made. they knew her love for the bright things of life, her beautiful zest for the joyous and sympathetic, her eagerness in study, the grace of her strong, sweet seriousness. such a nature might be for a time bewildered at the loss of the love of one of the most famous men living, yet if for a little while they could keep her face unhidden by the veil, she might forget. so they delay her outside the chapel, pleading with a heart that has made the same pleas for itself before. presently the door is pushed open and she enters the oratory, her friends still about her. even in the sacred place they continue their entreaties, and abelard's glance is anxiously upon her; but her eyes are downcast. "how they pitied her!" he has told us; "they kept trying to hold back her youth from the yoke of monastic rule, as from punishment intolerable." the bishop seems half pitiful, half impatient; the nuns look up from their praying. has the world renewed its hold upon her? will she snatch herself from god? does he no longer attract her? at this last moment is she hesitating? she was hesitating; the world did have a hold upon her. god? god had never attracted her. in all the ceremonials of the catholic church, there can have been none which has so combined sacrilege with loftiness of feeling as did the scene which followed. from the silent, even wistful hearing that she has been giving to her friends, heloise suddenly starts away, and, as if waking from a reverie, she moves with dreamy gesture toward her husband. her lips part, and what will be her last words as a lady of the world? some scriptural exhortation to her friends to follow her as she follows christ? a cry of exultant renunciation of the wilds of life's ocean, and of contentment at the holy calm in the bosom of the church? the girl is weeping, and as she tries to control herself to speak, her misery overcomes her, and she bursts into loud sobs. but it must have been surprising to the listening ecclesiastics to hear the words which at last got expression. it is probably the only time in the church's history that a novice has taken her last vows with the prelude of a quotation from a love speech in a pagan poem, directing it not to the bleeding effigy of her present and eternal master hanging above the altar, but to a human lover at her side. heloise "broke out as she could between her tears and sobs," in a passage from one of the later books of lucan's _pharsalia_: surely as she spoke the lines, her voice grew steady, and her eyes looked bravely through the tears: "husband and lord, too worthy for my bed, can fortune thus cast down so dear a head? fated to make thee wretched, why did i become thy wife? accept the penalty; i will endure it gladly." i fancy that abelard was quite as much impressed by the brilliant young mind that could make so apt and scholarly a quotation from the roman classics, as by the heart which dared on the very margin of the altar to fling back to the world and up to god this protestation of its unfaltering human love, which took the vows of religion from no other motive than to impose torture upon itself--an offering not to god, but to abelard. as she spoke the verses, she hurried to the altar. _accipe poenas, quas sponte luam_,--her voice died away, the bishop received her, and covered her forever with the veil. heloise was only eighteen. * * * * * the convent gates shut in all sight of her for the next ten or eleven years. but in , the nunnery over which she had become prioress was broken up by the unfavorable decision of a suit for the land and buildings which it occupied. this decade had brought abundant misery to abelard. his heresies in theology had been exposed, and he had been compelled to burn a treasured book in which they were expounded, a council had imprisoned him in an abbey where it was boasted that his haughtiness was tamed by a course of vigorous whipping administered under the abbot's supervision. there is something pitiful in the thought of such physical and mental pride being under the control of fanatical monks, ignorant and coarse, from whom he was glad to escape to a desert east of troyes, as a hermit. he had taught at intervals during these years, and once for a season with a notable renewal of his early success. near troyes, where he had built his hermit-shelter out of reeds and stubble, in a desolate region infested by wild animals and a covert for robbers, some vagrant student found the intellectual champion, and reported at paris his discovery. the news spread, and soon the desert was populous. the students built a house for the master, apparently a commodious one, and about it they made more temporary structures for their own shelter. not only the younger class of scholars besieged him for instruction; older men, ecclesiastics who, as we are told, were wont to grasp instead of giving, paid generously toward constructing a home for the great philosopher. but he was world-weary, and soon retired again to a bleak monastery on the atlantic, in the lower part of brittany, where he became abbot of a set of half-barbarous monks, who resented his austere rule and, so he tells us, tried repeatedly to poison him because he interfered with their profligacy. while there he had learned of heloise's loss of her nunnery, and had established her and her religious sisters in the buildings in champagne that had been standing unoccupied since he broke up that last school. "the paraclete," he had called the home, as a special invocation to the holy spirit and as a tribute for the temporary comfort that he received there. possibly he himself conducted his wife thither, but it is equally likely that he did not see her after he forced her into the church. for ten years he appears to have struggled on in brittany, with no intellectual associations, none of the notoriety with which he had been so long pampered, in terror for his life, yet still working at his philosophy of religion. at last he was impelled to talk of what he had endured and was still enduring; to speak in the bitterness of his soul, and get, perhaps, the consolation of pity. he composed a long and immensely interesting autobiography, telling the whole story of his youth, his later triumphs, his logical acumen, his love, his disgrace, the injustice of his condemnation by the conservative church, the tumult of his experiences in the lonely monastery of st. gildas. the creditable pages are calmly written, the shameful unflinchingly. he tells how tremendous had been his love for heloise, but he says nothing of loving her still. the narrative reveals an egotist, but it reveals as certainly one of the most striking characters of the middle ages. * * * * * we find ourselves inevitably speculating upon the life of heloise during the sixteen or more years whose only recorded event is her removal from argenteuil to the paraclete. it might be that a reaction in her love would follow, when the grim captivity that she had dreaded so became yet more hateful in its realization; she might lose her old gentleness; it might become hopeless for her to try to adjust her spirit to its new conditions and to devote herself to even a submissive piety. from contemporary testimony we are sure that some of these possibilities did not come true. she won respect and even devotion as an abbess, her house prospered financially to her husband's undisguised surprise and admiration, her life was pure from the least fleck of reproach, or criticism in any quarter. may we go farther, and say that her spirit did adjust itself to its new conditions, and lose its pain in a submissive piety? for such a result we should find many parallels in mediæval religion; numerous accounts not to be cavilled at as legendary prove that in these monasteries souls which had suffered found peace. nay, many a nun among these most refined groups of mediæval women, driven in one way or another to forsake the hope of love and earthly happiness, secured delight of heart in a sort of spiritual romance. as their emotion grew more subtilized, as asceticism burned away material impulse, some of the gentlest and most poetically endowed of these religious recluses acquired a mystical compensation for their loneliest sacrifice of life,--a divinely idealized personal love, too magical for friendship, too impassioned and mutual for worship, where, the sexes mysteriously spiritualized, translated womanhood should rest at last on the breast of christ. the final vow of religious consecration was the nun's betrothal to the divine man; to make herself beautiful for his bride she wasted her body by fasting and scarred it with the scourge; the rough lath cross on the wall of her cell was his love token; love messages came from him in her dreams; prostrated on the chapel flagging she indited to him prayers that scarcely needed verse to become lyrics. and when to such a mystic's contemplation the cloister sanctity seemed too worldly, when her exhausted body found the walk from cell to chapel too long a journey and she was compelled to stay in the coffin that for years of nights had sweetly reminded her of the sure untwining of soul and sense, when she could hear only faintly her sisters' thin chanting of the hours, and felt her spirit quivering with new sensations, vague, awed, and eager, she understood that the waiting time was over, and her espousal at hand. her failing eyes see white processionals that come to lead her to the banqueting house where the banner of his love shall be over her; the music, which the dying so often hear, for her is a marriage melody ringing from angelic harps and dulcimers; with new-born strength and grace, mantled in new raiment, she floats upward to her desire. and when space has been traversed the immortal vision bursts upon her, a great poet has put in words her last thought this side heaven: "he lifts me to the golden doors, the flashes come and go; all heaven bursts her starry floors, and strows her light below, and deepens on and up! the gates roll back, and far within for me the heavenly bridegroom waits, to make me pure of sin. the sabbaths of eternity, one sabbath deep and wide,-- a light upon the shining sea, the bridegroom with his bride." but for heloise there was no such resource. it is to natures more ethereal and constitutionally religious that such fancies and dreams appeal. the main feature of the matured heloise is sanity and balanced womanhood; she was too strong and intense to be a sentimentalist. could the nature which had once been caught into the clouds by the whirlwind of love, beguile itself from the memory of that storm of rapture by a visionary tempest raised with a fan? and yet there would be some satisfaction if we could conceive her adjusting herself to the spiritual life with closer accord, and passing even through the gates of superstitious hallucination from the harsh religion of her day into the inner sanctuary whose "solemn shadow is better than the sun," finding an outlet for her quick emotions in this personal love for her new master. * * * * * heloise had been a nun some sixteen years when some one showed her abelard's so-called _historia calamitatum_. apparently her husband had forbidden her to write to him; but though she had kept a long silence, she was a lover until death. this account of abelard's sufferings and perils broke her constraint; she could not help writing to comfort him and to beg for news of his safety. what other love-letters equal the intensity, the tenderness, the womanliness of these final appeals for the broken love? through their nervous pliancy one may learn as nowhere else the reality of browning's "infinite passion, and the pain of finite hearts that yearn." in them appears also her strength of nature; they are the love-calls of a woman who knows that the man she continues to set far above all the rest of humanity is wronging her. she chides him for this long and complete neglect, but there is a marvellous sweetness in her caressing reproaches. she tells him to remember under what peculiar bonds she holds him,--what sacred obligation of marriage, of love, and of devotion he owes to her; she gave her honor to please him, not herself; she sacrificed her tender age to the harshness of a monastic life not from piety, but only in submission to his desire. "there was a time," she writes, "when people doubted whether in our amour i yielded to love or to passion. but the end shows how i began; to please you, i have denied myself all pleasures." she points out to him how differently the end interprets his feeling for her. "it is common talk," she says, "that you felt only gross emotions toward me, and when there was a stop to their indulgence, your so-called love vanished. my dearest one, would that this appeared to me only, and not to every one; would that i might be soothed by hearing others excuse you, or that i could myself devise excuses." she appears to entertain no hope that he will visit her, though she hints longingly at the possibility; but he can at least do as much for her as he does for others under obligations so far slighter, as much as the example of the church fathers regarding the women of their flocks teaches him to do,--he can write and tell her how he is, he can comfort her love: or (and she appeals to the monk who may listen, even if the old-time lover will not) he can send spiritual admonition to uphold her slipping soul. her heart put at rest, she can be so much freer for the divine service. "when you wooed me for the pleasures of earth," she reminds him, "you sent me letter after letter; with many songs you put your heloise in the speech of all, so that every street and house echoed with me. how much more ought you now to excite toward god the one whom then you aroused to sin." she tells him again of her complete absorption in him: "you are the only one who can make me either sad or happy; you only can be my comforter. the whole world knows how much i loved you," and she turns with a half-shuddering reminiscence to the day she became a nun. "it was for you, not for god--that sacrifice. from god i can look for no reward; consider, then, how vain my trial, if by it i win nothing from you"; and the woman for sixteen years a nun calls god--and remember that hers was the god of mediæval superstition--to witness that she would have followed abelard, or gone before him, if she had seen him hastening to hell. her letters evidently moved the monk, for his replies were full of good advice, and under the surface gave some indications of tender regard. but the affection that we find is colorless and formal. no word of a husband's gentleness, nor warmth of phrase, not a hint that he cherishes happy memories of the old days of their union. they are the letters of an old man, absorbed in himself, worn by the world, who has no capacity for anything deeper than kind feeling. he calls her his sister, once dear in the world, now dearer in christ, begs her prayers for him living and dead, and entreats that whenever he may die she will have his body carried to her abbey, that the constant sight of his grave may move her and her spiritual daughters to pray for his salvation. he gulps down the _lachrima christi_ of her exquisite love as if it were the small beer of pietistic commonplace, and then looks disappointed to find that it was not. for he ignores the soul of her letters, and composes complacent treatises of twelfth-century ecclesiastical discipline designed to subject her to a mechanical and lifeless asceticism. heloise in answer reproaches him for his talk of death, like a brave heart bidding him not by anticipation suffer before his time. the knowledge of her husband's unhappiness is a renewed affliction, and she owns that there is nothing but sorrow in her life. like a daring titaness, she exclaims against god's administration of his world: "while we lived in sin, he indulged us; when we married, he forced us to separate. let his other creatures rejoice and count themselves safe from the inclement clemency of the god whom i almost dare to call cruel to me in every way. they are safe, for upon me he has used up all the weapons of his wrath, so that he has none with which to rage at others; nor, if any remained, could he find a place in me wherein to strike them." after sixteen years' silence, this woman has broken into speech, and unmasked confessions of her inner spirit will no longer be restrained. she goes on as if carried by cyclone winds; she tells her far-off lover what few nuns under terror of eternal death can ever have brought themselves to confide to their confessors in scarcely audible whisper. she calls up the scenes of their union; she confesses that visions of that life are with her constantly: she bemoans the thoughts which "haunt me sometimes, even at the holy mass." she was no calm northern woman; she had nothing of the temperament that shakespeare compared to an icicle "that's curdied by the frost from purest snow, and hangs on dian's temple"; she was made to walk with love, under summer moonlight,--no sister of percivale, to forget thwarted desire in prayer beneath the frosty stars of winter. "help me," cries this victim of a gloomy religion, "for i do not find how by penance to appease god, whom i still accuse of the greatest cruelty. it is easy to confess and to torture the body; it is hard to tear the soul from its desires. my mind keeps the same wish for sin; so sweet was our happiness that i cannot be sorry for it. most wretched life, if i have endured so much in vain, destined to have no recompense hereafter." thus heloise the woman and heloise the abbess fight out the old problem whether the training of life is by the use of its gifts, or by the rejection of them; shall we play the full organ, or only the harsh reed stops? the church taught her to condemn what nature taught her to justify. the religious authority of all the dark ages confronted this woman's instincts of life, and--to her honor--it could not quell them. yet conceive her wretchedness and the anguish of her mental struggle, living as she did in the middle of catholic mediævalism. when, after a scanty rest, she left her cell at midnight, this artificial conscience attended her to the long chapel service that followed, pointed at the austere pages over which she bent in the study when the service was over, kept calling her hypocrite as she chided and instructed the nuns whom she is said to have ruled so wisely, snatched food and wine from her hungry lips, with fast, pitiless lashing wielded the whip of penance, haunted her sleep with its stern face. yet the pleasures of time were still honorable to her; the world _was_ good; her love _had_ been beautiful; if her conscience prayed forgiveness for it, her heart sang, because she had known it. to hear this bewildered voice crying to abelard for his prayers because in spite of the world's praise of her virtue she thinks herself a hypocrite,--oh, my only one, pray for me, for i cannot be sorry that we loved--to hear this makes one glad that the time has passed for identifying the devil with the world's laughter, and god with its sobbing. she lived on as abbess of the paraclete for twenty-one years after she buried her husband. we cannot believe that as one set of feelings cooled with age, her spiritual emotions grew more impulsive. in the twenty-eight years which followed her last letter to abelard, she no doubt more and more mechanically went through the life of monastic duty, her intellectual accord with the church leading her to an increasingly calm performance of routine piety, her heart more and more silent--but never dead. we fancy its main utterance an anticipation of that cry of clough's--"submit, submit." thus kindling with no spiritual ardor--(she once confessed that her religious ambition did not rise so high as to wish a crown of victory, or to have god's strength made perfect in her weakness), she lived out her faithful and successful life as abbess of the paraclete, comforted--we may hope--by a continuance of the intellectual consolations of her youth, and honored, as we know, by church and world. if imaginary biography is ever safe we may employ it here, and fancy that when she came to die she repeated what she had said years before, that she should be quite content to be given just a corner in heaven. i think as she lay waiting to be received there, she dreamed of looking up from it, not at the ineffable glory, but at one human face stationed highest among the masters in divine philosophy. highest among the masters! less than a hundred and fifty years later, the great poem of mediævalism forgot to give abelard a place even among the penitents of purgatory, and to-day except by special students he is remembered only as heloise's unworthy lover. [decoration] footnotes: [ ] _petri abælardi historia calamitatum. petri abælardi et heloissæ epistolæ._ [ ] _bilder aus der deutschen vergangenheit_, iii., - . [decoration] appendix. at the suggestion of the publishers the following brief notices of some of the works and authors mentioned in these essays are added for convenience of reference. Æthiopica, the oldest and most famous of the greek romances. it narrates the loves of theagenes and charicleia, and was written in his youth by heliodorus of emesa, who flourished about the end of the fourth century, and died as bishop of tricca in thessaly. alexander, or as he is termed in some mss. the wild alexander. a south-german poet of the thirteenth century. of his life scarcely anything is known. chrestien de troyes, a french trouvère, who flourished in the second half of the twelfth century. he may be regarded as the popularizer in the french form of the cycle of tales that centre about the round table. the most important of his poems is the one bearing the title, _perceval le gallois_ or _li contes del graal_. comte de champagne.--see thibaut. arnaud daniel, a provençal poet, who died about . he was distinguished for the complicated character of his versification, and in particular was the inventor of the verse called the _sestine_. he lived for some time at the court of richard i. of england. dante in the twenty-sixth canto of the _purgatory_ puts him at the head of all the provençal poets. he was also highly praised by petrarch. daphnis and chloe, a greek pastoral romance, the prototype of all the pastoral romances which have been written in various languages. its composition is usually ascribed to a certain longus, a greek sophist, who flourished about the beginning of the fifth century. freidank, the composer of a middle high german didactic poem, which belongs to the first half of the thirteenth century. the name has been considered by some to be merely allegorical. his work, which was entitled _bescheidenheit_, consists of over four thousand verses and discusses religious, political and social questions. it was an exceedingly popular work during the middle ages. gaces brulles, a french trouvère of the early part of the thirteenth century. he was born in champagne, but spent a portion of his life in brittany. about seventy of his _chansons_ are extant. gottfried von strassburg, a german poet who flourished at the end of the twelfth and the beginning of the thirteenth century. his great work was the epic entitled _tristan und isolde_, continued by others after his death. this took place somewhere between and . gottfried wrote also many lyric poems. guillaume de balaun (or balazun), a provençal poet of the twelfth century. he was the lover of the lady of joviac, in the gévaudan. alienation having sprung up between them upon account of his assumed or real indifference, his mistress would not restore him to favor unless he should agree to extract the nail of the longest finger of his right hand, and should come and present it to her with a poem composed expressly for the occasion. the condition was fulfilled. johann hadlaub, a german poet, who flourished at the end of the thirteenth and the beginning of the fourteenth century. his life was spent mainly in zurich. his compositions were principally love-songs and popular songs dealing with the pleasures of autumn and harvest. a statue was erected to him in zurich in . hartmann von aue, a middle high german, belonging by birth to a noble swabian family, was born about , and died between and . he wrote _erec and enide_, basing it upon the french poem with the same title of chrestien de troyes. another poem of his belonging also to the arthurian cycle is _iwein_. the most popular of his works with modern students is _der arme heinrich_. the details of its story have been made known to english readers by longfellow's _golden legend_, which is founded upon it. another work of his is entitled _gregorius vom stein_. heinrich von morungen, a german minnesinger, a knight of thuringia, who flourished at the end of the twelfth and the beginning of the thirteenth century. his last years were spent at the court of meissen. he wrote many love-songs, many of which owe their existence to those of the troubadours. heinrich von veldeke, a german poet of the twelfth century, who was of a noble family settled near maastricht, on the lower rhine. besides the love-songs and other pieces he wrote, he was the composer of the epic of the _eneide_, the first poem of the middle high german epic poetry, which reached its highest development in the writings of hartmann von aue, wolfram von eschenbach, and gottfried von strassburg. hugo von trimberg, a german poet, who flourished at the end of the thirteenth and the beginning of the fourteenth century. from to he was rector of the collegiate school in the theuerstadt, a suburb of bamberg. he is known as the composer of the _renner_, a didactic poem, in which the manners and customs of the time are largely depicted, and the prevailing vices severely censured. jacopo da todi, or jacopone, an italian poet, born about the middle of the thirteenth century at todi, in the duchy of spoleto. he belonged to the noble family of the benedetti, began life as an advocate, but, on account of the sudden accidental death of his wife, devoted himself to a religious life and entered the order of franciscans. he wrote many religious poems in italian, and also in latin. to him in particular is ascribed the composition of the famous _stabat mater dolorosa_. neidhart von reuenthal, a german lyric poet of the thirteenth century. he was of a noble bavarian family, but spent part of his life in austria. his poems were written between and , and are of special interest for the descriptions they give of the customs of the times. thibaut, count of champagne and king of navarre. he was born at troyes in , and died in . he is one of the most noted of the early french poets. ulrich von liechtenstein, a middle high german poet, born about , and died in . he was the author of the poem entitled _frauendienst_, described in this volume, and also of a didactic poem called _frauenbuch_. waltharius et hiltgunde, or simply waltharius, a latin poem of the tenth century in hexameter verse, and consisting of between fourteen hundred and fifteen hundred lines. its authorship is unknown. walther von der vogelweide, the greatest german poet of the middle ages. he was born about , and died about . he was of a knightly family, though poor, and much of his life was spent at the courts of several german princes and emperors. he wrote not only love-poems, but in the contest that went on between the imperialists and the papacy, he supported the side of the former in patriotic verses which had no slight influence upon contemporary opinion. both for matter and manner he stood at the head of the poets called minnesingers. wernher the gardener, a german poet of the thirteenth century, who composed, between and , the story of _meier helmbrecht_. nothing is known with certainty of his life. wolfram von eschenbach, a german poet, of noble birth, of the latter half of the twelfth century and the beginning of the thirteenth. he died about . his greatest work is the _parzival_, which was completed about . it was founded, according to his own statement, partly upon the _conte del graal_ of chrestien de troyes, but more particularly upon the work of a poet whom he calls kyot, who is supposed by some to be guyot de provins, whose romance of _perceval_, not extant, is assumed to be the original of wolfram's poem. another of his poems was the unfinished _titurel_, which contains the tale of the love of schionatulander and sigune. [decoration] * * * * * transcriber's notes: spelling and punctuation errors have been repaired. ellipses in poetry have been spaced to preserve appearance of the original; all other ellipses are standardized. colons after "liechtenstein" and "helmbrecht" on contents page, and variant punctuation after the same terms in chapter headings, were retained. p. , (cp. inf., , ; , ) in original " " was at the end of a line, and " " at the beginning of the next, with no punctuation between. p. original "midst of his prostestations" changed to "midst of his protestations." p. original "reficient" changed to "reficiant." p. original "merry-makings" changed to more frequent "merrymakings." p. original "wezerant. he" changed to "wezerant.' he" (single quote added). p. hey[=a], [=a] indicates lower case "a" with macron. (text version only). p. the change in indentation in the poetry, beginning at "thou lookest down," is faithful to the original. p. "sister's thin chanting" changed to "sisters' thin chanting." p. original "tristran und isolde" changed to "tristan und isolde." p. original "von lichtenstein" changed to more frequent "von liechtenstein." the following variant spellings were used in the original equally, and were retained: god-father and godfather, riband and ribband, rose-bushes (second use is quoting the first= use) and rosebush, wendel and wentel, "arnaud daniel" and "arnaut daniel," aethiopica and Æthiopica, jacapone and jacopone, sestine and sestina. generously made available by the internet archive/american libraries.) the magic of the middle ages by viktor rydberg _translated from the swedish_ by august hjalmar edgren new york henry holt and company copyright , by henry holt & co contents. page. i. the cosmic philosophy of the middle ages, and its historical development ii. the magic of the church iii. the magic of the learned iv. the magic of the people and the struggle of the church against it i. the cosmic philosophy of the middle ages, and its historical development. introductory. it was the belief of europe during the middle ages, that our globe was the centre of the universe. the earth, itself fixed and immovable, was encompassed by ten heavens successively encircling one another, and all of these except the highest in constant rotation about their centre. this highest and immovable heaven, enveloping all the others and constituting the boundary between created things and the void, infinite space beyond, is the empyrean, the heaven of fire, named also by the platonizing philosophers the world of archetypes. here "in a light which no one can enter," god in triune majesty is sitting on his throne, while the tones of harmony from the nine revolving heavens beneath ascend to him, like a hymn of glory from the universe to its creator. next in order below the empyrean is the heaven of crystal, or the sphere of the _first movable_ (_primum mobile_). beneath this revolves the heaven of fixed stars, which, formed from the most subtile elements in the universe, are devoid of weight. if now an angel were imagined to descend from this heaven straight to earth,--the centre, where the coarsest particles of creation are collected,--he would still sink through seven vaulted spaces, which form the planetary world. in the first of these remaining heavens is found the planet saturn, in the second jupiter, in the third mars; to the fourth and middle heaven belongs the sun, queen of the planets, while in the remaining three are the paths of venus, mercury, and finally the moon, measuring time with its waning and increasing disk. beneath this heaven of the moon is the enveloping atmosphere of the earth, and earth itself with its lands and seas. there are four prime elements in the structure of the universe: fire, air, water and earth. every thing existing in the material world is a peculiar compound of these elements, and possesses as such an energy of its own; but matter in itself is devoid of quality and force. all power is spiritual, and flows from a spiritual source,--from god, and is communicated to the earth and the heavens above the earth and all things in them, by spiritual agents, personal but bodiless. these beings fill the universe. even the prime elements derive their energy from them. they are called intelligences or angels; and the _primum mobile_ as well as the heaven of fixed stars is held in motion by them. the planets are guided in their orbits by angels. "all the energies of plants, metals, stones and all other objects, are derived from those intelligences whom god has ordained to be the guardians and leaders of his works."[ ] "god, as the source and end of all power, lends the seal of ideas to his ministering spirits, who, faithfully executing his divine will, stamp with a vital energy all things committed to their care."[ ] no inevitable causation is admitted. every thing is produced by the will of god, and upheld by it. the laws of nature are nothing but the precepts in accordance with which the angels execute their charge. they obey from love and fear; but should they in a refractory spirit transgress the given commandments, or cease their activity, which they have the power to do, then the order of nature would be changed, and the great mechanism of the universe fall asunder, unless god saw fit to interpose. "sometimes god suspends their agency, and is himself the immediate actor everywhere; or he gives unusual commandments to his angels, and then their operations are called miracles."[ ] a knowledge of the nature of things is consequently in the main a knowledge of the angels. their innumerable hosts form nine choirs or orders, divided into three hierarchies, corresponding to the three worlds: the empyreal, that of the revolving heavens, and the terrestrial. the orders of seraphim, cherubim and thrones which constitute the first hierarchy, are nearest god. they surround his throne like a train of attendants, rejoice in the light of his countenance, feel the abundant inspiration of his wisdom, love and power, and chant eternal praises to his glory. the order of the thrones, which is the lowest in this empyreal hierarchy, proclaims god's will to the middle hierarchy, to which is given the rule of the movable heavens. it is the order of dominion which thus receives the commands of god; that of power, which guides the stars and planets in their orbits, and brings to pass all other celestial phenomena, carries them into execution, while a third of empire wards off every thing which could interfere with their accomplishment. the third and lowest hierarchy, embracing the orders of principalities, archangels and angels, holds supremacy over terrestrial things. principalities, as the name implies, are the guardian spirits of nations and kingdoms; archangels protect religion, and bear the prayers of saints on high to the throne of god; angels, finally, have the care of every mortal, and impart to beasts, plants, stones and metals their peculiar nature. together these hierarchies and orders form a continuous chain of intermingling activities, and thus the structure of the universe resembles a jacob's ladder, upon which "celestial powers, mounting and descending, their golden buckets ceaseless interchange." all terrestrial things are images of the celestial; and all celestial have their archetypes in the empyrean. things on earth are composed of the coarsest of all matter; things in the surrounding heavens of a finer substance, accessible to the influence of intelligences. archetypes are immaterial; and as such may be filled without resistance with spiritual forces, and give of their plenitude to their corresponding effigies in the worlds of stars and planets. these again through their rays send forth of the abundance of their power to those objects on earth by which they are represented. every thing on earth is consequently not only under the guidance of its own angel, but also under the influence of stars, planets, and archetypes. the universe is a vast lyre whose strings, struck no matter where, are sure to vibrate throughout their length. it was for man that god called forth the four elements from nothing by his fiat, and it was for man that he fashioned this wonderful earth from those elements in six days. man is the crown of creation, its master-piece, and within the narrow limits of his nature an epitome of all things existing,--a microcosm, and the image of the supreme god himself. but since man, as a microcosm, must partake also of the coarsest matter, his dwelling-place could not be within the empyrean, but must be fixed on earth. in order that it might be worthy to receive him, it was adorned with all the beauty of a paradise, and angels gazed from heaven with delight upon its vales and mountains, its lakes and groves, which in changing lights and shadows shone now with the purple of morning, now with the gold of the sun, and again with the silver of the moon. and this place of habitation explains symbolically by its very position the destiny of man and his place in the kingdom of god; for wherever he wanders, the zenith still lingers over his head, and all the revolving heavens have his habitation for their centre. the dance of the stars is but a fête in honor of him, the sun and moon exist but to shine upon his pathway and fill his heart with gladness. the first human beings lived in this their paradise in a state of highest happiness. their will was undepraved; their understanding filled with the immediate light of intuition. often when the angel of the sun sank with his gleaming orb towards the horizon and "day was growing cool," god himself descended from his empyrean to wander under the lovely trees of paradise, in the company of his favored ones. the world was an unbroken harmony. there was, to be sure, a contrast between spirit and matter, but as yet none between good and evil. it was not long to remain thus. lucifer, that is the light-bringer, or morning star, was the highest of all angels, the prince of seraphim, the favorite of the creator, and in purity, majesty and power inferior only to the holy trinity. pride and envy took possession, it is not known how, of this mighty spirit. he conceived the plan of overthrowing the power of god, and seating himself upon the throne of omnipotence. angels of all orders were won over to his treason. at the first beck of the reckless spirit numberless intelligences from the lower heavens and from earth assailed the empyrean and joined themselves to the rebellious seraphim, cherubim and thrones who had flocked to the standard of revolt. in heaven raged a mighty contest, the vicissitudes of which are covered by the veil of mystery. st. john, however, in his book of revelation, lifts a single fold of it, and shows us michael at the head of the legions of god battling against lucifer. the contest ended with the overthrow of the rebel and his followers. the beautiful morning star fell from heaven.[ ] christ beheld the once faithful seraph hurled from its ramparts like a thunder-bolt from the clouds.[ ] the conquered was not annihilated. calm in the consciousness of omnipotence, god inscrutably determined that lucifer, changed by his rebellion into a spirit wholly evil, should enjoy liberty of action within certain limits. the activity of the fallen spirit consists in desperate and incessant warfare against god; and he gains in the beginning a victory of immeasurable consequence. he tempts man, and brings him under his dominion. humanity, as well as the beautiful earth which is its abode, is under the curse of god. the world is no longer an unbroken harmony, a moral unity. it is divided forever into two antagonistic kingdoms, those of good and evil. that god so wills, and permits the inevitable consequences, is confirmed by an immediate change in the structure of the universe. death is sent forth commissioned to destroy all life. hell opens its jaws in the once peaceful realms of earth's bosom, and is filled with a fire which burns every thing, but consumes nothing. the battle-field is the whole creation except the spaces of the empyrean; for into its pure domain nothing corrupt can enter. lucifer still adheres to his claims upon its throne, and in every thing seeks to imitate god. the fallen seraphim, cherubim and thrones constitute his princely retinue and his council of war. the rebel intelligences of the middle hierarchy, now transformed into demons, still love to rove among the same stars and planets which were once confided to their care, and war against the good angels who now guide the movements of the heavens. other demons float upon the atmosphere, causing storm and thunder, hail and snow, drouth and awful omens (whence it is said the devil is a prince who controls the weather). others again fill the earth; its seas, lakes, fountains and rivers; its woods, groves, meadows and mountains. they pervade the elements; they are everywhere. man, the chief occasion of the strife, is in a sad condition. the bodily pains and sufferings which the earth since its curse heaps upon the path that successive generations, all partakers of adam's sin, must tread, are as nothing compared with the perils which on all sides assail and threaten their immortal souls. and how can these dangers be averted? each mortal is indeed followed from his birth by a guardian angel; but how can his promptings be distinguished from those that issue from the thousand hidden agents of the evil. lucifer can transform himself into an angel of light, his demons can entice with a voice which counterfeits that of god and conscience. man's will has no power to resist these temptations; it is depraved by the fall. reason gives no guidance; darkened on account of man's apostasy, it degenerates, if left to itself, into a satanic instrument of heresy and error. feeling is in subjection to matter, which, already from the beginning opposed to spirit, shares the curse. is it then to be wondered at that the career of man, beginning with conception in a sinful womb, has for its end, behind the portals of death, the eternal torments of a hell? all these myriads of souls created by god and clothed in garments of clay,--all these microcosms, each of which is a master-piece, the glory of creation, a being of infinite value, form, link by link, a chain extending from that nothingness out of which god has created them, to that abyss in which, after a brief life on earth, they must be tormented through countless ages, despairing and cursing their creator. lucifer triumphs. his kingdom increases; but the poor mortal has no right to complain. the vessel must not blame the potter. when man looks into his own heart he discovers a sinfulness and depravity as infinite as are his punishments. however severe the law of the universe appears, it still bears the impress of divine justice. it is, therefore, but an act of pure grace, when god determines the salvation of mankind. the church, prepared for by the election of the jewish people, and founded by jesus christ the son of god, who offered himself for crucifixion to atone for the sins of men, has grown up and disseminated its influences throughout regions where once demons, the gods of the heathen, possessed temples, idols and altars. the church is the magic circle within which alone is salvation possible (_extra ecclesiam nullus salus_). within her walls the son of god offers himself daily as a sacrifice for the transgressions of humanity; the communion wine is by a miracle changed into his blood, and the bread into his flesh, which, eaten by the members of the church, promote their growth in holiness and their power of resistance to the tempter. the church is one body, animated by the holy spirit of god; and thus one member compensated by surplus of virtue for the deficiencies of another. holy men, resigning all sensual delights, and devoting their lives to the practice of penance and severities, the contemplation of spiritual things, and doing good, accumulate thereby a wealth of supererogatory works, which, deposited in the treasury of the church, enables her to compound for the sins of less self-denying members. with liberal hand she grants remission of sins not to the living merely, but also to the dead. thus the race of men may breathe more freely, and the multitude attach themselves again to the transient joys and pleasures of a wretched life on earth; and when a mortal plucks the flowers of pleasure which bloom in this vale of sorrows, he need not fear so much its hidden poison, for the remedy is near at hand. the knight in the castle yonder on the summit of the crag, or the burgher beneath him in the valley, may without scruple take a wife, rear children and live in conviviality according to his means; the happy student may sing and realize his "_gaudeamus igitur_"; the undaunted soldier may seek a recompense for the hardships of his campaign by a merry life in taverns and in women's company; even the followers of mary magdalene, sinning in expectation of grace, may obtain at the feet of the church the same absolution which was given to their model at the feet of jesus, provided only that, grateful for the mercy of christ, who has made them members of his church, they venerate it as their mother, partake of its sacraments, and seek its aid. the continually increasing number of cloisters, the homes of rigorous self-denial, uninterrupted penance, and mysterious contemplation, is a guarantee of the inexhaustibleness of those works of supererogation which the church possesses. in these cloisters young maidens, who have consecrated themselves to christ after a spiritual embrace for which the most intense impulses of their nature have been suppressed, yearn away their lives. here in prayer and toil the pious recluse spends his days and nights. those men also who, going forth barefooted, covered with coarse mantles, and wearing ropes about their waists, devote themselves like the apostles to poverty and the preaching of the gospel, who receive charity at the door of the layman, giving him in exchange the food of the word of god,--these all issue from the same cloisters. thus is the church a mole against the tide of sin. the christian has some reason to exclaim: "o hell, where is thy victory?" for although the place of torment is continually filled with lost spirits, there are thousands upon thousands of ransomed souls that wing their flight to the empyrean,--whether immediately or by the way of purgatory. first among the beatified who mingling with angels surround the throne of god, are those called saints. their intercession is more efficacious even than that of seraphim, and their power in the contest against the demons surpasses that of cherubim. therefore kingdoms, communities, orders, corporations and guilds, yea, even lawless and disreputable professions (so needing grace and intercession more than others) have their patron saints. the individual finally is protected by the saint in whose name he has been baptized. the church is the kingdom of god on earth; her ecclesiastical hierarchy is an image of the heavenly; her highest ruler, the pope, is god's vicar. her destiny, which is extension over the whole earth so as to include all lands and nations within her magic circle, could not be realized unless she possessed the power to command the kings and armies of christendom. it is evident, moreover, that spiritual power is above secular: the former protects the soul, the latter the body only. they stand related to one another as spirit is related to matter. therefore it must be the pope who shall invest with the highest secular dignity,--that of the roman cæsars. he is the feudal lord of the emperors, as the emperor is, or should be, of the kings, dukes and free cities. were it not thus,--if the various rulers were independent of the guardians of religion,--then woe to the great mass of their subjects! to be sure these multitudes are placed on earth to be disciplined by humanity and obedience; they have indeed no rights upon which they may insist, since they stand outside the pale of freedom; but, on the other hand, the oppression exercised upon them would have no limit unless the church, who is the common mother of all, reminded those in authority of their duty to love and cherish the lowly: indeed, all social order would crumble into dust, did not a higher power than that dependent upon the sword compel the stronger to fulfil those vows to protect the weaker which he made in the presence of the holy trinity. for the only existing rights are those of privilege and investiture, founded absolutely upon sealed stipulations. according to the doctrines of the church, which are the only key to salvation, man has received as a gift what he never could have attained by science,--a knowledge of the highest truths. possessed of this knowledge he must no longer allow himself to be tempted by the devil to engage in efforts to penetrate the mysteries of the universe with nothing to aid him but his darkened intellect; for such attempts generally end in error and apostasy. still the allurement is strong because the highest truths, when clothed in the garb of human conceptions, sometimes appear self-contradictory and absurd. they must therefore be submitted, not to the decisions of reason, but the arbitration of faith. faith alone is able to penetrate and apprehend them. the doctrines which the church, assisted by the holy spirit, promulgates, since they alone are true, offer to the believing investigator a mine of infinite treasures. there is consequently possible within the church a system of philosophy, provided that its processes, always postulating the infallibility of the dogmas, be confined to devout analysis and humble contemplation of religious tenets. for such a purpose the adherent of the scholastic philosophy may employ the aristotelian dialectics as he chooses, and wield the lever of syllogism at his pleasure. even within the pale of orthodoxy there may arise many an _if_ and _but_, many a _pro_ and _contra_. the scholastic reasoner has to prove but the most probable; the infallible pope and his synods sanction the true deductions and refute the errors which, when recanted, are forgiven. it is best for the inquirer to found his researches on the propositions laid down by the early fathers of the church; for thus succeeding generations will build on foundations laid for them by their predecessors long before. inasmuch as they all follow the same dialectic method of analysis and synthesis, so that the whole subject is pervaded and its masses grouped into architectural order by these processes, there is reared on the basis of the dogma a philosophical superstructure, resembling those cupolas with which the skilful masters of masonry amaze our eyes. the world grows worse. the church can pardon sin, but can not hinder its increase. every generation inherits from the preceding a burden of evil dispositions, habits and examples, which it lays in its turn still heavier on the shoulders of posterity. every son has better reason for sighing than his father. "happy those who died ere beholding the light of day! who tasted death ere the experience of life!"[ ] the hosts of satan assail the church on every side. from his tower the watchman of zion looks out over the world, and beholds the billows of history, now lashed fiercely by the demons, roll against the rock upon which christ has built his temple. with great difficulty the cross-adorned hosts of europe repel the invasion of the saracens, whose coming has been prefigured by pestilences and portents. the emblem of the church is an ark tossed about on a stormy sea amid a tempest of rain and lightning. history is a spiritual comedy, enacted on a stage of which the broad foreground, like that of the mysteries, is a _theatrum diabolorum_; while in the narrow background the church of god, like a beleaguered citadel, points its pinnacles above the turmoil towards the gloomy sky, from which its defenders expect jesus and his angels to come to their relief. but before this relief arrives, iniquity shall have reached its height. it is at work already within the sacred precincts of the church itself. it is with greater difficulty that god's vicar subdues the inner than the outer enemies. on the one hand many a man believes that he has found in his own reason and conscience leading truths, which he arrays, without any authority outside of himself, against those commandments which have come from above, and the divine origin of which is confirmed by the faith of a hundred generations. he places himself in an attitude of opposition to the common faith. thus originate the heresies,--those cancers on the body of the congregation which must be cured by the iron, when salves will not restore, and by fire when the iron is ineffective. on the other hand men are so overpowered by their passions that they abandon the god who rebukes them, and become the bondsmen of another god who shows them favor. pride, fettered by obscure descent, and keen appetite for pleasure chained from gratification by penury and privation, shake their shackles in despair, and finally call the morning star of old to their assistance. the archfiend promises pleasures without stint, and power without limitation. the poor mortal for dread of the pains which afflict his body is urged on to his destruction. his body formed from the dust of the accursed earth, and always a centre of sensual desires, is abandoned by god a prey to the assaults of the devil. "here somebody loses an eye, somebody there a hand; one falls into the fire and is burned to death, one into the water and is drowned; another climbs a ladder and breaks his neck, another again stumbles on the even ground and breaks a leg. all such unforeseen accidents, occurring daily, are but the devil's thumps and strokes which he inflicts upon us from sheerest malice."[ ] still more: the demon is able to take possession so thoroughly of the human body that he becomes, as it were, its second soul, moves its limbs, utters blasphemies with its tongue at which even their fiendish author can not but tremble. but though the god-fearing man, like pious job, is benefited by such afflictions, and although prayer is a powerful refuge, still there is a continually growing number of those who, driven by cowardly dread of the might of the prince of evil, seek their safety in a league with him; so much the more as he lends them a partial control of the elements, and thus a means of employment and of doing harm to others. thus the dire pestilence of sorcery multiplies its victims; and in the black hours of midnight hundreds of thousands who bear the name of christian, on mountains and in deserts perform clandestine rites in honor of their satanic master. time ripens for the advent of antichrist, for the day of judgment and the final conflagration. in the flames of this last day the revolving heavens and the earth are destroyed. motion, activity, strife, history,--all are at an end. the empyrean and hell alone remain, as the antipodal extremes of the former universe. this conflagration is not a universal purifier, annihilating what has no existence in itself.[ ] it only separates forever the gold from the dross. the kingdom of the devil continues to exist, and its prey is its own for evermore. but it exists thus only because an eternal existence means an eternal punishment for its ruler as well as for his subjects. from the new heavens and the new earth which the fiat of god has created to be the dwelling-place of those who have escaped destruction, these ransomed spirits perceive the gnashing of teeth and lamentation of their doomed brethren, and look down upon their tortures and misery, not with compassion but with joy, because they recognize in their punishment the vindication of divine justice; not with pain but delight, because the sight of their wretchedness doubles their own felicity. from the depths of that gulf of misery ascend without ceasing, to the empyrean, cries of despair, blasphemies of defiance, and curses of rage, yet do they not disturb the hymns which saints and angels sing ever around the throne of god and of the lamb; they only intensify the solemnity of the worship.[ ] * * * * * such in its chief features was the cosmic philosophy of the middle ages; not abstractly considered, but such as existed in reality during many centuries among christian people, guiding their thoughts, imagination and feelings, and governing their actions. remains of it are still apparent in the systems of existing sects, though incompatible with the new philosophy which the human mind has been laboring to unfold. ever since the intellect of christendom began to free itself in the sixteenth century from faith by authority, the influence of the old views upon the various forms which life takes on, has been gradually declining. many of those characteristics which so strangely contrast the state of society in the middle ages with the preceding hellenic and the subsequent modern european civilizations, have their origin in different theories of the universe. it is not mere chance that we encounter, on the one hand, in the history of greece, so many harmonious forms with repose and tranquil joy depicted in every lineament of their countenance, and on the other, in that of the middle ages, so many beings buried in deepest gloom or exalted in frenzied rapture, dripping with blood from self-inflicted wounds, or glowing with the fever of mystic emotion--not a mere chance that the former age loves those serene forms and immortalizes them in its heroic galleries, while the latter worships its eccentric figures and describes them in its legends as saintly models. it is not a mere accident that the art of greece mirrors a beautiful humanity, while that of the middle ages loves to dwell upon monstrosities and throws itself between the extremes of awful earnestness and wild burlesque; not an accident only that the science of the greek is rational--that he discovers the categories in logic, and rears a most perfect structure of rigid demonstration in his geometry, while the science of the middle ages on the contrary is _magic_,--is a doctrine of correspondencies, astrology, alchemy, and sorcery. to the greek the universe was a harmonious unity. the law of reason, veiled under the name of fate, ruled the gods themselves. the variegated events of the myth lay far away in the distance; they did not even warp the imagination of the poet, when he occupied himself with them; still less the faith of the multitude, and least of all the investigations of the thinker. the uninterrupted sequence of events invited to contemplation, which could be indulged in the more readily, as no one pretended to have received as a gift a complete system of revealed truth, and the more freely, as no authority forced the individual to choose between such a system and perdition. in general no doubt was entertained concerning the ability of reason to penetrate to the inner essence of things, since no knowledge of the fall of man, which annihilated this ability, had reached the greeks. in regard to knowledge the greek consequently built on evidence and inner authority. the same was the case in regard to morality. they were convinced that those impulses which promoted the happiness of domestic life, were good; and that those which did not counteract it were at least justified; and thus they enjoyed with moderation the gifts of nature, without suspicion that the bountiful giver was accursed. the ideal of wisdom which they had framed, was based on their inner experience, whether it had the joyous features of epicurus, the severer lineaments of zeno, or the mild and resigned expression of epictetus; and when they exerted themselves to realize it in their lives, they always proceeded upon the supposition that this would be possible by a daily strengthening of the will. the exertion put forth by the greeks to attain to purity and virtue was, as it were, a system of gymnastics for developing the muscles of the brain. the same power and self-confidence were displayed in these endeavors as in the palaestra. sighs and anguish were strangers to this kind of reformatory effort. yet was it not altogether fruitless. the old adage that god helps those who help themselves can be here applied. that it developed great, powerful, and noble natures was so undeniable that even one of the christian fathers, upon considering their achievements, began to doubt if his way of attaining perfection was really the only one, until he succeeded in convincing himself that "the virtues of the gentiles are shining vices." the harmonious personality of the greek and the rationality of grecian science depended on the unity, the harmony of their cosmic views--upon this, that they conceived of the whole as a unity in its diversity, not as an irreconcilable disunion of two absolutely antagonistic principles. if, on the contrary, the highest ruling power in nature is an arbitrary divine caprice, if the world which lies open before mankind is ruled by another's purely fortuitous decrees, themselves interfered with continually by hostile influences from an infernal kingdom; if, moreover, this struggle rages not merely in the external world, but also in the very core of human nature, vitiating her reason, feelings and will, so to employ them without her agency as means to her exaltation or perdition, then is there indeed no causality to be sought for, and consequently no field anywhere for scientific investigation. were there even any such thing as science, it would lie far beyond the powers of man, since reason, a mere plaything for demoniac powers, can not be trusted. neither has his personality any longer its centre of gravity within itself. then is man in excessive need of such an institution of deliverance as the church, which teaches him what the divine authority has arbitrarily decided to be good or evil; while the supernatural means of grace, the sacraments, afford him power of resisting evil, and absolve him from his failings. in this way external authority supplants the inner, which is torn up by the roots. that ideal of human perfection which is possible under such conditions, and which actually arises because the native activity of the mind constantly endeavors to bring all accepted notions into union, places itself on the doctrine of authority as its foundation, and accepts its supernatural character. that the ideal of the middle ages is ascetic and its science magical, is directly consequent upon its dualistic conception of the universe and of its peculiar nature. the dualism of the middle ages was derived from persia. it is the essential idea of the zoroastrian doctrine, which finally, after a long struggle against the unitarian notions of the greeks, penetrates the occident and completely conquers it. this victorious combat of the orient against europe is the sum of history between cyrus and constantine. the external events which fill those centuries obtain their true significance when within and behind them one perceives the struggle between the two conflicting systems of ideas. like concealed chess-players they move their unconscious champions against each other on the board of history. when cyrus sends home the jewish prisoners from the rivers of babylon to the mountains of jerusalem, he gains for dualism that important flank-position on the mediterranean the significance of which is shown centuries after in the progress of the battle. the "adversary" (satan) who sometimes appears in the most recent portions of the old testament, written under persian influence, and plays a continually widening role in the rabbinical literature, is the judaized ahriman; the demoniacs who in the time of christ abounded in palestine testify that the demon-belief of persian dualism had penetrated into the imagination and feeling of the jews, and there borne fruit. by the side of this peaceful conquest the great war-drama between greece and persia is enacted. although this is not recognizedly a religious war, it is nevertheless ormuzd and ahriman who are repelled at marathon, salamis and platæa, it is the grecian unitarianism which is saved in these battles to develop itself, for a season undisturbed, into a radiant and beautiful culture. as has been shown already, magic, and belief upon authority, are the necessary consequences of a dualistic religion; the restriction and annihilation of free personality are equally necessary consequences of belief by authority. can any one regarding the conflict which raged on the field of marathon, fail to recognize the clash of two spiritual opposites, two different systems of ideas, when he sees the bands of greeks, drawn from their agorai (places for political discussion) and gymnasiums, advance cheerfully and garlanded, but without depreciating the danger, to meet the innumerable hosts of the orient driven on by the scourge of their leaders? on the one side, a fully developed free personality, which has its origin in a harmonious conception of nature, on the other, blind submission to external force. on the one side, liberty, on the other, despotism. one may add by the help of a logical conclusion, though this may seem more removed,--on the one side rationality, on the other magic. strengthened thus by victory europe goes to seek the enemy in his own country. alexander conquers asia. but the new achilles is fettered in the chains of his own slave. for while greek culture is spreading over the surface of the conquered countries, the oriental spirit advances beneath it in a contrary direction. the waves of the two ideal currents are partly mingled. in the libraries of alexandria and pergamus the literatures of the orient and of the occident flow together; in their halls meet the sages of the east and west; in their doctrinal systems zoroaster and plato, fancy and speculation, magic and rationalism are blended in the most extraordinary way. the victory of alexander was that of the warrior, and not that of sober aristotle's pupil. the judaico-alexandrian philosophy blooms, and gnosticism,--that monstrous bastard of specifically different cosmical systems, is already begotten, when christianity springs up in palestine, and unites itself with the jewish dualism derived from zoroaster, and thus proceeds to conquer the world by the weapons of belief. in the mean time rome has extended and established its empire. the nationalities included in it have been mingled together; their various gods have been carried into the same pantheon; and their ideas have been brought face to face. the universal empire, to maintain its existence, has been forced to centralize itself into a despotism of the oriental type, the free forms of state have perished, philosophical skepticism and eudemonism have abolished among the cultured classes the inherited notions of religion. all this, with its accompaniments of moral depravity and material necessity, have prepared the soil of the occident for receiving the seed of the new religion. emptiness and misery make the difference between ideality and reality, between good and evil, all the more perceptible even to unitarian nations. dualism thus prepared for in the realms of thought and feeling, spreads in christian form with irresistible force over the roman provinces. innumerable masses of the poor and oppressed devote themselves to the "philosophy of the barbarians and the orient" (as a greek thinker called christianity) because they recognize in it their own experience of life, and have full assurance in their hope of relief. the hellenico-roman paganism offers a fruitless resistance. the persecutions on the part of the state only hasten the spread of christianity. what the state can not do, perhaps the hellenic culture and philosophy may do. these, once mutually hostile, are reconciled in the face of common danger. the dying lamp of antiquity flares and brightens when pure hearts and profound minds, otherwise despising the myths as superstition, now grasp them as symbols of higher truths. philosophy goes forth, in the form of neoplatonism. but neoplatonism has itself apostatized from the rational and unitarian. plotinus and ammonius saccas try in vain to restore it. it only unwittingly helps its adversary, especially when, to gain the masses, it consents to compete with him in miracles. jamblichus and others practice secret arts in order to outrival the christian magi, and they glorify pythagoras and appollonius of tyana as fit to rank with jesus of nazareth in miraculous gifts. by this they only contribute to the spread of magic and the principles of dualism. the current of oriental notions proceeds all the more rapidly on its course of triumph. christian dualism already feels itself strong enough to battle not only against its declared enemies, but also those occidental elements of culture which in its beginnings it had received into its bosom and which had procured its entrance among the more intelligent classes. it feels instinctively that even the school of thought which has sprung up within the church is far too unitarian and rationalistic to be tolerated in the long run. such men as clemens of alexandria and origen, who are struck by what is external and imperishable in christianity, and know how to separate this from its dualistic form, fight a tragical battle for the union of belief and thought. admitting that christ is all in all, the immediate power and wisdom of god, they nevertheless wish to save the hellenic philosophy from the destruction which a fanaticism, revelling in the certainty and all-sufficiency of revelation, directs against every expression of an occidental culture, whether in national life, or art, or science. they point out that philosophy, if it can do nothing else that is good, can furnish rational weapons against those who assail faith, and that it can and ought to be the "real wall of defence about the vineyard." their argument is without effect. philosophy is of the devil: yea, everything true and good in life and doctrine which heathendom has possessed, is declared by one of the fathers to be the imposture of satan (_ingenia diaboli quædam de divinis affectandis_); and faith is so far independent of thought that it is better to say "i believe _because_ it is improbable, absurd, impossible."[ ] in vain the dying clemens exclaims: "even if philosophy were of the devil, satan could deceive men only in the garb of an angel of light: he must allure men by the appearance of truth, by the intermixture of truth and falsehood; we ought therefore to seek and recognize the truth from whatever source it come.... and even this gift to the pagans can have been theirs only by the will of god, and must consequently be included in the divine plan of educating humanity.... if sin and disorder are attributable to the devil, how absurd to make him the author and giver of so good a thing as philosophy!... god gave the law to the jews, and philosophy to the gentiles, only to prepare for the coming of christ." such are the words that ring out the last dying echo of hellenic culture and humanity! it is not a mere accident that with philosophy clemens and origen also sought to save the unitarian principles in so far as to reject the doctrine of eternal punishment in hell, and maintain that the devil will finally become good, and god be all in all. but such a view could not command attention at a time when christianity, only because it was not sharply and consistently dualistic, felt itself endangered by that wholly consistent and thorough-going dualism which under the name of manicheism once more advanced against europe from the persian border. although manicheism seemed to incur defeat, nevertheless one of its former adherents, augustine, infused its spirit into the church. during the century which followed him the germanic migration destroyed, along with the last schools, the last vestiges of græco-romaic culture. the barbarians were persuaded to receive baptism, often by means of pomp and deceit; their divinities, as formerly the denizens of olympus, were degraded to evil demons. every thing antecedent to their union with the church or disconnected with it,--the old experiences and traditions of these converted nations,--all was condemned and referred to the world of evil. the dominion of oriental dualism in europe was absolutely established, and the long night of the dark ages had set in. six centuries separate proclus, the last neoplatonican of any note, and augustine the last of the fathers educated in philosophy, from anselm the founder of scholasticism! between them lies an expanse in which gregory the great and scotus erigena are almost the only stars, and these by no means of the first magnitude. "there are deserts in time, as well as space," says bacon. when again a feeble attempt at scientific activity was possible, the monkish scholar was happy enough to possess a few maculated leaves of aristotle, obtained, but not directly, from the arabs. upon these leaves he read with amazement and admiration the method for a logical investigation. it was, for the rest, hermes trismegistus, dionysius areopagita (the translation of scotus erigena), and other such mystical works from unknown hands, with here and there touches of neoplatonism which had been inserted by the dreamy scholiast when in need of material for rounding out the cosmology, the principles of which he had found in the dogmas of the church. as a matter of course the dark ages could not perceive, still less admit, the intimate relation existing between its cosmic views and those of zoroaster; but still a dim suspicion of it can be detected. the learned men of the middle ages ascribed to zoroaster the founding of the magical sciences. sprenger (author of malleus malificarum, of which fatal work hereafter), remigius, jean bodin, delrio, and several other jurists and theologians, who have acquired a sad notoriety as judges of witch-trials, in their writings ascribe the origin of witchcraft to zoroaster. the dualistic notion was not modified after entering christianity, but intensified. the religion of zoroaster, which presupposes a good first principle,[ ] allows the evil which has in time arisen, in the course of time to disappear; and it ends with the doctrine which shines out faintly even in the new testament, of the final "restoration of all things" ([greek: apokatastasis pantôn]), and in consequence reduces evil to something merely phenomenal. in the doctrines of the church, however, as they were established through the influence of augustine, the manicheian, evil, though arisen in time, is made eternal. this difference is of great practical significance and explains why dualism did not bear the same terrible fruits in its home in the orient as in the occident. the awful separation and contrast with which the divina comedia of the middle ages ends,--the wails and curses that arise from hell to intensify the bliss of the redeemed,--form a conception so revolting that it could not be incorporated with thought and feeling without rendering them savage. compassion, benevolence, love,--those qualities through which man feels a kinship with the divine, lose their significance and are despoiled of their eternal seal, when they are found no longer in his maker except as limited or rather suspended by the action of another quality which the pious man will force himself to call justice, but which an irrepressible voice from the innermost recesses of his soul calls cruelty. to this must be added a further important consideration. the servant of ormuzd is no more the property of the devil than the earth he treads upon. to be sure he is surrounded on every side by the treachery of ahriman and all the demons, but this only because he is called and already endowed with power to be the champion of the good upon the earth. it is as such that he is placed in the tumult of the battle. the power for good once imparted to him, and constantly renewed through prayer, is withal also his own; he may use it without losing himself in the perplexing question where liberty ceases and grace begins. every one adhering to the doctrine of light stands on his own feet. this is true of every servant of ormuzd; zoroaster has made in this respect no distinction between priest and layman. even belief upon authority, in itself an encroachment upon free personality, preserves for it in this form of religion a free and inviolable arena. in the church of the middle ages the case is different, and it cannot be presented better than in the following words of the neo-lutheran vilmar, when he would preserve absolutely to the clergy "the power to keep the congregation together by the word, the sacraments and ecclesiastical authority, the power to cleave the head of sin with a single word, the power to descend into a soul in which the enemy has spread the gloom of insanity and force the defiant knees of the maniac to bend and his frenzied fists to fold in prayer, yea, the power [here we have the climax, which is rather tame after the foregoing] to descend into a soul in which the ancient enemy has established his abode, and there fight the insolent giant from the realms of darkness face to face and eye to eye. all this"--continues vilmar, himself not unlike a frantic conjurer wishing to summon the ghost of the dark ages from its grave--"all this is not in the power of the congregation nor of the ministry, who are not endowed with the requisite authority, commission, mandate and power. the congregation (_i. e._, the laymen) is not able to look into the furious eyes of the devil; for what is prophesied of the last days, that even the elect, were it possible, should be seduced, applies with greater force to the especial apparition of satan in this world: before it the congregation is scattered like flakes of snow, not seduced but terrified to death. only we (the clergy) are unterrified and fearless; for he who has rejected the prince of this world has placed us before the awful serpent-eye of the arch-fiend, before his blasphemous and scornful mouth, before his infernally distorted face."[ ] these words from the pen of a fanatical dualist of our own time well represent, as indicated above, the commonly received views of the middle ages; and it is not therefore to be wondered at that the mediæval generations, surrendering personality, threw themselves precipitately, in order to be saved, into the arms of the magical institution of deliverance. the phenomena which are delineated in the following pages will not seem so arbitrary and strange after this introductory glance at the middle-age philosophy, as they might otherwise at first sight. even they are a product of an inner necessity. were it possible--and deplorable attempts are not wanting--to revive in the thoughts, feelings and imagination of humanity the dogmas of mediæval times, we should then witness a partial re-enactment of their terrible scenes. to depict them has not only a purely historic interest, but a cautionary and practical as well. ii. the magic of the church. magic is the harbinger of science. in the history of human development, the dim perception precedes the clear, and the dominion of imagination that of reason. before the latter could take upon itself the laborious task of connecting together by its own laws the facts of external and internal experience,--before there was any philosophy or natural science, imagination was bestirring itself in the creation of magic. like science, magic in its original form is based upon the principle that all things existing are concatenated. science searches for the links of union both deductively and inductively; magic, seeking its support in the external resemblances between existing things,[ ] and in a vague assurance of the power of the will and of words, establishes this connection freely by means of arbitrary associations between incongruous objects. man engaged in a struggle for physical existence, aims in it less at theoretical _knowing_ than at practical _being able_. the knowledge of mysteries will furnish means of becoming acceptable to his god, inaccessible to injurious influences, and master of his present and future existence and destiny. the magical usages which exist among every people, present an almost infinite variety of forms. in the end, however, they can all be reduced to a single type. daily experience has taught that there exists between every cause and its effect a certain proportionate amount of force. now since the effect aimed at in resorting to magic is of an extraordinary nature, the means which the magical art prescribes must possess extraordinary efficacy, such as reason can predict for it neither _a priori_ nor by inductive reasoning. furthermore, experience teaches us that will, as a mere inert desire, not yet expressed in action, does not attain its goal. magical power therefore can not be sought for in the mere will as such, but action, that working of the senses which the will employs as a means, in which it reveals itself, must be added, whether the force of this sense-means, as the original magic supposes, depends on its mystical but necessary connection with its corresponding object in a higher sphere (for example, the connection between the metals and the planets), or as in the church-magic, on an arbitrary decision of god, ordaining that a given means, employed as prescribed by him, shall produce an effect inconceivable by reason. in all employment of magic enter consequently, first, the subjective spiritual factor,--the will (in the language of the church, faith); secondly, the sensuous means,--the fetich, the amulet, the holy water, the host, the formula of exorcism, the ceremony, etc.; and thirdly, the incomprehensible ("supernatural") power which this means, appropriated by the will (or faith), possesses in the magical act. a belief in magic is found among all nations. with those of unitarian views it was destined to be forced more and more into the background by the growth of speculation and natural science. with them there was also but one form of magic, although those in possession of its secret were considered able to exercise it for a useful or an injurious purpose alike. only among nations holding dualistic views do we meet with magic in two forms: with the priests a _white_ and a _black_,--the former as the good gift of ormuzd, the latter as the evil gift of ahriman; with the christians of the middle ages a _celestial_ magic and a _diabolical_,--the former a privilege of the church and conferred by god as a weapon to aid in the conquest of satan; the latter an infernal art to further unbelief and wickedness. under a unitarian theory magic is only a preparation for natural philosophy and gradually gives place to it, until it is confined to the lowest classes as a relic of a past stage of development. the dualistic religious systems, on the contrary, blend in an intimate union with magic, give to it the same universally and eternally valid power which they ascribe to themselves, and place it on their own throne in the form of a divine and sacramental secret. only thus can faith in magic stamp whole ages and periods of culture with its peculiar seal; only thus--after its separation into celestial and diabolical, and in that causal relation to the temporal or eternal weal or woe of man in which it is placed--does it become possessed of an absolute sovereignty over the imagination and emotions of a people. our consideration of the middle-age magic may commence with a description of the celestial or privileged magic, that is to say, _that of the church_; in order that we may proceed in natural order to the ill-reputed magic of the _learned_ (astrology, alchemy, sorcery), and the persecuted _popular_ magic (in which the church saw the really diabolical form); and end with an account of the terrible catastrophe which was caused by the contest which raged between them. it is not the fault of the writer if the reader finds in the magic of the church a caricature of what is holy, in which the comical element is overbalanced by the repulsive. the more objective the representation is to be made, the more unpleasant its features become. we will, then, be brief. * * * * * like a thoughtful mother the church cherishes and cares for man, and surrounds him from the cradle to the grave with its safeguards of magic. shortly after the birth of a child the priest must be ready to sprinkle it with holy water, which by prayer and conjuration has been purified from the pollution of the demons inhabiting even this element. for the feeble being begotten in sin and by nature lucifer's property, without the grace of baptism, would be eternally lost to heaven, and eternally doomed to the torments of hell.[ ] therefore more than one conscientious servant of the church essayed to devise some means by which the saving water might be brought in contact with the child before it saw the light. still this precautionary measure never became officially adopted. the efficacy of the baptismal water exceeds that of the pool bethesda, which removed only bodily infirmities. baptism saves millions of souls from hell. foreseeing this the devil, filled with evil devices, had determined, already before the rise of christianity, to debase and scorn this sacrament by making, in anticipation, a copy of it in the mithras mysteries instituted by him, which insolently imitate in other respects the mysteries of the church. in baptism other means, consecrated by the priest, co-operate with the water: viz., the oil, the spittle (which the priest after baptism lets fall upon the child, and the efficacy of which is derived from mark vii. ), the salt, the milk and the honey.[ ] besides, there are the sign of the cross and the conjuration, which drive the tempter out of the child and prepare room for the holy ghost. with these magic ceremonies the child is received into the church and from thenceforth becomes a sharer in the protection which it gives against the evil. baptismal, or holy water, when drunk by the sick and infirm, heals and strengthens; if sprinkled upon the fields promotes fertility, or given to the domestic animals, affords them protection against witchcraft. as baptism is the first saving and sanctifying sacrament offered to man, so the unction with holy oil which is administered to the dying, is the last. between them the eucharist is a perennial source of power and sanctification,--the eucharist in which "bread and wine, placed upon the altar, after performed consecration, are god's true flesh and blood, which flesh perceptibly to the senses (_sensualiter_) is touched by the hands of the priest and masticated by the teeth of the believer."[ ] when the priest has pronounced the formula of transformation, he elevates the host,[ ] now no longer bread but the body of christ, the congregation kneels and the ringing of bells proclaims to the neighborhood that the greatest of all the works of magic is accomplished. eaten by the faithful, the flesh of christ enters into their own flesh and blood and wonderfully strengthens both soul and body.[ ] heretics in arras who believed that righteousness was necessary to salvation and doubted the doctrine of transubstantiation, were converted as soon as bishop gerhard told them that, in the time of gregory the great, the consecrated bread had taken, before a doubting woman, the shape of christ's bleeding finger. a pious hermit who began to be afflicted by the same doubt, regained his faith when at the communion he saw an angel apply the knife to an infant jesus, at the very moment the priest broke the bread. there is much in the legends and chronicles about jews who having secretly procured the host, and, to be revenged upon christ, proceeding to pierce it with a knife, saw the blood stream forth in abundance; sometimes, indeed, a beautiful bleeding boy suddenly revealing himself. such stories being freely circulated, led to severe persecutions (as in namur, ).[ ] if the eucharist is a partaking of food which strengthens the faithful in their struggle against sin, the sign of the cross is to be considered as his sword, and the sacred amulet as his armor. the cross is the sign in which the christian shall conquer. ["_in hoc signo vinces._"] with it he must commence every act; with it he repels every attack of the demons. "he who wishes to be convinced concerning this," says st. athanasius, "needs only to make the sign of the cross, which has become so ridiculous to the pagans, before the mocking delusions of the demons, the deceits of the oracles and the magi; and immediately he shall see the devil flee, the oracles confounded and all magic and sorcery revenged." the amulets employed by the church are various: medals bearing the image of mary, consecrated images, especially the so-called lambs of god[ ] (agnus dei), the manufacture and sale of which a papal bull of reserves for the head of the roman church. if these bring the clergy immense sums of money, they also possess great power. they protect against dangers from fire or water, against storm and hail, sickness and witchcraft.[ ] along with the amulets the so-called conception-billets, which the carmelite monks sell for a small sum, are of manifold use. these billets are made of consecrated paper, and heal, if swallowed, diseases natural and supernatural; laid in a cradle guard the child against witchcraft; buried in the corner of a field protect it against bad weather and destructive insects. conception-billets are put under the thresholds of houses and barns, are attached to beer casks and butter dishes to avert sorcery. they are fabricated by the monks according to an authenticated formulary which, as characteristic and comparatively brief, deserves citation:-- ="i conjure thee, paper (or parchment), thou which servest the needs of humanity, servest as the depository of god's wonderful deeds and holy laws, as also according to divine command the marriage contract between tobias and sarah was written upon thee, the scriptures saying: they took paper and signed their marriage covenant. through thee, o paper, hath also the devil been conquered by the angel. i adjure thee by god, the lord of the universe (sign of the cross!), the son (sign of the cross!), and the holy ghost (sign of the cross!), who spreads out the heavens as a parchment on which he describes as with divine characters his magnificence. bless (sign of the cross!), o god, sanctify (sign of the cross!) this paper that so it may frustrate the work of the devil!= ="he who upon his person carries this paper written with holy words, or affixes it to a house, shall be freed from the visitations of satan through him who cometh to judge the quick and dead.= ="let us pray.= ="mighty and resistless god, the god of vengeance, god of our fathers, who hast revealed through moses and the prophets the books of thy ancient covenant and many secrets of thy kindness, and didst cause the gospel of thy son to be written by the evangelists and apostles, bless (sign of the cross!) and sanctify (sign of the cross!) this paper that thy mercy may be made known unto whatsoever soul shall bear with him this sacred thing and these holy letters; and that all persecutions against him from the devil and by the storms of satanic witchcraft may be frustrated through christ our lord. amen.= ="(the paper to be sprinkled with holy water.)"= with the amulets and these conception-billets belong also in the armory of the church, the wonder-working relics, and images of the saints. god has ordained graciously that the church shall not give up its battle against the powers of sin for want of weapons. its offensive and defensive appliances are manifold. its warriors, the priests, are like knights encased in mail from head to foot, and armed with lance, sword, dagger and morning star. almost every district has its treasure of relics, which, preserved in shrines and exhibited on solemn occasions to the pious people, constitutes its palladium, impedes or prevents the attack of hostile forces, and assuages or averts the ravages of plagues. not only corporeal relics of saints and martyrs, but also every thing they may have touched during their lifetime, yea, even the very dew-drops upon their graves, are a terror to the fiends and a means of spiritual and bodily strength unto the faithful. the miraculous properties of the images are recounted in a hundred legends. by the direct agency of divine power, there exists uninterruptedly between them and the persons they represent a mystical relation. upon this st. hieronymus throws some light when he exclaims against vigilantius, who had blindly opposed the worship of images: "you dare prescribe laws to god! you presume to put the apostles in chains so that they are kept even to the day of judgment in their prison, and are denied the privilege of being with their lord, although it is written that they shall be with him wherever they go! if the lamb is omnipresent, we must believe that those who are with the lamb are omnipresent also. if the devils and the demons rove through the world and by their inconceivable rapidity of motion are present everywhere, should then the martyrs, after shedding their blood, remain confined in their coffins and never be able to leave them!" as old age and death are consequences of adam's fall, so are almost all ailments produced by that power over man's corporeal nature conceded to satan, when god pronounced his curse upon the race. so also are the remaining diseases and infirmities of man, called either rightly or wrongly natural, cured with greatest certainty by invoking the help of god. therefore the mediator between god and men, the church, through its servants is the only sure and only legitimate physician. ["_operatio sanandi est in ecclesia per verba, ritus, exorcismos, aquam, salem, herbas, idque nedum contra diabolos et effectus magicos, sed et morbos omnes._"] the priest effects cures in behalf of the church and in the name of god by means of prayer, the laying on of hands, exorcism, relics and consecrated natural means, especially water, salt and oil. in doing this he acts as the visible delegate of an unseen higher physician, the saint ordained of god to be the healer of the sickness. for every affliction has its physician among the ranks of the saints. st. valentine cures epilepsy, st. gervasius rheumatic pains, st. michael de sanatis cancer and tumors, st. judas coughs, st. ovidius deafness, st. sebastian contagious fevers and poisonous bites, st. apollonia toothache, st. clara and st. lucia rheum in the eyes, and so on. the legends relate wonderful effects of the healing powers possessed by st. damianus, st. patrick and st. hubert. the terrible disease of hydrophobia was cured by the last named. in the cloisters in luxembourg named after this saint, hydrophobia was cured many years after his death by bringing the afflicted into the church during the progress of the service, and pressing a hair from the saint's mantle into a slight incision made for the occasion in his forehead. for the benefit of those who lived far from the cloister, the so-called "hubertus-bands" and "hubertus-keys" were consecrated; these were applied, heated white-hot, to the wound.[ ] similar curative agencies might be mentioned by hundreds. among all afflictions, the state of being possessed by devils occupies the most remarkable place in the annals of the church, and is seen to have required the most powerful exorcisms for its cure. the ecclesiastical pathology declares that in this disease the devil is unhidden, while in all others he is concealed. the exorciser who is to expel the fiend appears in full priestly vesture; incense and consecrated wax tapers are lighted, all the objects surrounding the demoniac are sprinkled with holy water, the air around is purified by the pronunciation of certain formulas; then follow fervent prayers and finally the desperate and awful struggle between the demon, now convulsively distorting the limbs of his victim and uttering by his lips the most harrowing blasphemies, and the priest, who employs more and more powerful adjurations until the victory finally is his. the secular medical art--that relying upon natural means--as either superfluous, or as strongly tainted with heresy, must be despised. dissection, in order to investigate the structure of the human body, is presumption; it can even be asked with reason if it does not argue contempt for the doctrine of the final resurrection. the secular art of healing was consequently for a long time confined to the infidel jews. but when princes and the opulent, weakly apprehending the insufficiency of the word, the relics and the consecrated remedies, had begun to keep physicians, the profane art of medicine became a lucrative profession, and schools for its cultivation were established under royal protection. such is that of salerno, which the warders of zion can not regard without suspicion. it is a school which prescribes pedantic rules for diet, as if one's diet could protect against the attacks of the devil! the greek pagan hippocrates, who for a long time wandered about with jews and arabs, thus finds at last a settled abode within its walls,--hippocrates who had to assert of demonianism (_morbus sacer_) itself that it is "nowise more divine, nowise more infernal, than any other disease!" when the teacher is such, what must the disciples be? the church will not forbid absolutely the practice of medicine, since it may do some good in the case of external injury, or in time of pestilence; but she must keep strict watch over the orthodoxy of those who cultivate this art. at several councils (as at rheims in , the second lateran in , and at tours, ) she has strenuously prohibited her servants from having any thing to do with this suspected profession. experience has taught, however, not to exaggerate the dangers attending it. the secular physicians must frequently concede that such and such a sickness is caused by witchcraft, and consequently is of supernatural origin. slanderers might allege that such a declaration is more convenient than an investigation into the causes of the disease in the natural way, and less unpleasant than acknowledging one's ignorance. but be this as it may: the concession implies a recognition of the supernaturalism of the church, and may therefore be rather recommended than reprehended. "it is," says thomas aquinas, "a dogma of faith that the demons can produce wind, storms, and rain of fire from heaven. the atmosphere is a battle-field between angels and devils. the latter work the constant injury of man, the former his melioration; and the consequence is that changeableness of weather which threatens to frustrate the hopes of husbandry. and when lucifer is able to bestow even upon man--on sorcerers and wizards--the power to destroy the fields, the vineyards and dwellings of man by rain, hail and lightning, is it to be wondered at if the church, which is man's protection against the devil, and whose especial calling it is to fight him, should in this sphere also be his counterpoise, and should seek from the treasury of its divine power, means adequate to frustrate his atmospheric mischiefs? to these means belong the church bells, provided they have been duly consecrated and baptized. the aspiring steeples around which cluster the low dwellings of men, are to be likened, when the bells in them are ringing, to the hen spreading its protecting wings over its chickens; for the tones of the consecrated metal repel the demons and avert storm and lightning" ("_vivos voco, mortuos plango_, sulphura frango," a common inscription on church bells). tillers of the soil who desire especial protection from the church for their harvests, pay it tithes for a blessing. during protracted drought the priests make intercession and inaugurate rain-processions, in which images of the virgin are borne into the fields, which are sprinkled with holy water while the weather-collect is chanted.[ ] if the fields are visited by hurtful insects, the church has remedies against them also. it commands them in the name of god to depart, and if they do not obey, a regular process is instituted against them, which ends in their exemplary punishment; for they are excommunicated by the church. such processes were very frequently resorted to in the middle ages, and a couple of such instances will be cited. in the year , the may-bug committed great depredations in the neighborhood of berne. when the authorities of the city had sought relief from the bishop of lausanne, benoit de montferrand, against this scourge, he determined to issue a letter of excommunication, which was solemnly read by a priest in the churchyard of berne. "thou irrational, imperfect creature, thou may-bug," thus the letter commenced, "thou whose kind was never enclosed in noah's ark! in the name of my gracious lord, the bishop of lausanne, by the power of the glorified trinity through the merits of jesus christ, and by the obedience you owe the holy church, i command you may-bugs, all in common and each one in particular, to depart from all places where nourishment for men and cattle germinates and grows." the letter ends with a summons to the insects, to present themselves on the sixth day thereafter, if they do not disappear before that time, at one o'clock, p. m., at wivelsburg, and assume the responsibility before the court of the gracious lord of lausanne. this letter was likewise read from the pulpit while the congregation, kneeling, repeated "three paternosters and three ave marias." arrangements were made beforehand for a legal trial with strict attention to all professional forms. among these was of course that the accused should have a lawyer. but when no advocate in berne would consent to appear in behalf of the insects, the bishop devised the plan of summoning from hell the shade of an infamous lawyer named perrodet, who had died a few years previously, and of directing him to plead the cause of the may-bugs with the same diligence he had so often displayed in his lifetime in defence of vile clients. but in spite of many summons, neither perrodet nor his clients deigned to appear. after the expiration of the time fixed for beginning the defence, and when certain doubts concerning the proper form of procedure had been removed, the episcopal tribunal finally gave its verdict, which was excommunication in the name of the holy trinity, "to you, accursed vermin, that are called may-bugs, and which can not even be counted among the animals." the government ordered the authorities of the afflicted district to report concerning the good effects of the excommunication; "but," a chronicle of the time complains, "no effect was observed, because of our sins." since any neglect of legal forms was thought to deprive a judgment of its magical as well as legal power, the most scrupulous care was exercised in the conduct of these frequently recurring processes against may-bugs, grasshoppers, cabbage-worms, field-rats and other noxious vermin. there is yet extant a detailed and luminous document by the learned bartholomeus chassanæus (born ), in which the question if, and how, such pests should be proceeded against in the courts is carefully considered: whether they should appear personally or by deputy; whether they are subject to a spiritual or a secular tribunal, and if the penalty of excommunication can be applied to them. he proves on many grounds that the jurisdiction to which they are accountable is the spiritual, and that they may properly be excommunicated. still the question of jurisdiction remained unsettled, and a civil prosecution of the field-rats in tyrol, - , proves among other things that a secular tribunal sometimes considered itself justified in deciding such suits. the peasant simon fliss appeared before william of hasslingen, judge in glurns and mals (ober-in-valley), as plaintiff against the field-rats which were committing great depredations in his parish. the court then appointed hans grinebner, a citizen of glurns, to be the advocate of the accused, and furnished him, before witnesses, with the requisite commission. thereupon the plaintiff chose as his advocate schwarz minig, and obtained from the tribunal upon demand a warrant of authority for him likewise. on the day of trial, the wednesday after st. philip's and st. james's day, many witnesses were examined, establishing that the rats had caused great destruction. schwarz minig then made his final plea that the noxious animals should be charged to withdraw from mischief, as otherwise the people of stilf could not pay the annual tithes to their high patron. grinebner, counsel for the defence, could not and would not make exception to the testimony, but tried to convince the court that his clients "enjoyed a certain right of usufruct which could hardly be denied them." if the court were of another opinion and considered it best to eject them, he yet hoped they would first be granted another place where they could support themselves. besides there should be given them at their departure a sufficient escort to protect them against their enemies, whether cat, dog, or other adversaries; and he also hoped that, if any of the rats were pregnant, time might be allowed them to be delivered and afterwards depart in safety with their progeny. the decision was rendered in the following terms: "after accusation and defence, after statement and contradiction, and after due consideration of all that pertains to justice, it is by this sentence determined that those noxious animals which are called field-rats must, within two weeks after the promulgation of this judgment, depart and forever remain far aloof from the fields and the meadows of stilf. but if one or several of the animals are pregnant, or unable on account of their youth to follow, then shall they enjoy during further two weeks safety and protection from every body, and after these two weeks depart." we can form some impression of the immense power of prayer and exorcism when we consider that the influence of the will and the idea expressed in the word co-operate in them with the power of the word itself as a mere form. for the material word, the sound caught by the ear, the formula, as such, exercises a magical effect without one's knowing its meaning. the mass of the people with their ignorance of the official language of the church and of learning, would be badly off if those "paternosters" and "ave marias," committed to memory without understanding them, should be spiritually ineffectual,--if the latin mass to which the congregation listens should be wanting in edifying and sanctifying power because it is not comprehended. the formularies of the church established at different times and for various purposes are for this reason of high importance and must be followed conscientiously.[ ] a single proof of their extraordinary power may be instanced here. in the year the devil brought into the heavens a huge comet, which threatened earth and man with drought and pestilence; but the pope solemnly banished the forbidding omen,--and behold! in a short time it disappeared, having day by day diminished through the power of the papal anathema. what a holy word may avail by virtue of its sound (_flatus vocis_) alone, is indicated in the legend of the tame starling, which was saved from the claws of the hawk just at the moment its death-agony had forced from it the words it had learned to repeat "ave maria." upon the power of the word as its foundation, rests the papal custom of consecrating bread, wine, oil, salt, tapers, water, bells, fields, meadows, houses, standards and weapons. "with such abuses, such superstition, and diabolical arts was the priesthood filled during papal ascendency"--thus complains an old protestant theologian who had an eye to that surplus of magic which the catholic church possessed over and above that of the lutheran, but who was blind to the common welfare--"and therefore such things are in vogue even among common men. what was the chief thing in the mass if not the wonder-working words of blessing, when the priest pronounced the four words or the six syllables '_hoc est corpus meum_' (this is my body) over the bread, breathed upon it, and made the sign of the cross three times over it, pretending that the bread was thereby converted into the flesh of christ? in the same way he transformed the wine in the chalice into the blood of christ, though no such power is given to syllables and words. he bound the holy ghost in the water, the salt, the oil, the tapers, the spices, the stone, wood or earth, when he consecrated churches, altars, churchyards, when he blessed the meat, the eggs, and the like, and when on easter eve he consecrated the fire that it should do no damage (though i, god save me, have found out that our village was utterly consumed four days after such consecration), when he baptized and sanctified bells that their ringing might dispel evil influences, quiet tempests, and the like." the organization of monasteries is to be regarded as the defensive system of the church, guarding and protecting the territory it has conquered from the devil. as the mongolian on his irruption into europe found innumerable steeps crowned with strongly fortified castles, the very number of which deterred from any attempt at siege, so satan and his hosts find the christian world strewn with spiritual strongholds, each of which encloses an arsenal filled with mighty weapons for offensive as well as defensive warfare. every monastery has its master magician, who sells _agni dei_, conception-billets, magic incense, salt and tapers which have been consecrated on candlemas day, palms consecrated on palm sunday, flowers besprinkled with holy water on ascension day, and many other appliances belonging to the great magical apparatus of the church. this consecrated enginery being so various and complete, it might have been expected that the people would be content, and seek no further expedients than these constantly at hand. but, alas! a people's magic of infernal origin is abroad, and rampant by the side of the holy magic of the church; and by it satan tempts the careless, the curious and the irresolute. even many priests are tainted with it. the holy boniface, and many popes and monkish chroniclers after him, bitterly lament that the lower clergy compound love-potions and practice divinatory arts, using even the holy appurtenances of the church, as the host, to fortify the efficacy of their diabolical charms. since the church tries to reduce all conditions of life to harmony with itself, it naturally follows that it sets its seal also to human jurisprudence. the ordeals which it has found employed by some of the nations it has converted, exactly suit its system. it receives them, consequently, as resting on a right idea,[ ] makes them what they were not before, a common practice, and gives detailed rules concerning the chants, prayers, conjurations and masses with which they should be accompanied. when a person under accusation or suspicion is to undergo the ordeal by water, for example, the priest is to lead him to the church, and cause him kneeling to pronounce three formulas in which god is implored for protection. then follow mass and the holy communion. when the accused receives the wafer the priest says: "be this flesh of our lord thy test to-day." then in solemn procession the throng of witnesses repair to the spot where the test is to take place. the priest conjures the water, expelling the demons common to this element, and commands it to be an obedient instrument of god for revealing innocence or crime. the accused is dressed in clean garments, kisses the cross and the gospel, recites a paternoster and makes the sign of the cross. then (in the ordeal by hot water) his hand is held in a boiling cauldron: or he is thrown with his hands pinioned and a rope about his waist, into a river. if he does not then sink, his guilt is proved. the ordeal by fire consists in walking over glowing coals, or carrying red-hot iron, or in being dragged through flames clad in a shirt saturated with wax. by the test of fire the genuineness of relics is also sometimes tested. when in a. d. some monks who had returned from jerusalem exhibited the towel with which the disciples had wiped the feet of christ, some doubts of its genuine character were raised, but were all removed by this test. one of the most common of all ordeals is the duel. god, invoked by the servants of the church, keeps his protecting hand over innocence. every doubt of this truth argues faint-heartedness bordering on atheism. this thought lies at the foundation not only of the different kinds of ordeals, but also of the torture, which, constantly extended and intensified under the auspices of the church, was a form of trial sparing the judge much labor, and leading to the goal more surely than the collation of testimony, which, besides being irksome, hardly ever brings full assurance. shadrach, meshach and abednego felt no pain in the fiery furnace. god gives to innocence upon the rack, if not insensibility to pain, at least strength to endure it. but even the arch-fiend, to a certain extent, can protect his subjects. in the case of heretics and witches it is therefore needful to resort to the intensest torture; to exhaust, so to speak, to the last drop, the springs of pain in human nerves, under the hand of skilled tormentors. if then the instruments of torture are previously conjured and sanctified by the priest, and if he stands at the side of the accused ready to interrupt with constant question the diabolic formulas of alleviation which undoubtedly the sufferer murmurs inwardly, then a candid and reliable confession may reasonably be expected, in spite of all efforts to the contrary by the devil. in the "witch-hammer" (malleus malificarum) the ecclesiastical and magical plan of justice celebrates its triumph. this work, bearing the sanction of the pope, contains full directions for the judge presiding in witch-trials. it is, in fact, a hammer which crushes whatever it falls upon. the judge who carefully follows these directions may be confident that satan himself can not save any one who is under accusation; only god and his holy angels can rescue him, by direct miracle, from death in the flames.[ ] he who finds a judicial system which appeals constantly to the intercession of god of questionable value, may consider that the history of the church, the experiences of its saints and servants are a succession of divine miracles. god is not chary of his miracles when recognized, and the servants of the church are in possession of the apostolic power and mandate to perform them. another question is, how are the divine miracles to be distinguished from the infernal? all attempts of the acutest scholastics to establish a rule of definite separation for these two kinds of miracles have failed. they are revealed under identical forms, and even the moral perceptions can detect no difference, since satan is able to transform himself into an angel of light. reason must also acknowledge its incapacity even in this respect, and rely on the holy ghost ever active in the church and especially in its head. the power of divine truth and inspiration which was poured out upon the apostles on the day of pentecost, has been transmitted like a magnetic stream from peter, the first bishop of rome, to his successors by the laying on of hands, and is in a certain measure imparted, by the sacrament of ordination, to every member of the clerical hierarchy. * * * * * the survey of the magic of the church which has been presented above, ought perhaps to be completed, not by pursuing the tedious path which lies before us through continued description of ecclesiastical customs and opinion, but by simply formulating the general truth: _every symbol, every external token, to which is attributed an independent power for sanctification and an immediate moral influence, is magic._ may the protestant reader, for whom we are here writing, examine with this maxim in how far the reformation, which aims to restore to internal authority--the reason and free-will of the individual--its rights, has succeeded in its task. luther and calvin assailed many magical usages, and pruned many branches from the tree of dualism, but still allowed its vigorous trunk to remain unscathed. but a dualistic religious system must, on account of the unreasonable cosmical theory on which it rests, sooner or later attack again the inner authority and make itself the sole and absolute external one. it must of necessity degenerate to a statuary fetichism or fall before a complete unitarian reformation. our day witnesses the conflict between these opposite ideas. on the one side, the belief in a personal spiritual adversary of mankind, preached to the masses from a thousand pulpits, hangs suspended like a sword of damocles over the head of civilization; on the other side, philosophy and the science of nature diffuse a rational and unitarian theory of the universe and human existence through a constantly enlarging circle. to him who wishes to take part in this all-important struggle, we would commend these words of the noble bunsen:[ ] "wherever in religion, or state, or civilization, in art or science, the inner is developed more strenuously, and the spiritual earnestly sought after, be it with more or less transformation of what is existing, there progress is at hand; for from the inner, life comes to the external, from the centre to the circumference. there is also the way which leads to life. there new paths are opened to the soul, and genius lifts its wings with divine assurance. if this is true, the contrary must take place wherever the external life is more and more exalted, where the token supersedes more and more the essence, the symbol and the external work the inner act and conscience, where the superficies is taken for the content, the outer monotony for life's uniformity, and appearances for truth. there a luckless future is in waiting, whatever be the aspect of the present." iii. the magic of the learned. we find ourselves in a dismal labyrinth of narrow, winding streets, now and then issuing into some open space before a guild-hall or a church. the objects which meet our gaze in this strange city do not solicit pause or reflection; for we have seen essentially the same type of homes and humanity in many another city which we have wandered through in our search for the stone of wisdom. we therefore continue on our way. the buildings of the university are said to be in the neighborhood, and we turn the corner to the right, and again to the left, until we come upon it. the lecture-hour approaches. professors draped in stiff mantles and wearing the scholastic cap on their supremely wise foreheads, wend their way to the temples of knowledge at the portals of which flocks of students wait. we recognize their various and familiar types: the new-matriculated look as usual, their cheeks still retaining the glow of early youth, their hearts still humble, perhaps still held captive by the sweet delusion that the walls by which they wait are the propylæa to all the secrets of earth and heaven. just as readily recognized are the parchment-worms, destined one day to shine as lights in the church and in the domain of science, whether they now toil themselves pale and melancholic over their _catenæ_, their _summæ_ and _sententiæ_, or bear with unfeigned self-satisfaction the precious weight of _terms_ which lifts them so conspicuously above the ignorant mass of mortals. and among the throng of the first named still fresh with youth, and these already dried pedants, we find also the far-famed third class of students, adventurers assembled from all quarters under the protection of university-privileges,--those gentlemen with bearded cheek, and faces swelled by drinking and scarred by combat, with terribly long and broad swords dangling at their side,--the heroes of that never ending iliad which the apprentices of learning and the guilds enact nightly in the darkness of the lanes, who may yet turn out some day the most pious of conventical priors, the gravest doctors and the very severest burgomasters in christendom, unless before that time they meet their fate upon the gallows, or on the field of battle, or as _scholares vagantes_ in the ditch or by the roadside. shall we enter and listen to some of these lectures which are about to be delivered? our letter of academic membership will open the doors to us, if we desire. to the left in the vaulted hall the professor of medicine has commenced his lecture. with astonishing subtlety and penetration he discusses the highly important question, before propounded by petrus de abano, but not as yet fully solved,--"_an caput sit factum propter cerebrum vel oculos_" (whether the head was formed for the sake of the brain or the eyes). to the right the professor of theology leads us into one of the dim mysteries of the church by ventilating the question what peter would have done with the bread and wine, had he distributed the elements while the body of christ in unchanged reality was yet hanging on the cross.[ ] a little farther on in this mouldy vault we find the workshop of philosophy, where a master in the art of abstract reasoning deduces the distinction between _universalia ante rem_ and _universalia in re_. in yonder furthest room a jurisconsult expounds a passage in the pandects.--or perhaps you would rather not choose at all? you smile sadly. alas! like myself you have good reason for complaining with faust:-- i have, alas! philosophy, med'cine, and jurisprudence too, and to my cost theology, with ardent labor studied through. and here i stand, with all my lore, poor fool, no wiser than before. and if you add like him, hence have i now applied myself to magic, we shall bring back to our minds the object of our burning desires, the hope which cheers us that finally the veil will be torn from the face of the isis-image, and that we shall behold the unspeakable face to face, even though her looks burn us to ashes. let us turn our back upon this tragi-comic seat of learning, where, as everywhere else, hoary-headed fools are teaching young chicken-heads to admire nonsense, and young eagle-souls to despair of knowledge. it is not far hence direct--as direct as the winding lanes permit--to that great magician who has taken up his abode in this city. at the feet of that master let us seat ourselves. we shall there slake our burning thirst with at least a few drops of that knowledge which through by-gone ages has been flowing in a subterranean channel, though from the same sources as the streams of paradise. and if we are disappointed there,--well, then _you_, if you so choose, can quench your longing for truth in the whirlpool of pleasure and adventure. _i_ shall go into a monastery, seek the narrowest of its cells, watch, pray, scourge forth my blood in streams; or i shall go to india, sit down upon the ground and stare at the tip of my nose,--stare at it and never cease, year out and year in, until all consciousness is extinguished. agreed, then, is it not?.... we are arrived in the very loneliest quarter of the town, and the most dreary limits of the quarter, where old crumbling houses group themselves in inextricable confusion along the city wall, and from their gable windows fix their vacant, hypochondriacal looks upon the open fields beyond. a tower, crowning the wall of the fort upon this side, now serves the great scientist as an observatory and dwelling, given him by the burgomaster and the council of the city. he was for a long time private physician to the queen of france, but has now retired to this lonely place from the pleasures, the distinctions, and the dangers of life at court, in order to devote himself quietly to research and study. he has a protector in the prince-archbishop resident in the city; and as the professor of theology has certified at the request of this same prince-bishop to his strict orthodoxy, the city authorities thought to persuade him to receive the honorable and lucrative position of town-astrologer, not heeding the assertion of the monks that he was a wizard, and that his black spaniel was in reality none other than the devil himself. a magician never suffers himself to be interrupted in his labors, whether engaged in contemplating the nature of spirits, in watching the heavens, or in the elaboration of the _quinta essentia_, the final essence, with his crucibles. oh! what world-wide hopes, what solemn emotions, what inexpressible tension of soul must accompany these investigations! gold, which rules the world, here falls from the tree of knowledge as a fruit over-ripe into the bosom of the master. and what is gold with all the power it possesses, and all the enjoyment it commands, compared with the ability to control heaven and earth and the spirits of hell, compared with the capacity to summon by the means of lustrations, seals, characters and exorcisms the angels hovering in the higher spheres, or tame to obedience the demons which fill the immensity of space? and what again is this power compared with the pure celestial knowledge to which magic delivers the key? a knowledge as much transcending the wisdom of angels as the son's place in his father's house is superior to a servant's! perchance the magician at this very moment is deeply absorbed in some investigation, and within a hair's breadth of the revelation of some new and dazzling truth. let us consider before we venture to ask admittance. let us pause a moment before this iron-bound door, and recover our breath. ye men of science in this nineteenth century, how miserable you would be had you not once for all determined to limit your hopes to a minimum! to die when you have gleaned and contributed but a single straw to the harvest of science, is the fate to which you subject yourselves. the one among you who has brought to notice a hitherto unknown snail or flower, deems himself not to have lived in vain. to have discovered a formula under which a group of phenomena can be arranged, is already a triumph. this resignation which makes each one among you, even the greatest, only an insignificant detail-worker upon the immense labor whose completion you contemplate at an infinite remove, and the very outlines of which you ignore,--this resignation is sublime, though supremely painful to the aspiring soul. the individual laborer for his part abstains from all hope of seeing the whole truth, and works for his generation and futurity. even the philosopher who undertakes to explain the framework of the macrocosm, does not see in his system a final solution of the "problem of cosmical explanation," but only a link in the long chain of development. he foresees the fall of his theories, satisfied, perhaps, if the traces of his error keep his successor on a straighter path. it is the race and not the individual which works in your work; which continues it when you have grown weary and been forgotten. it is a collective activity like that of ants and bees. but the magician stands alone! to be sure he receives what the past may offer,--but only to enclose himself with this treasure, and improve it by the immense wealth of his own mind. he believes in this immensity. he believes that the powers of all the generations are stored up in the bosom of the individual, and he hopes to accomplish alone what you faint-heartedly leave to the multitude of incalculable centuries! * * * * * we knocked upon the door ponderous with its bolts of iron. it opened as by an unseen hand. no servant interposed either welcome or remonstrance as we mounted the dark spiral stairs. unannounced we entered the hall of the great magician. along the arched ceiling of the rooms whose green lead-fastened window panes admitted but a scanty light, floated a fragrant vapor from the cell in the extreme background, where we could see the magician himself clad in a snow-white mantle reaching to his feet, and standing solemnly beside an incense-altar. upon his head he wore a diadem on which was engraved the unspeakable name, _tetragrammaton_, and in his hand he held a metallic plate which, as we soon learned, was made of electrum and signed with the signatures of coming centuries. we paused and stammered a word of excuse for the interruption we had caused him. a smile of satisfaction broke upon his face when he had momentarily surveyed us, and he bade us welcome. "you are the very persons whose arrival i have been expecting, and whom it has cost me much trouble to summon," he said. "you are the spirits of the nineteenth century, conjured to appear before a man of the fifteenth. you are called from the ante-chambers where the souls of the unborn await their entrance upon earth. but the images of the century to which your future mortal life belongs dwell in the depths of your consciousness. these images you shall show me. it is for this that i have summoned you, for i wish to cast a glance into the future." i was seized with a strange, almost horrid feeling. i now remembered that i and my companions had transported ourselves, by the use of means which stirs up the entire reproductive forces of the imagination, from the actual nineteenth century, back to the long-past fifteenth, that we might see it live before our eyes, not in dissevered traits as a past age is wont to be preserved in books, but in the completeness of its own multi-formity. who was right, the magician or myself? which was the one only seemingly living, he or i? at what hour did the hand on the clock of time point at that moment? granted that time is absolutely nothing but a conceptual form without independent reality; as long as i live in time i believe in its ordered course, and do not wish to see its golden thread entangled. i did not wish that the spirit which i had summoned should be my master and degrade me to a product of his own imagination. i summoned courage and exclaimed:-- "we have wandered through many cities, great magician, to find you. we finally stand in this your sanctuary. we see these gloomy gothic arches over our heads; we see your venerable figure before us; we behold these folios and strange instruments which surround you; we look out through these windows and behold on one side towers and house-tops, on the other fields, meadows and the huts of serfs, and yonder in the distance the castle of a knight who is suspected of night-attacks upon the trains of the merchants as they approach the city. all these things stand real and present before our eyes: but, nevertheless, great magician, it is all, yourself included, a product of _our_ magic, of the power of our own imagination, not of _your_ magic. it is in order to make some acquaintance with the latter that we are come. it is not we who are to answer your questions, but you ours." the magician smiled. he persisted in his view, and i in mine. the contested question could not be decided, and it was laid aside. but along with my consciousness of belonging to a period of critical activity, my doubts had awakened--my vivid hope a moment ago of finding in magic the key of all secrets, was fast fading away. i looked around in this home of the magician. on his writing-desk lay a parchment on which he had commenced to write down the horoscope of the following year. beside the desk was a celestial globe with figures painted in various colors. in a window looking towards the south hung an astrolabe, to whose alidade a long telescope (of course without lenses) was attached. the book-case contained a not inconsiderable number of folios: versio vulgata, some volumes of the fathers, virgil, dionysius areopagita, ptolemy, the hymns of orpheus, hermes trismegistus, jamblichus, pliny's natural history, a large number of works partly in arabic upon astrology and alchemy, also a few hebrew manuscripts, and so on. these and other such things were to be found in his observatory, which was also his studio and sleeping-room. next to the observatory was the alchemical laboratory with a strangely appointed oven filled with singular instruments reminding me again of faust's complaint:-- =ihr instrumente freilich spottet mein, mit rad und kämmen, walz und bügel. ich stand am thor, ihr solltet schlüssel sein; zwar euer bart ist kraus, doch hebt ihr nicht die riegel.= while we lingered here our host informed us that for the present he had suspended his experiments in alchemy. he hoped to find his _quinta essentia_ by a shorter process than the combination of substances and distillation, which had exhausted already so many investigators and led so few to success. he acknowledged that he had himself advanced no farther in the art of the adepts than the extraction from "philosophic earth" mixed with "philosophic water" of just so much, and no more, gold than he had employed at the beginning of the experiment.[ ] in spite of this, however, he worked daily before his oven, melting and purifying such metals as he needed for his planet-medallions, amulets and magical rings, and above all in preparing that effective alloy which is called electrum. from his laboratory our host conducted us into two other apartments with arched ceilings, forming a sort of museum of most extraordinary curiosities,--skeletons and dried limbs of various animals: fishes, birds, lizards, frogs, snakes, etc.; herbs and differently colored stones; whole and broken swords; nails extracted from coffins and gallows; flasks containing i know not what,--all arranged in groups under the signs of the different planets. we beheld before us the wonderful and rich apparatus of practical magic arranged according to rules of which we were entirely ignorant,--rules which we had vainly sought in all the treatises of modern times upon the occult sciences of the middle ages, rules which might perhaps contain the simple principles underlying their confusion. evening was drawing on. the sun was sinking behind the western hills. it was beginning to grow dark among the arches where the great magician had imprisoned himself among dead and withered relics,--fragments broken from the great and living world without. we returned to his observatory. he opened a window and contemplated with dreamy glances the stars which were kindling one after another in the heavens. the twilight is a favorable time for conversation of the kind for which we had been preparing ourselves. we were soon settled in comfortable, roomy arm-chairs and discoursing earnestly,--we, the man of the fifteenth century, and the unborn souls of the nineteenth, whom he had summoned that he might look into the future, and who now used him to look back into the past. he spoke to us of his science.... "my knowledge is not of myself. far, far away behind these hills, behind the snowy summits of the alps, behind the mountains of the 'farthest-dwelling garamantes,' on nameless heights which disappear among the clouds, the temple of truth was built long ago over the fountain from which life flows. that this temple is demolished we well know; only the first human pair has wandered through its sacred halls. but he who desires, who yearns and has patience, can sit down by the margin of the stream of time and grasp and draw ashore some of the cedar-beams from the ruined temple drifting upon the billows, and from the form of the fragments may determine the structure of the whole. all wisdom has its roots in the past, and the farther we penetrate antiquity, the richer the remains we find of a highest human wisdom. what is albertus magnus with his profound knowledge in comparison with the angelic wisdom of dionysius areopagita, and what is the latter compared with that of the prophet who denounced his woes over nineveh and babylon? and yet these divinely commissioned men would gladly have been taught by the seventy elders who were allowed with moses to approach the mountain where god chose to reveal himself, there receiving the mystic knowledge of the cabala. on sinai, however, god's secret was veiled in clouds, lightnings and terror; moses himself was permitted to see him only 'from behind'--did not obtain a morning-knowledge (a knowledge _a priori_, an analogy-seeking pupil of schelling would have called it), but an evening-knowledge (knowledge _a posteriori_, he would have added). the morning-knowledge was shown only to the man of the dawn of time and was extinguished at the first sin. from that time every successive generation has deteriorated from its predecessor: "'_aetas parentum, pejor avis, tulit nos nequiores, mox daturos progeniem vitiosiorem_,' and with the darkness of sin reason is plunged into constantly blacker depths. the individual seeker after truth may gain enlightenment, but for himself alone, not for humanity. therefore a magician confines the wisdom he acquires to his own bosom, or imparts it to a single pupil, or buries it under obscure expressions which he commits to parchment; but he neither can nor will impart it without reserve to humanity whose path appears to lead downward into a constantly deeper night. "even the theologians speak of the pristine wisdom,--the theologians with whom we, who practice the occult science, agree far more than the simple and suspicious among them think. what remained, in the time of noah, of pristine wisdom was saved with him in the ark. his first-born obtained as his portion the fairest wisdom. prophecy, the cabala, and the gospel belong to the sons of shem, the jews. but even ham and japhet were not left destitute. it was the priest of the sons of ham that guarded the secrets of isis,--secrets before which even we christians must bow in the dust; for the old testament does not hesitate to exalt the wisdom of the egyptians and recognize moses as a pupil from their school. hermes trismegistus was an egyptian, and we magicians who know that he transmuted whatever he chose into gold and precious stones, are not astonished when the apostle paul speaks of the treasures of egypt, or at what travellers relate of its pyramids and other giant works, or when pliny estimates the number of its cities at twenty thousand, or when marcellinus is amazed at the immense treasures which cambyses carried away from it, for all this was a creation of the art of hermes trismegistus.[ ] even the portion of the children of japhet was not insignificant. it was divided between the treasury of zoroaster and that of the eleusinian mysteries. some coins of this treasure fell into the hands of plato and aristotle and have from them come into the possession of porphyrius, jamblichus, and the theosophists and scholastics. it is this diffused illumination--that of the bible (its inner, secret meaning) the cabala and fragments of egyptian, persian and grecian wisdom--which are collected and united in the magic of learning. these are the ancestors of my science. has it not a pedigree more noble than that of any royal family? "i heard you mention something about the necessity for a science of investigation without presupposition. would you then really presume to be the judge of all that past generations have thought, believed and transmitted as a sacred inheritance to those that follow? do you not shrink before the idea that human hunger for truth must have been satisfied from adam to our own days by nothing but illusions? that you are the children and children's children of mere idiots who have fixed their hopes, their faith, and their convictions on baseless falsehoods? put your godless plan of investigation to the test! do it openly, and the theologians will burn you! do it in secret, and you will finally crave the stake as a liberator from the terrible void such a science would leave in your own soul! no, the magician believes just as devoutly as the theologian. only in the mellow twilight of faith can he undertake those operations whose success is a confirmation of the truth of his faith. or do you require stronger corroboration of the genuineness of his tenets than what i find when i read in these stars which wander silently past my window, the fates of men, and see these fates accomplished; when, with the potency of magical means, i summon angels, and demons, and the souls of dead and unborn men to reveal themselves before my eyes, and they appear? "i confess that our science, if it is looked at only on the surface, resembles a variegated carpet with artfully interwoven threads; but as only a limited number of manipulations is required to produce the most remarkable texture, so it is also but a few simple thoughts which support all the doctrines and products of magic. "that the universe is a triple harmony, as the godhead is a trinity, you are aware. we live in the elemental world; over our head the celestial space, with its various spheres, revolves; and above this, finally, god is enthroned in the purely spiritual world of ideas. the unhappy scientists of your century have in their narrow prejudice separated these worlds from one another (but by crowding together the celestial and the elementary). your so-called students of nature investigate only the elementary world, and your so-called philosophers only the ideal; but the former with all their delving in the various forms of matter, never reach the realm of the spiritual, but are rather led to disavow its existence; and the latter can never from the dim world of ideas summon up the concrete wealth of nature. in vain your students of nature imagine that in physiology, or your philosophers that in anthropology, they shall find the transition from one world to the other. we magicians, on the contrary, study these worlds as a unit. we find them combined by two mighty bonds: those of correspondence and causality. all things in the elementary world have their antitype in the celestial, and all celestial things have their corresponding ideas. these correspondences are strung from above downwards as strings on the harp of the universe, and on that harp the causalities move up and down like the fingers of a player. while your students of nature seek the chains of causality in only one direction, the horizontal, that which runs through things on the same level, that which connects things in one and the same elementary world; we, the students of magic, search with still greater diligence those perpendicular chains of causality which run through and combine corresponding objects in the three worlds. our manner of investigating this perpendicular series resembles your method of examining the horizontal but slightly, if at all. what unnecessary trouble your induction causes you! you wish to investigate the nature of some manifestation of force, for instance; you analyze it with great painstaking into different factors, you strive to isolate each of these factors and to cause them to act each its own part, to find out what each has contributed to the common expression of force. we meet with no such hindrances. a secret tradition has presented to us our perpendicular lines of causality almost entire, and we are able to fill up the lacunæ of this tradition by an investigation which is not impeded with any great difficulties. this investigation relies on the resemblances of things, for this similarity is derived from a correspondence, and causality is interwoven with correspondence. thus, for instance, we judge from the resemblance between the splendor of gold and that of the sun that gold has its celestial correspondence in that luminary, and sustains to it a causal relation. another example: the two-horned beetle bears a causal relation to the moon, which at its increase and wane is also two-horned; and if there were any doubt of this intimate relation between them, it must vanish when we learn that the beetle hides its eggs in the earth for the space of twenty-eight days, or just so long time as is required for the moon to pass through the zodiac, but digs them up again on the twenty-ninth, when the moon is in conjunction with the sun.[ ] do not smile at this method of investigation! beware of repeating the mistake which 'common sense' is so prone to make in seeing absurdities in truths which happen to be beyond its horizon? our method is founded on the idea that there is nothing casual in nature. to be sure we accept a divine arbitrament, but by no means a natural fortuity. not even the slightest similarity between existing objects is a meaningless accident! not even the slightest stroke in the figures by which we fix our words and thoughts in writing is without deep significance. every thing in the work of nature and of man has its cause and its effect. we can not make a gesture, nor say a word, without imparting vibrations to the whole universe, upward and downward,--vibrations which may be strong or feeble, perceptible or imperceptible. this principle runs through the whole of our cosmical system, and this thought must be true even for you analyzers. "before explaining more fully the magical use of our series of correspondence and causality, i wish to show you a couple of them. i shall choose the simplest, but at the same time the most important. i commence with the scale of the holy tetrad. (table i.) _from which is found the correspondences to the four elements._ ------------------------------------------------------------------------ | | god's name | [hebrew] |(jehovah) in | |four letters. |------------------------------------------------------------ the |seraphim,|dominions,|principali- |saints, |the four world |cherubim,| powers, | ties, | martyrs, |triplicities of | thrones | empires | archangels,| confessors|of the archetypes | | | angels | |celestial and | | | | |hierarchy. bliss |---------+----------+------------+-----------+-------------- |michael |raphael |gabriel |uriel |four angels, | | | | |guardians of | | | | |the four card. | | | | |points. |---------+----------+------------+-----------+-------------- |seraph |cherub |tharsis |ariel |angels | | | | |presiding over | | | | |the elements. ======================================================================== |aries, |gemini, |cancer, |taurus, |the four | leo, | libra, | scorpio, | virgo, |triplicities | sagit- | aquarius | pisces | capra |of the zodiac. the | tarius | | | | celestial |---------+----------+------------+-----------+-------------- world |mars, |jupiter, |saturn, |fixed |the stars and | sun | venus | mercury | stars, |planets as | | | | moon |related to the | | | | |elements. |---------+----------+------------+-----------+-------------- |light |transpar- |activity |firmness |four qualities | | ency | | |of the | | | | |celestial | | | | |elements. ======================================================================== |fire |air |water |earth |the four | | | | |elements. |---------+----------+------------+-----------+-------------- |warmth |humidity |coldness |aridity |the four | | | | |qualities of | | | | |the elements. |---------+----------+------------+-----------+-------------- |summer |spring |winter |autumn |the four | | | | |seasons. |---------+----------+------------+-----------+-------------- |east |west |north |south |the four card. | | | | |points. the |---------+----------+------------+-----------+-------------- elementary |animals |herbs |metals |stones |four kinds of | | | | |mixed bodies. world |---------+----------+------------+-----------+-------------- |walking |flying |swimming |crawling |four kinds of | | | | |animals. |---------+----------+------------+-----------+-------------- |germ |flower |leaves |root |the parts of | | | | |the plants as | | | | |related to the | | | | |elements. |---------+----------+------------+-----------+-------------- |gold, |copper, |quicksilver |lead, |metals | iron | tin | | silver |corresponding | | | | |to the | | | | |elements. |---------+----------+------------+-----------+-------------- |shining |light and |clear and |heavy and |stones | and | trans- | hard | opaque |corresponding |burning | parent | | |to the | | | | |elements. ======================================================================== |faith |science |opinion |experience |four | | | | |principles of microcosmos| | | | |judging. |---------+----------+------------+-----------+-------------- |choleric |sanguinic |phlegmatic |melancholic|temperaments. ======================================================================== |samael |azazael |azael |mehazael |princes of the | | | | |evil spirits | | | | |raging in the | | | | |elements. hell |---------+----------+------------+-----------+-------------- |oriens |paymon |egyn |amaimon |the demons | | | | |presiding over | | | | |the four card. | | | | |points. "here you see one of the nets which magic has stretched from the empyrean down into the abyss. for each of the sacred numbers there is a separate scale of the same kind: 'the universe,' says pythagoras, 'is founded upon numbers,' and boethius asserts that 'every thing created in the beginning of time was formed according to the relations of certain numbers, which were lying as types in the mind of the creator.' it is consequently a settled fact with us that numbers contain greater and more effective forces than material things; for the former are not a mixture of substances, but may, as purely formal entities, stand in immediate connection with the ideas of divine reason. this is recognized also by the fathers: by hieronymus, augustine, ambrosius, athanasius, bede, and others, and underlies these words in the book of revelation: 'let him who hath understanding count the number of the beast.' those varied and relatively discordant objects which form a unity in the same world, are arranged side by side in the scale; whereas those things which in different groups or different worlds correspond to one another, form the ascending and descending series. "do not forget that correspondence also implies reciprocal activity! thus, for instance, the letter [hebrew] in the holy name of god indicates a power which is infused into the successive orders of seraphim, cherubim and thrones, and which is imparted through them to the constellations leo and sagittarius, and to the two wandering luminaries mars and the sun. these angels and stars all pour down into the elementary world the abundance of their power, which produces there fire and heat, and the germs of animal organisms, and kindles in man reason and faith, in order to meet finally in the lowest region, its opposites: cold, destruction, irrationality, unbelief, represented by the names of fallen angel-princes. i will now show you another table which is an introduction to the study of astrology and treats more in detail of certain parts of the preceding, showing how things in the elementary world and microcosm are subject to the planets. in showing this to you i will remind you of the verse: '_astra regunt hominem; sed regit astra deus._' (_the stars guide man; but god guides the stars._) (table ii.) +-------------------------------------------------------------- | moon. | mercury. | venus. | sun. | mars. | ---------+------------+------------+----------+------------+-----------+ elements.|earth, |water. |air, |fire. |fire. | | water. | | water. | | | ---------+------------+------------+----------+------------+-----------+ micro- |white |mixed |slimy |blood and |acid | cosmos. | juices. | juices. | juices. | vital | juices. | | | | | power. | | ---------+------------+------------+----------+------------+-----------+ animals. |sociable |cunning |beautiful |bold and |beasts of | | and | and | with | courageous.| prey. | | changeable.| rapid. | strong | | | | | | sexual | | | | | | instinct.| | | ---------+------------+------------+----------+------------+-----------+ plants. |selenotrope,|little |spices and|pine, |burning, | | palm, | short | fruit- | laurel, | poisonous,| | hyssop, | leaves and | trees. | vine, | and | | rosemary, | many | | heliotrope,| stinging. | | etc. | colored | | lotus, etc.| | | | flowers. | | | | ---------+------------+------------+----------+------------+-----------+ metals. |silver. |quicksilver,|silver. |gold. |iron and | | | tin, | | | sulphuric | | | bismuth. | | | metals. | ---------+------------+------------+----------+------------+-----------+ stones. |all white |many |carnelian,|topaz, ruby,|diamond, | | stones | colored. | lazuli, | carbuncle, | jasper, | | and pearls.| | etc. | etc. | amethyst, | | | | | | magnet. | ----------------------- | jupiter. | saturn. +----------+----------- |air. |earth, | | water. +----------+----------- |vegetative|gall. | juices. | | | +----------+----------- |sagacious |crawling | and | and | gentle. | nocturnal. | | | | +----------+----------- |oak, |cypress and | beech, | those of a | poplar, | gloomy | cereals, | aspect or | etc. | foul odor. | | +----------+----------- |gold, |lead. | silver, | | tin. | +----------+----------- |green and |onyx and | air- | all brown | colored. | clays. | | "the value of these, as of many other tables, will be clear to you when i now pronounce the first practical principle of magic:-- "_as the creator of the universe diffuses upon us, by angels, stars, elements, animals, plants, metals and stones, the powers of his omnipotence, so also the magician, by collecting those objects in the elemental world which bear a relation of mutual activity to the same entity (an angel or a planet) in the higher worlds, and by combining their powers according to scientific rules, and intensifying them by means of sacred and religious ceremonies, is able to influence this higher being and attract to himself its powers._ "this principle sufficiently explains why i have collected around me all the strange things you here see. here, for instance, is a plate of lead on which is engraved the symbol of a planet; and beside it a leaden flask containing gall. if i now take a piece of fine onyx marked with the same planet-symbol, and this dried cypress-branch, and add to them the skin of a snake and the feather of an owl, you will need but to look into one of the tables given you to find that i have only collected various things in the elementary world which bear a relation of mutual activity to saturn; and, if rightly combined, can attract both the powers of that planet, and of the angels with which it is connected. "the greatest effect of magic--at the same time its triumph, and the criterion of its truth--is a successful incantation. shall we perform one? if we go through all the necessary preparations, we shall have a bird's-eye view of the whole secret science. only certain alchemists have a still greater end in view; they aspire to produce in the retort man himself,--nay, the whole world. you men of the nineteenth century know only by reputation of our attempts to produce an _homunculus_, and _a perpetuum mobile naturæ_. could you only count the drops of perspiration these efforts have wrung from us! there is something enchanting, something overpowering, in alchemy. it is gigantic in its aims, and in its depths dwells a thought which is terrible, because it threatens to crush that very cosmic philosophy on which our faith is founded. we occupy ourselves with the elements, until the idea steals upon us that every thing is dependent on them; that every thing, creator and created, is included in them; that every thing arises by necessity and passes away by necessity. if you can only collect in the crucible those elements and life-germs which were stirring in chaos, then you can also produce, in the crucible, the six days of creation, and find the spirit which formed the universe. i have abandoned alchemy only to escape this thought; but a parchment will, sealed with seven seals, and hidden in the most secret corner of my vaults, contains the remarkable experiences i have had when experimenting for the _perpetuum mobile_ and _homunculus_.[ ] "but to the preparations for our conjuration! first we are met with the question: is the hour favorable? do the aspects oppose? aspect is the relative position of two planets to each other. every calendar from the centuries which lie between you and me speaks of these aspects: of the conjunction of the planets (when they are on the same meridian, and consequently separated by no angular distance); their opposition (when in a directly opposite part of the heavens); their quadrature (distance of °), trigon ( °), and hexagon ( °). if the blood-red mars, or the pale saturn stand in quadrature or in opposition to one another, or to any of the other wandering stars, this portends destruction. but to-day both these planets are harmless; the aspects are good, and mars itself being in the first 'face' of its own house,[ ] is consequently even kindly disposed. even the moon, whose assistance is needed, is in the house of a friendly star, and in a favorable quadrature to jupiter. here we meet consequently with no hindrances. it remains, however, on the side of astrology to find out what planets are the regents of the present year. in other words, what planets form the first aspect of the year. look here in my calendarium. mars was one of them. this suits us all the better as to-day is tuesday, mars' own day, and as the hour will soon be here which, on this day, he presides over absolutely.[ ] it is therefore of importance that we use in our incantation the martial part of my magical apparatus. among the elements fire is martial. we shall therefore kindle a fire upon this altar. among the planets, the thorny, poisonous and nettle-like are martial. we shall therefore feed this fire with dry twigs and rose-bushes. among the animals the ferocious and bold are connected with the blood-red star. here you see three belts of lion's hide fringed with the teeth of tigers, leopards and bears, and provided with clasps of iron, because iron is the martial metal. let us fasten those belts, when the time has arrived, about our waists. among the stones the diamond, amethyst, jasper and magnet are martial. i show you here three diadems which, though of pure iron, sparkle with these stones, and are furnished with the signs and signatures of our planet. here you have three iron staves marked with the same signs: we must bear them in our hands. these breast-plates studded with amethysts, whose hebrew inscriptions and characters refer to the same stars, we must wear over our hearts on the outside of the white clothing which we shall put on before our incantation begins. here again you will notice three diamond rings: we shall wear them on our middle finger during the solemn and awful moment for which we are preparing. these two bells we place on the table; one of a reddish alloy and furnished with iron rings, summons the martial spirit hither, the other made of _electrum magicum_ (_i. e._, a proportional alloy of all metals with some astral tincture added), serves to call celestial reserve-forces of all kinds, if needed. further, we require these breast-plates and these rings of electrum, which do not bear the name of any planet, but the glorious and blessed name of god himself, as a protection for the conjurers against the conjured spirit. who he is we shall soon find. observe here, further, a terrible arsenal which is also necessary for our purpose. mars is the star of war, murder and passion. the demons of mars have a corresponding nature, and there exists between them and the tools by which their work on earth is accomplished, a power of attraction. therefore we have here this heavy sword with which the magic circle is to be drawn; we therefore place in rows these skulls and bones which have been collected in places of execution, these nails, extracted from gallows, these daggers, knives and axes rusty with stains of blood. we must not forget the incense which was kindled on the altar shortly before the first citation. there is a different kind of incense for every planet and its demons. that appropriate for mars is composed of euphorbia, bdellium, ammoniac, magnet, sulphur, brains of a raven, human blood and the blood of a _black_ cat.[ ] it is highly important that the quality of this incense should be genuine. i might quote what porphyrius says upon this point; but confine myself to pointing out that it has an influence on the conjurer as well as upon surrounding objects. it saturates both the air and the breast of the conjurer with substances that are connected with the planet and its demons. it draws down the conjured being and intoxicates him, as it were, with divine influences, which act on his mind and imagination. as a matter of course we must prepare besides, such implements as are needed in every incantation without bearing any relation to any certain planet. to them belong amulets inscribed with the names of seraphs, cherubs and thrones, and with sentences from the bible and the sacred books of zoroaster. to them belong further the magical candlestick of electrum with seven branches, every branch bearing the sign of a planet; and above all the pentagrams, those figures with fine points which no demon can overstep. we shall place the latter as a line of fortification around the magic circle, and we must be sure that no one of the points is broken. inside the circle between the table, the seven-armed candlestick and the incense-altar there is room for the tripod with the bowl of holy water and the sprinkler. "having thus made the necessary preparations for our feast, let us think of the guest who is to be invited. "the air of the evening is cool. i close the window, move my study lamp to this table, and ask you to be seated around it. we must consult concerning the invitation, in which we must follow the directions given in this cabalistic manuscript. "you have found from the table i first showed you that it is the orders of seraphim, cherubim and thrones which are related by a reciprocal activity to mars. but these three orders constitute the highest celestial hierarchy, which remain constantly in the presence of god and must not be summoned hither even if we were able to do so. we may only implore their assistance. the orders of dominions, powers and empires are the only intelligences connected with the stars. among them we must address ourselves to the spirits of mars, since mars is the regent of this year, this day and of the intended incantation. the choice between the _good_ and the _evil_ spirits ruled by mars is still open; but since it is not our purpose to invoke by supplication but to compel by conjuration, we must choose the wicked. this is no sin: it is only danger. it gives joy to the good angels to see the power of god's image over their adversaries. but we can not force the whole host of mars' demons to appear in our circle. we must select _one only_ among their legion and this one must be well chosen. it is therefore necessary to know his name, for with spirits, far more than men and terrestrial things, the name implies the essence and the qualities of the named. the cabala teaches us the infinite significance of words and names. it proclaims and demonstrates the mysteries which dwell in all the holy names of god; it reveals to us the mysteries in the appellations of angels; it shows us that even the names of men are intimately related to the place in creation and the temporal destiny of those who bear them. even names of material things show, though less distinctly, a connection between the sound and the thing itself or its nature. who can hear, for instance, the words _wind_, or _swing_, without perceiving in the very sound something airy or oscillating? who can hear _stand_, and _strong_, without perception of something stable and firm? "let us hasten to find the name of the demon who is to be summoned. astrology as well as the cabala gives various methods for this purpose.[ ] let us choose the simplest, which is perhaps also the most efficient. "i must commence our work by pointing out the significance of number . to this number correspond the seventy-two languages, the seventy-two elders of the synagogue, the seventy-two interpreters of the old testament and the seventy-two disciples of our lord. this number is also closely connected with the sacred number twelve. if the twelve signs of the zodiac are divided into six parts, we obtain the seventy-two so-called celestial quinaries, into which the seventy-two mystical names of god, his '_schemhamphoras_,' infuse their power and which are each of them presided over by an angel-prince. the same number also corresponds to the joints of the human frame; and there are many other correspondences. "well, while the cabalists were searching out the sacred inner meaning of the bible; while they proceeded slowly, starting with the 'in the beginning,' and stopping at every word, every letter, and found in every word and every letter a mine of secrets,[ ] they finally, after the lapse of centuries, came as far as to the th verse in the th chapter of exodus, commencing: 'and the angel of god, which went before the camp of israel arose.' the cabalistical rule which says wherever, in the bible, an angel is spoken of, there is also the name of an angel hidden among the hebrew letters of the verse, admonished them to pause and consider. they had at first no idea of the extraordinary discovery they were now on the point of making. but their attention was attracted by the fact that there were seventy-two letters in the verse (in the hebrew text). still more surprised were they when they found that even the following verse, the th, contained exactly seventy-two letters; and then surprise grew into awe when even the st verse showed the same number. in the bible there is no fortuity: a great secret was hidden here. finally, by placing the three verses, letter by letter (the middle verse written from left to right, the others conversely), above one another, god's seventy-two mystical names '_schemhamphoras_' each consisting of three letters, from the three verses, was discovered. these names, provided with the suffix _el_ or _jah_, are also the names of the seventy-two quinary angels, of which god has said that his name is in them. "here in this cabalistic manuscript these names are preserved. let us select one of them at random. my eye happens to fall upon _mizrael_ first. we will take that. this high name of an angel which we may not invoke, will give us the key to the name of the demon which is to appear presently. here is the table that will help us. the three root-consonants of the word _mizra(el)_ correspond to three others in the planet mars, which contain the name--let us pronounce it silently, let us merely whisper it, for it is the name of the desired demon--_tekfael_![ ] "the sum of the numerical value of the letters in this name is . a remarkable number, every figure reminding us of the mystical _four_, of the elements and of their correspondences! we shall commune with one of the mightiest and most terrible among the demons. on the waxen tablet with an iron frame, i now inscribe the name of the demon, adding the number , and these peculiar strokes which make up his signature. time does not allow me to tell you now the rules by which the signature is formed from the name.[ ] "the preparations are now completed, it only remains to order the apparatus, and to array ourselves. when we have put our implements in order, consecrated the room, cleansed ourselves by a bath, put on the white robe, wrapped a red mantle around (for red is the color of mars), buckled the girdle of mars about our waists, assumed the diadem, the breast-plates and the rings, i kindle on the altar my magical light, and the fire for incense, and draw the magical circle. then an intense prayer for the protection of god, then the incantation. "here is the conjuration-book, the so-called conjurer of hell. i open at the page on which the martial incantations begin. the book is placed within the circle. when needed, i grasp it with the left hand; i hold the staff with my right."... the gothic room in which the incantation was to take place, presented a strange and at the same time solemn and awful aspect. the magician had arranged with practiced hand the things before mentioned. the skulls, the bones of men and beasts, the murderous weapons and the martial essence-flasks, the various and indescribable fragments from all the kingdoms of nature formed, nearest to the walls, different figures, triangles, squares and pentagons. red drapery was hung over the naked walls. in the midst of the room and inside the circularly arranged pentagram were the fire and incense-altar with holy water. on a table in the rear, but partly within the circle, the magical lights were burning, and diffused an uncertain whitish-yellow light over the objects. near the candlestick were the two bells. we were arrayed in our garments. the face of my companion was pale as death: probably mine also. "courage, fortitude! ... or you are lost!" whispered the magician, whose eye beamed with a dark, solemn determination, and whose every feature expressed at this moment a terrible resolution. these were his last words before the incantation. we were allowed to answer nothing. i tried to be courageous, but my soul was shaken by a dreadful expectation. the prayer and religious ceremonies which we had performed after the bath and change of dress, had not diminished but only intensified this feeling. the night wind shook the windows hidden behind the heavy draperies. it seemed as if ghosts from another world had been lurking behind the gently waving curtains. even the skulls appeared to me to bode from their sunken, vacant eyes, the arrival of something appalling. one of them attracted my attention for a long time, or rather exercised on me the same influence which the eye of the rattle-snake is said to have upon the bird which he approaches to devour. i noticed in the eye a metallic lustre. it was the gleam of the light reflected from a martial stone fastened in the skull. in the mean time the magician had seized the blood-stained sword, and drew, murmuring a prayer the while, a threefold magical circle around the pentagram. between the circumferences he wrote the names of the angels of the year, the season, the day and the hour. towards the east he made the sign of _alpha_, towards the west of _omega_. then he divided the circle by a cross into four fields. he assigned two of them, those behind him, to me and my companions. they were large enough to kneel upon. we were strictly enjoined not to leave them, not to allow even a fold of our mantles to wave outside the circle. forgetfulness in this respect would cost us our lives. the magician put aside his sword in a triangle outside of the circle. he sprinkled himself and us with holy water, read formularies over the incense and the thorn twigs, and kindled them. this was the sign for us to give ourselves to prayer. we must not cease praying until we had heard the first word of the incantation. the incense spread, as it were, a dim transparent veil over the room. here and there it was condensed into strange figures: now human, now fantastic animal shapes arose against the vaulted wall and sank again. there must have been something narcotical in those vapory clouds. i looked at them in a half dreaming state while my lips repeated inaudibly the enjoined prayers. i was aroused from this condition by the first word of the incantation which struck my soul like a thunder-bolt, and awakened me to full consciousness of my position and of the significance of the hour. the blood in my veins seemed changed to ice. the magician stood before me, tall, erect and commanding. he had taken the incantation-book and now read from it with a hollow voice the first citation, which begins with a long formulary invoking the different mystical names of god. i can not repeat the quotation. the highest and the lowest, the divine and the infernal, that for whose sacredness we feel an irrepressible reverence and that for whose impiety we experience the deepest horror, were united here in the most solemn and the most terrible words that human tongue has ever stammered. now first i began to form an idea of the power of words. the name of the demon was not yet uttered. the nearer the moment for its pronunciation approached, the deeper became the voice of the magician. now came the formula of invocation, and now--resounded the name _tekfael_. it appeared as if a thousand-fold but whispering echo from the vault above, from the corners of the room, from all the skulls and from the very incantation-book itself, repeated that name. the magician became silent, the incense was condensed and assumed a reddish tint which gradually became more and more diffused. we seemed to hear the thunder rolling, at first from a distance, then nearer, finally over our heads. it was as if the tower had been shaken and the vault over our heads been rent. my knees trembled. suddenly a flash of lightning shot through the red mass. the magician extended his staff, as if he had wished to stop it. he raised his voice anew, strong and powerful amidst the continued peals of thunder. the smoke grew thin again; from its wreaths there appeared before the magician in the immediate vicinity of the circle, and at the opposite end of his staff, a dim apparition, a figure whose first aspect bereft me of my reason. i felt as if i had fallen to the floor,--as if i had been lost.... i awakened with the perspiration of agony on my forehead, but fortunately in my own bed and in the nineteenth century. the view from my window is cheerful and enlivening. i see a river which bears proud ships, quays swarming with men, and broad streets with houses in a graceful and light _renaissance_ style. i lived again in the present which pleased me the best, next to dreaming of the future.... they strove for something great, however, those learned magicians of the middle ages. theirs was a mighty imaginative creation. it lies in ruins never to arise again; but the crumbled _debris_ testify to the belief in an all-embracing human power and knowledge. these learned magicians were likewise restless faust-natures, as distinct from the usual type of the learned of their time as faust from the pedantic _gloss_-proud, unaspiring milk-sop wagner. while they paid their tribute of weakness to tradition, and formed their system on received dicta, it was among them that presentiments of the future began to stir, and a longing for a clearer light than that with which the scholastics and doctors _angelici et seraphici_ felt themselves well contented. when the study of ancient greece was recommencing, when the dawn of the _renaissance_ appeared, it was these enthusiastic natures, still groping among the dreams of magic art, that first began to awake and think. it was a feeling of the insufficiency of the ruling theology and scholasticism which had driven them into the temple of "secret philosophy." since its pillars were brought from diverse spheres of culture, distrust and fear of magic had become more universal than directly ecclesiastical; they had drunk as deeply from profane tradition as from christian, considering them both to flow from the same divine source: their writers quote porphyrius by the side of john, and the pretender hermes by the side of paul. the courage with which they tried to burst open the portals of the spirit-world served them afterwards when from the shores of their childhood's belief they were to venture out on the ocean of thought. campanella, vanini, giordano bruno, and cardanus stand on the dividing line between dogmatico-fantastical magic and a philosophy in the sense of the old greeks and of modern times. if already previously some magicians of the old type had died from persecution, it was not to be wondered at that such "atheists" as vanini and bruno must now ascend the pile. the occult sciences of the middle ages with their origin not from paradise and noah's ark, as believed by their adherents, but from an ancient oriental culture and with their power over even the strongest and most independent souls that could arise under the influence of a church which levels all thought, may properly remind those who are willing to forget it, of a sad but incontestable truth: that humanity may embrace during the course of many and long centuries with the most candid faith, and construct with immense labor into a system, dogmas which have been received without questioning, and which contain more of the false than of the true, the great antiquity of which does not give them more claim for validity than is possessed by the error which arose yesterday and vanished to-day. no special divine influence has saved or will save the generations from inheriting the errors less than the acquired truths of their predecessors--no other divine influence, i should say, than the impulse we feel to think for ourselves in order to attain to clearness. iv. the magic of the people and the struggle of the church against it. wherever religious thought divides the empire of the world and humanity into two absolutely opposed powers, a good and an evil, there it also distinguishes two kinds of magic: the divine and the infernal. so with the persians who knew a white and a black magic. so also in the middle ages of christianity. the greeks, on the contrary, knew nothing of this distinction. the world being to them a harmonious whole, both in moral and physical respects, magic was with them only a means of finding out and using the secret powers in the harmonious cosmos; and the wonder-worker who could not be thought of as deriving his powers from an evil source, was undoubtedly a favorite of the gods and an equal with the heroes, not unworthy of statues and temples, if he used his art for the benefit of humanity. for the rest, magical speculation was with the greeks more and more pushed aside by philosophy,--by scepticism and rational investigation, until on account of the nearer contact between europe and asia, after the death of alexander, it began again to exercise its influence, and finally celebrated its triumph in that dualistic form of religion which by the name of christianity took possession of the occident. the struggle which the spirit of orientalism waged on its march through europe, first against the hellenic paganism, and then against the christian paganism which had penetrated into the church itself, has been briefly sketched above. when christianity had spread later among the germanic and slavic nations, there arose a new process of attraction and repulsion between it and the natural religions of the barbarians, the elements of which were partly blended with it and partly repelled by it. the gods were transformed into devils, but their attributes and the festivities in their honor were transferred to the saints. pope gregory the great ordained that the pagan festivities should be changed only gradually to christian, and that they were to be imitated in many respects.[ ] in the time of boniface there were many christian priests in germany who sacrificed to thor and baptized in the name of jesus at the same time. of especial influence on the rapid spread of christianity was the maxim of gregory not to be particular in the choice of proselytes, because hope was to be placed in the better generations of the future. to be allowed to attend divine service, and to be buried in the churchyard, it was only necessary to have the benediction of the priest. gifts to the church, pilgrimages, self-scourgings, repeating of prayers in latin, opened the gates of heaven to the proselytes easier than virtue and bravery those of valhall to the heathen. for the rest the pagan could enter the community of the church while retaining his whole circle of ideas. the church did not deny, but it confirmed, the real existence of every thing which had been the object of his faith, but it treated these objects in accordance with its dualistic scheme, sometimes elevating them to the plane of sanctity, and again degrading them to something diabolical. thus, for instance, it changed the elementary spirits--which the celts and germans believed in--from good or morally indifferent natural beings into fallen angels, envying man his heavenly inheritance; and if a thinking heathen could before accept or reject the existence of such beings at his pleasure, it now, when he had become a proselyte, became a matter of eternal bliss to believe in them. there was no superstitious idea gross enough not to receive the signet of the church; nay, the grosser it was, the more likely was it to be appropriated. even so cultured an intellect as augustine, the most prominent of the fathers and authors of his time, declared it to be "insolent" to doubt the existence of fauns, satyrs and other demoniac beings which lie in wait for women, have intercourse with them and children by them.[ ] thus was laid the foundation of that immense labyrinth of superstition in the darkness of which humanity has groped during the thousand years of the middle ages. in the rupture between the church and the natural religion of the northern peoples we find, in a certain sense, the same spectacle repeated which we have seen in the struggle between the christian and the greco-roman culture. if the neoplatonicians held up their appolonius of tyana as a type of the christian sorcerers, celts, germans and northmen had also their soothsayers endowed with supernatural powers whom the christian missionaries must excel in the power of working miracles, if they would gain consideration for the new religion. there are many accounts of bishops and priests who have worn gloves of fire, walked on white-hot iron, and so forth, before the eyes of the astonished heathen. if the miracles worked by the apostles of christianity had their source in divine agencies, then those performed by its opponents must have their origin in the assistance of the devil. already here the white magic stood opposed to the black magic, the immediate and supernatural power of god in his agents to the devil: and if the chief significance of the church was to be an institution for deliverance from the devil; if all her magical usages from the sacrament to the amulet were so many weapons against his attacks; if the pagan religions which had succumbed to christianity were nothing but varied kinds of the same _devil-worship_, and their priests, seers and physicians but tools of satan; then it was natural for all traditions from the pagan time which the church had not transformed and appropriated should be banished within the pale of devil-worship, and partly also that every act to which supernatural effects were ascribed, but which was not performed by a christian priest, or in the name of jesus, should be referred to a black magic, partly in fine that the possibility of an immediate co-operation, a conscious league between the devil and men should be elevated to a dogma. a struggle between good and evil, between god and satan, between church and paganism, which is carried on with the weapons of miracles by two directly opposed human representatives of these principles, was a theme which must by necessity urge the power of creative imagination into activity, and we find also in one of the oldest monuments of christian literature[ ] a tale of this character. it is simon peter, the rock on which the church is built, who fights there against simon the magician of samaria, mentioned in the acts. when the cities of asia minor had witnessed their emulation in miracle-working, the decisive battle was fought out to the end in rome. in the presence of the assembled people, simon the magician attempts an ascension into heaven, but falls and breaks his legs because simon peter had commanded the evil spirits who were carrying the magician towards the sky to let him drop. this fable appears still further embellished in later ecclesiastical authors. it is soon accompanied by others, such as that of cyprianus, theophilus, militaris, heliodorus, and many others, who from love of earthly glory abjure christ and enter into solemn covenants with the devil. in the biography of the holy basilius, archbishop of cæsarea and cappadocia (he was a contemporary of the apostate emperor julian), there is a story of a young man who had obtained from a heathen sorcerer a letter of recommendation to satan. when the young man, according to the precept of the magician, had gone to a heathen grave and there taken out the letter, he was suddenly taken up and borne to the place where satan, surrounded by his angels, sat on a throne. the youth abjured in writing his baptism and swore allegiance to his new master. but after some time the apostate repented and confessed to the holy basilius what he had done. the bishop prayed for him forty days. when at length the day had come that satan according to the compact should bear away his victim, the bishop had the young man placed in the midst of his congregation. satan arrived: a battle between him and the bishop followed--a battle which was carried on with the people stretching forth their hands imploring god for assistance, and was ended when the compact fell from the claws of the fiend, and was torn by the bishop. the before-mentioned theophilus had likewise pawned his soul to the devil, but the contract was restored to him after urgent supplication, by the holy virgin, after which, warned by his experience, he led a holy life, and became saint theophilus before he closed his eyes. these early legends of compacts between the devil and men end, as we see, with the sinner's salvation; not so the later. if we now remember that it was one of the dogmas proclaimed by the church that all magical and miraculous arts not performed by the priests in the name of jesus were wrought by the devil; that he gives his adherents power over nature and that the demons as "_incubi_" and "_succubi_" seek and obtain carnal intercourse with human beings,[ ] we discover already in the ideas of the first christian centuries the elements of the sorcery of the middle ages. and when we read further the accusations which the first christian sects hurled against one another,--when we learn that the party which was raised by the council of nice to the orthodox position accused the gnostics, marcionites and arians of devil-worship, confederacy with satan and sorcery, we meet already here that union of heresy and sorcery by which the church of the middle ages acquired such a fearful weapon against dissenters,--a union which must not be looked upon as a mere casual invention of wickedness and theological hatred, but as the necessary consequence of the whole dualistic theory of morals, as the necessary fruit of the belief in devils. a long time must have been required for the festivals common to the natural religions of europe to become extinct or be remodelled into christian form. the external practices by which religious ideas obtain a sensuous expression, possess generally more tenacious power of existence than the ideas themselves, and continue in existence when these have disappeared, as the shell after the death of the nautilus. in certain religions of natural development adoration of the sun and the moon are the most important. among the celtic, germanic and slavic tribes, as before among hebrews and phoenicians, these divinities of the light were adored by kindling fires, by sacrifices and banquets on mountains and in groves, especially at the time of the vernal equinox (easter), at the beginning of may (valpurge's night), and on the night of the summer solstice. from the fact that traces of the custom still exist in our own day, though its original significance is lost, we can all the more safely assume that it continued to exist without interruption, openly at first, then in secret, retaining its significance, in spite of the efforts of spiritual and profane authorities to extirpate it, and assuming more and more in the popular mind that character of devil-worship with which the church has branded these reminiscences, from heathen times. and when finally it ceased entirely, or was changed into seasons of popular festivity which had no dangerous suggestiveness even in the eyes of the church, still the remembrance of the demoniacal festivals of mountain and grove must have been inherited from generation to generation, and then it was but another step to believe that they still continued and were participated in by persons who practiced magical arts, and had been invested with the suspicious wisdom of the ancient valas and druids--the female seers and physicians of the pagans. that the notion of the witches' sabbath, which was celebrated on the night before the first of may, and of the paschal journey of the witches to blokulla have this historical origin is very probable. the ecclesiastical literature from the first half of the middle ages does not leave us without significant hints apparently corroborating this opinion. st. egidius, who died in a. d., speaks frequently against the _fire-worship_, practiced during midsummer nights, which as inherited from pagan forefathers was accompanied with dancing, and against the invocation of the sun and moon (which he calls "the demons hercules and diana"), and against worshipping in groves and by trees, springs and crossroads. the apostle of the allemans, st. firminus, who died in a. d., preaches against the same customs, and especially dwells on the pertinacity with which old women adhere to the infernal festivals with their magical songs and dances. modern authors on the subject in question speak of a _synodal decree_ which is said to date back to the council of ancyra in a. d., and which enjoins the bishops especially to watch the godless women who, deceived by the delusions of the demons, imagine that they traverse in the night, in the company of diana and herodias and riding on certain animals, wide tracts of country, and are required to assemble for a certain number of nights by the command of their mistress. but although this synodal decree is spurious and belongs to a far later period and a different locality (it is referred to for the first time in the ninth century, in a work composed by the abbot regino[ ]), it is old enough to deserve our attention here. to the decree is appended a number of questions which the bishops must put to such women in confession. among them are the following, which connect immediately the witch-journey with heathen traditions:-- "have you followed the practice inherited from the heathen of considering the course of the stars, the moon and the eclipses of the new moon? and have you imagined that by the exclamation 'conquer, moon' (_vince, luna_), you could reproduce its light? when you wished to pray, have you resorted to other places than the church, as, for instance, to springs, stones, trees or crossroads? have you there kindled fires and sacrificed bread or aught else?" john of salisbury, who died a. d. , writes of women who, led by a "night-queen," assemble and celebrate banquets at which they most relish children stolen from their cradles. he still supposed that this may not really be a fact, but only demoniacal illusions, phantasmagorial tricks played by the devil, and empty dreams, especially as such things happen among women, and not among men, who possess a stronger reason. the same view of the case is held by william of auvergne, bishop of paris (died a. d. ). but already during the life of this prelate the belief in the reality of witch-feasts was sanctioned by the authority of pope gregory ix., and every doubt in regard to it was declared to be heresy. at the same time the connection between heresy and witchcraft was revived and confirmed by the church, so that all heretics were to be considered as the sworn subjects of the devil, and initiated into sorcery, even though not all sorcerers and witches were necessarily heretics. the church at this time threatened by several newly arisen sects, had recourse to every expedient to uphold its hierarchy and the unity of confession. in the year gregory ix. promulgated a letter which exhorted to a crusade against the stedinghs, a sect which had spread themselves in friesland and lower saxony. he accused them of worshipping and having secret communion with the prince of darkness. according to the papal edict the stedinghs considered the devil as the real and the good deity, expelled by the other and the evil from heaven, but returning thither in the fulness of time, when the usurper on account of his extreme tyranny, cruelty and injustice had made himself hated by the race of men and had finally become convinced of his own incapability and powerlessness. in truth if such a belief had sprung up it would not have been strange. everywhere the power and the influence of the devil was seen, but nowhere god's, if not in the bloody and terrible laws and oppressive social system which were declared by spiritual and profane authorities to be divine. the very theory by which the church sought to save for god his attribute of omnipotence--the theory of consent, according to which the devil exercises such power only by god's permission--this very theory was suited to augment the confusion and the terror. "never," says bunsen,[ ] "has there been a time when a divine and universal government was so much despaired of as in the middle ages." bunsen inclines to the view of the french historian michelet, that from the thirteenth to the fifteenth century, after the waldenses and albigenses in france had been exterminated by romish persecution, and the lower classes had been reduced to serfs, a religion of despair, a real satanic _cultus_ sprang up, and that the witches' sabbath was in fact founded upon nightly congregations, in which thousands of brutalized men driven by misery and oppression gathered themselves together in order to worship the devil and invoke his aid. but there exists no absolutely certain historical fact to prove that such meetings have really taken place. we consider it more probable, as pointed out above, that the witches' sabbath was as it were the lingering twilight, constantly deepening, and constantly painted in more monstrous colors, after the day of the degraded festivals in the religion of nature,--an incubus of imagination which oppressed the bosom of humanity buried in a world of dreams; and that nothing more than the belief in its reality, which the church sanctioned, was necessary to produce the phenomena we describe. the waldenses and the albigenses were treated like the stedinghs. "let the judges know," writes an inquisitor, "that the sorcerers, the witches and the devil-workers are almost all waldenses. the waldenses are by profession, essentially and formally, devil-workers; and though not all conjurers, still conjuration and waldenseism have much in common." the highest authorities of the church constantly nourished that awe of the devil and his tools which filled the mind, and they could do it without scruple, being themselves seized by the same terror. thus john xxii. promulgated, a. d. , two letters, in which he complains that he himself, not less than countless numbers of his sheep, was in danger of his life by the arts of sorcerers who could send devils into mirrors and rings, and make away with men by their words alone. he mentions especially that his enemies have sought to kill him by piercing dolls which they had baptized with his name by needles, invoking the aid of the devil. it is needless to point out what influence such proclamations from christ's vicar, the infallible head of the church, would exercise over the common mind. the dualistic philosophy ripened more and more until that terrible crisis which broke out in the fifteenth century. that crisis was preceded by the trial of the templars and by several great but local witch-processes, with subsequent executions, until finally, dec. th, , the bull of pope innocent viii., "ad forturan rei memoriam," appeared. this bull with its companion, the "witch-hammer" (malleus malificarum), composed by the monk and inquisitor sprenger, brought the evil to its climax. hell was no longer a mere product of the imagination: we see it established on earth in dread reality and stretching its dominion over all christendom. our space does not allow us to reproduce in a literal translation this bull of pope innocent, written in barbarous latin worthy of its subject.[ ] we must, however, give some account of its contents. "the serf of god's serfs" begins by testifying the care which as the guardian of souls he must exercise in promoting the growth of the catholic faith and driving the infamy of heresy far from the proximity of the faithful. "but," he continues, "it is not without profound grief that i have learned recently that persons of both sexes, forgetting their own eternal welfare and erring from the catholic faith, mix with devils, with _incubi_ and _succubi_, and injure by witch songs, conjurations and other shameful practices, revelries, and crimes, the unborn children of women, the young of animals, the harvests of the fields, the grapes of the vineyards and the fruit of the trees; that they also destroy, suffocate and annihilate men, women, sheep and cattle, vineyards, orchards, meadows, and the like; visit men, women, cattle and other animals with internal and external pains and sickness; prevent men from procreation and women from conception, and render them entirely unfit for their mutual duties, and cause them to recant, besides, with sacrilegious lips, the very faith which they have received in baptism."... the pope therefore appoints his beloved sons, the professors of theology henry institor and jacob sprenger, to be prime inquisitors with absolute power over all districts which are contaminated with those diseases; and since he knows that there are persons who are not ashamed to insist upon their perverse assertion that such crimes are only imaginary, and should not be punished, he threatens them, whatever be their position or dignity, with the severest punishments, in case they dare to counteract in any way the inquisitors, or interfere in behalf of the accused. finally, he proclaims that no appeal from the tribunals of the inquisitors to other courts, not even to the pope himself, will be allowed. the inquisitors and their assistants are invested with unlimited power over life and death, and are exhorted to fulfil their commission with zeal and severity. the bull contains no further indications as to how the judges should proceed in the trial of witches. the "witch-hammer" was allowed to establish its own norm of procedure. it is of importance here to give a résumé of the contents of this book, since it became a juridical authority which was followed in all countries, even in the protestant, until after the beginning of the eighteenth century. the spirit of the time can not be better characterized than by this book; in no clearer or more tangible way can it be shown whither supernatural ideas in cosmic philosophy will lead, and how they finally will destroy reason, morality, human feeling, and change the world into a mad-house. the book to which the bull of pope innocent and a diploma from the emperor maximilian serve as a commendatory introduction, begins with an apology intended to show that its author does not introduce any thing novel and untried, but that its theories are entirely founded upon the scriptures. to prove this he quotes passages from the old and new testaments, from the fathers, the decrees of the councils, the canonical letters, from the writings of thomas aquinas, damianus and others. the devil, says the "witch-hammer," has no power indeed to suspend natural laws, but the bible shows incontestably that god has vouchsafed him a wide dominion over the natural powers of corporeal things. witness only the history of job, and the temptation of jesus in the desert. further, the existence of the many demoniacs spoken of in the new testament proves that satan can dwell in man and use the human body as his implement. "but," says the "witch-hammer," constantly aiming to deduce all its conclusions ostensibly according to logic, "there must be no confusion between demoniacs and witches. the existence of the former does not prove the existence of the latter; this must be demonstrated in a different way. and this is the proof: the devil as a spiritual being is not capable of a real corporeal contact. he must therefore make use of an instrument to which he imparts his power; for every bodily effect is produced by contact. these instruments are the sorcerers and the witches. it being then incontestable on the one side that the power of the devil is great, and on the other that he can accomplish nothing without the aid of sorcerers and witches, the necessary conclusion is that these must exist. this conclusion is for the rest most decisively confirmed by the bible. moses ordains that witches should be put to death, a command which would be entirely superfluous if witches had not existed. he who asserts that there are no witches must therefore rightly be accounted a heretic." the "witch-hammer" then broaches the question, why it is that women are especially addicted to sorcery, and answers it as follows: the holy fathers have often said that there are three things which have no moderation in good or evil: _the tongue_, a _priest_, and a _woman_. concerning woman this is evident. all ages have made complaints against her. the wise solomon, who was himself tempted to idolatry by women, has often in his writings given the feminine sex a sad, but true, testimonial; and the holy chrysostom says: "what is woman but an enemy of friendship, an unavoidable punishment, a necessary coil, a natural temptation, a desirable affliction, a constantly flowing source of tears, a wicked work of nature covered with a shining varnish?" already had the first woman entered into a sort of compact with the devil; should not then her daughters do it also? the very word _femina_ (woman) means _one wanting in faith_; for _fe_ means "faith," and _minus_ "less."[ ] since she was formed of a crooked rib, her entire spiritual nature has been distorted and inclined more towards sin than virtue. if we here compare the words of seneca, "woman either loves or hates; there is no third possibility," it is easy to see that when she does not love god she must resort to the opposite extreme and hate him. it is thus clear why women especially are addicted to the practice of sorcery.[ ] it might now be asked: how is it possible that god permits sorcery? the "witch-hammer" answers that god has allowed, without any detriment to his perfections, the fall of angels and of our first parents; and as he formerly sanctioned persecutions against the christians, that the glory of the martyr might be increased, so he also now permits sorcery that the faith of the just may be the more manifest. the crime of the witches exceeds all other. they unite in one person the heretic, the apostate, and the murderer. the "witch-hammer" proves that they are worse than the devil himself, for he has fallen once for all, and christ has not suffered for him. the devil sins therefore only against the creator, but the witch both against the creator and the redeemer. it is with these and similar questions that the first part of the "witch-hammer" is occupied. the second part, describing the various kinds and effects of witchcraft and the celebration of the witches' sabbath is prefaced with an account of the power of witches. they produce hail, thunder and storms whenever they wish; they fly through the air from one place to another; they can make themselves insensible on the rack; they often subdue the judge's mind by charms, and _confuse him through compassion_; they deprive men and animals of reproductive power; they can see the absent, and predict coming events; they can fill, at their pleasure, human hearts with relentless hatred and passionate love; they destroy the foetus in the womb, cause miscarriages, change themselves and others into cats and were-wolfs; nay, they are able to enchant and kill men and beasts by their very looks. their strongest passion is to eat the flesh of children; still they eat only unchristened children: if at any time a baptized child is taken by them, it happens by special divine concession. their compact with the devil is of two kinds: either a solemn one entered into with all formalities, or a mere private contract. the former is concluded as follows: the witches assemble upon a day set apart by the devil. he appears in the assembly, exhorts them to faithfulness, and promises them glory, happiness and long life, and orders the older witches to introduce the novices whom he puts to the test and causes to take the oath of allegiance; whereupon he teaches them to prepare from the limbs of new-born babes witch-potions and witch-salves, and presents them with a powder, instructing them how it is to be used to the injury of men and beasts.[ ] when then the novice has renewed the ceremony of allegiance on the next witch sabbath she is a genuine witch. the children needed for the witches' kettles and the sabbath banquets are obtained as follows: the victims are killed by looks or by the above-mentioned powder, when they lie in their cradle or in bed with their mothers. simple people will then believe that they have died from some natural cause,--from sickness or suffocation. then when buried the witches steal them from the grave. it has happened that judges have opened, after similar confessions, the grave and found the child in it; but in such cases the judge must consider that the devil is a great taskmaster who may have cheated the eyes of the servants of justice, in order to protect his servants, and in such a case the confession of the witch (forced from her by torture) should prove more than the easily deluded vision of the judge. [what a triumph of supernaturalistic argumentation!] the witch accomplishes her aerial voyages, says the "witch-hammer," by smearing a vessel, a broom and a rake, a broomstick and a piece of linen, with the witch-salve; then rising she moves forth through the air, visible or invisible, according to her choice. the "witch-hammer" reminds those who doubt these air-voyages, of matt. iv. , where it is related how the devil carried jesus up through the air to the pinnacle of the temple. we now proceed to the third part of the "witch-hammer," the criminal law of the witch-courts, which gives instructions how "sorcerers, witches and heretics are to be tried before spiritual as well as civil tribunals." in regard to preliminary forms of procedure, the "witch-hammer" lays down first, "that the trial may commence without any previous accusation, and on the strength of a simple report that witches are found somewhere; for it is the duty of the judge in a case fraught with many dangers to the soul, not to wait for an informer or accuser, but, _ex officio_, to institute immediate inquiry." when an inquisitor comes to a city or a village, he must exhort every body by means of proclamations nailed to the doors of churches and town-halls, and by threats of excommunication and punishment, to give information of all persons in any way suspected of the least connection with the practice of witchcraft, or otherwise of bad repute. the informers may be rewarded if the inquisitor thinks it well, by the blessing of the church, and with money. a box to receive the statements of such informers as wish to be unknown should be placed in the church. two or three witnesses are sufficient to prove guilt. in case so many do not present themselves, then the judge may take means to find and summon them, and force them to tell the truth under oath. he has also the right to examine witnesses previous to the actual trial. as for the qualifications necessary to appear as witnesses, the "witch-hammer" declares that the excommunicate, accomplices, outlawed, runaway and dissolute women are irreproachable witnesses in cases where the faith is involved. a witch is allowed to testify against a witch, wife against husband, husband against wife, children against parents and so on, but if the testimonies of accomplices or relatives are to the advantage of the accused, then they are of no validity; _for blood is of course thicker than water_, and one raven does not willingly pick out the eyes of another. the "witch-hammer" allows an accused to have an advocate, but adds: "if the counsellor defends his suspected client too warmly, it is right and reasonable that he should be considered as far more criminal than the sorcerer or the witch herself; that is to say, as the protector of witches and heretics, he is more dangerous than the sorcerer. he should be looked upon with suspicion in the same degree as he makes a zealous defence." but a trial may be difficult enough without being clogged and hampered by a cunning advocate. in order to confuse such a one and ensnare the accused, it is necessary, says the "witch-hammer," that a judge should remember the words of the apostle, "_being crafty i caught you with guile_," and show himself crafty. the "witch-hammer" informs the judge of five "honest and apostolical tricks" (these are the very words of the book); one of them consists in embodying in the copy of the proceedings which is given to the defending lawyer, a number of facts that have not occurred in the trial, and in mixing the names of the witnesses. "by that means the accused and their lawyer may be so confused that they nowise know who has said any thing, or what has been said." among the questions to be put to a person under accusation, the "witch-hammer" recommends a number, the quality of which may be appreciated by reading the following examples: "do you know that people hold you to be a witch? why have you been observed upon the precincts of n. n.? why have you touched n. n.'s child (or cow)? how did it happen that the child (or the cow) soon after fell sick? what was your business outside of your house when the storm broke forth? how can you explain that your cow yields three times as much milk as the cows of others?" sprenger's work gives a detailed account of the treatment to which a person who is accused of sorcery and handed over to the judge must be subjected. before the trial the accused must be put on the rack in order that his mind may be inclined to confession. some, rather than confess their guilt, allow themselves to be torn asunder limb by limb; they are "the worst witches," and their endurance is explained by the supposition "that the devil hardens them against their tortures." others who have been less faithful to him he abandons, and are thus easily induced to confess. "if no confession has been wrung from the witch during the first day"--we quote the "witch-hammer" literally--"the torture is to be continued the second and the third day. the civil law forbids, to be sure, to _repeat_ the torture, when no proof has been adduced, but it may be _continued_." the judge should therefore use the following formula: "we ordain that the torture shall be _continued_ (not _repeated_) to-morrow." the second day the instruments of torture are to be exhibited to the accused, and an attending priest shall read the following adjuration: "i adjure thee, n. n., in the name of the holy trinity, by the bitter tears of jesus christ which he shed upon the cross ... by the tears of god's saints and elect which they have shed over the world ... that, if thou art innocent, thou pour forth immediately abundant tears; but, if thou art guilty, no tears at all. in the name of god our father, the son and the holy ghost. amen." the person thus adjured seldom weeps. but if this should occur, the judge should see that it be not saliva or some other fluid that moistens the eye of the witch. the witch must be led into the court-room backwards, that the judge may see her before she sees him. otherwise she may enchant him and move him to criminal compassion. before the examination of witnesses, the accused must be stripped of all her clothing and have all the hair on her body shaved off, and her limbs must be carefully examined to ascertain if they bear marks, for the devil marks his own. it must be further ascertained by pricking with a needle if any part of the body is devoid of feeling, for that is a sure sign of a witch. still the absence of such a sign nowise proves innocence. if the witch can not be made to confess by any means, then the judge must send her to a distant prison. the janitor, some friend and chaste women are to be persuaded to visit the prisoner, and promise to help her to escape, if she will only inform them of some of her arts. in this way, remarks the author of the "witch-hammer," many a one has been ensnared by us. we conclude here our account of sprenger's dreadful book. the reader has contemplated sufficiently this fruit on the tree of the devil.--it may fill us with loathing to consider it, but its teachings are instructive. may we know the tree from the fruit, and may we tear it up with its roots--with those roots yet so abundantly watered by men who know not what they are doing. the fires which the bull of pope innocent kindled all over europe, threw their weird light far into the times which have been called the modern,--far in the eighteenth century. to count these victims of the stake would be impossible. it is, however, sometimes attempted in our days; archives are searched through and discoveries are made which surpass every anticipation. the victims amount to millions. no age was spared. children were brought to the stake with their mothers. a silent, gloomy presentiment seized every community when the proclamation on the church doors announced that the inquisitor had arrived. all work in the shops and fields ceased, and all the evil passions flared up into greater activity. he who had an open enemy, or suspected secret envy, knew beforehand that he was lost. it was considered better to anticipate than to be anticipated in denouncing; and the tribunal had hardly commenced its activity, ere it was overcrowded with informers. "when they had commenced in one place to burn witches," says an author of the seventeenth century, "more were found in proportion as they were burned." in various communities in germany and france _all_ the women were sent to the stake. in many instances it went so far that princes and potentates were forced, from fear of seeing their subjects exterminated, to stay by _authoritative command_ the madness of the inquisitors. greed brought fuel to the flames which superstition and hatred kindled. we will quote but one example from the history of the scotch witch-processes. a man named hopkins who was sent to the gallows, convicted of murder, confessed there that he had brought two hundred women to the stake, and for a recompense of twenty shillings each,--a sum with which the judge rewarded him. and there was heard in all europe for many centuries not a single voice raised in the effort to stay the murder with weapons of reason or religion! if there was any who did not share the madness of his time, fear paralyzed his tongue, and learning and religion, far from impeding the evil, had yoked themselves to its triumphal ear. with the bible in their hands, the theologians sanctioned these barbarous proceedings, and the learned defended them with reasons drawn from the fathers and with subtle argumentation. the protestant theologians vied with the catholic in learning. even luther and the first reformers did not check, but promoted, the belief in devils. if paganism had been described by the fathers as satan's work and empire, luther referred the preceding life of the church from the beginning of papacy to the same sphere, and changed the whole history of humankind to a diabolical drama. the struggle between the reformation and catholicism contributed in still another way to intensify the faith in devils. the religious contest stirred the mind of the age in its innermost depths. many who occupied middle ground between the reforming preacher on the one hand and the catholic priest on the other, were hesitating between the old and the new, and many consciences which had already embraced the new were agitated by uneasiness and doubt. the catholic divine saw in these doubts the beginning of the victory over satanic error; the protestant theologian declared the same doubts to be inspired by the originator of papacy, the devil. we can appreciate this state of things by reading luther's "tischreden." men terrified, for instance, by a dream or a strange noise in the night (nothing more than this was required for such an effect) hurried to their pastor to lay their troubles before him. they were then informed, on the one hand, that the dream or the voice was caused by the devil, to whom their apostacy had bound them over, or, on the other, that satan was trying to frighten them back into the errors which they had abandoned. in both cases the archfiend was the agent. "he was in the castle of the knight, the palaces of the mighty, the libraries of the learned, on every page of the bible, in the churches, in the halls of justice, in the lawyer's chambers, in the laboratories of physicians and naturalists, in cottages, farmyards, stalls,--everywhere."[ ] he was indeed everywhere, and christendom had become a hell. "the belief in the devil," says a british author,[ ] speaking upon this subject, "had had the effect, that all rational knowledge had disappeared, that all sound philosophy was denounced, that the morality of the people was poisoned and humanity sunk in a whirlpool of folly, godlessness and brutality. all classes were carried away by this whirlpool. the god of nature and revelation had no longer the reins of the world in his hand. the powers of hell and darkness, born of a diseased imagination, reigned upon the earth." * * * * * throwing its gloomy shadow even into the eighteenth century, it was, however, during the middle ages that the belief in sorcery sent down its deep and mighty roots. this is not to be wondered at. the men of the middle ages lived less in the real than in a world of magic, in a world resembling more the paintings of "helvetes-breughels" than the descriptions of armidas isle. the air was saturated with demoniacal vapors. the popular literature consisted of legends of saints and stories about the devil. the church, the general asylum against the devil, saw and taught the people to see everywhere the play of evil powers which must be conquered by magical practices, and amidst ahriman and his hosts who had now established themselves in the occident, and as heirs to the horns and tails of pans and fauns, a crowd of native spirits moved; imps, giants, trolls, forest-spirits, elves and hobgoblins in and on the earth; nicks, river-sprites in the water, fiends in the air, and salamanders in the fire. and to these elementary spirits were added a whole fauna of monsters, such as dragons, griffins, were-wolves, witch-kine, thor's-swine, and so on. but this does not conclude the review: spectres, ghosts, vampires, spirits causing the nightmare, and so on,--supernatural beings derived from the human world, but of dimmer outlines than the preceding,--conclude the motley procession. the mandrake has a place in it also. this being deserves a few lines here, inasmuch as it has now faded from the popular superstitions. the mandragora or alrun[ ] is originally a very rare herb which can hardly be found except below the gallows where a pure youth has been hanged.[ ] he who seeks the herb should know that its lower part has the shape of a human being, and that its upper part consists of broad leaves and yellow flowers. when it is torn from the soil it sighs, shrieks and moans so piteously, that he who hears it must die. to find it one should go out before sunrise on a friday morning, after having filled his ears carefully with cotton, wax or pitch, and bring with him a black dog without one white hair. the sign of the cross must be made three times over the mandrake, and the soil dug up carefully all around it, so that it be attached only by the fine rootlets. it is then tied by a string to the tail of the dog and he is attracted forward by a piece of bread. the dog pulls the plant out of the earth, but falls dead, struck by the terrible shriek of the mandragora. it is then brought home, washed in red wine, wrapped in red and white silk, laid in a shrine, washed again every friday, and dressed in a white frock. the mandragora reveals hidden things and future events, and procures for the owner the friendship of all men. a silver coin deposited with it in the evening is doubled in the morning. still the coin must not be too large in size. if you buy the mandragora it remains with you, throw it wherever you will, until you sell it again. if you keep it till your death you must depart with it to hell. but it can be sold only for a lower price than it was bought. therefore is he who has bought it with the smallest existing coin, irretrievably lost. the being called mandragora was, as we see, a kind of "_spiritus familiaris_." but it appeared in still another form. it happened that adventurers represented themselves as mandragoras, and on account of this mystical origin had gained success at court, having first been spiritually made human by christian baptism. but they lost by baptism their wonder-working power, greatly to their own and others' pecuniary disadvantage. still greater was the number of those adventurers during the middle ages who asserted themselves or others to be the bastards of devils and human beings. but if they led a blameless life, evincing a firm belief in the dogmas of the church, the danger of such a pedigree was not greater than the honor. the son of a fallen angel did not need to bend his head before a man of noble birth. in the demoniacal fauna of the middle ages the were-wolf plays too important a role to be passed over in silence. he was the terror of rural districts. were-wolves are men who change themselves for a time into wolves, and then rove about hunting for children. the belief in the were-wolf is very ancient. antique authors speak of it as a superstition among the scythians, and among shepherds and peasants in the eastern provinces.[ ] then the change was considered to result from certain herbs growing in pontus; in the middle ages it was the devil who wrapped a wolf's hide around the witch or the enchanted person. even this belief was embraced and proclaimed by augustine. augustine,--the same father who declared that he would not believe the gospel if the authority of the church did not exhort him to do so,--found it worthy of a sadducean or a pagan philosopher alone to deny the existence of so well-known a phenomenon as the were-wolf. the emperor sigismund had the question investigated "scientifically" in his presence by theologians, and they came to the general agreement that the were-wolf is "a positive and constant fact"; for the existence of the devil being accepted, there is no reason to deny that of the were-wolf, sup-ported as it is by the authority of the fathers of the church and by general experience.[ ] this "general experience" finally became, like the belief in sorcery, a raging mental disease, an epidemic ("_insama zoanthropica_") infecting whole districts in various parts of europe and sending many insane persons who had confessed before the courts their imagined sin, to the place of execution.[ ] nearly related to this lycanthropy is the more horrible vampirism. the vampires, according to the belief of the middle ages, are disembodied souls which clothe themselves again in their buried bodies, steal at night into houses, and suck from the nipple of the sleeping all their blood. he who is thus bereft of the vital fluid is in his turn changed into a vampire and visits preferably his own relatives. if the corpse of a person suspected of vampirism is dug up, and its stomach pressed, an abundance of fresh blood flows from the mouth. the corpse is well preserved. the belief in vampires has likewise produced a kind of psychical pestilence which yet in the eighteenth century spread terror in the austrian provinces.[ ] if sorcery was an imaginary people's magic, there existed also a real, and it consisted in an infinite variety of usages, observances and rules for all conditions of life. not to speak of the astrologers' extensive hand-written calendars, which pointed out which constellations, seasons and days are auspicious for bathing, bleeding, hair-cutting, shaving, house-building, wooing, engaging servants, setting out on travels and so on, there existed among the people an incredibly large mass of rules for living which any body that would avoid the constant danger of bringing misfortune on himself and his family, must know. from waking up in the morning to going asleep at night, such maxims were to be observed: putting the wrong foot first out of bed in the morning was as sure to be followed by annoyances in the course of the day as a neglect to place the shoes with the heels toward the bed at night was certain to cause the visit of ghosts or evil dreams. when children are born, no one must go out or in, or open the door without bringing fire with him, that the trolls may not find their way in and exchange the child; and no one entering must say a word before he has touched the fire. for the same reason the child, while unchristened, must be watched carefully every night, and a fire must be kept constantly burning on the hearth. before the christening a child must not be moved from one room to another without putting steel beside it. if two boys are baptized on the same occasion, that one who obtains his name and blessing first will be best endowed both bodily and mentally. on the day of christening the mother should avoid handling an axe, knife or other cutting instruments, otherwise the child will some time be murdered. if the floor under a cradle is swept, the child will be bereft of its sleep. if the cradle is moved while the child is not in it, the child becomes peevish. when a child yawns, the sign of the cross must be made over its mouth, and the words "jesus, god's son!" added; otherwise the devil will then enter into it. if a child looks out through the window or looks in a mirror at night, it will fall sick. children punished on sunday become disobedient; but a child whipped on good friday before sunset, will become obedient and well-behaved. if the child walks about in one shoe, the mother will have a sore back. if a child walks or runs backwards, it drives its parents so many steps into hell. a child eating and reading at the same time gets a bad memory. if a suitor's first gift to his betrothed consists of shoes, she will be unfaithful, if of stockings, she will be jealous. nuptials on mondays, wednesdays and saturdays are unfortunate. if a bridal procession comes to a stop for any reason, the married pair will meet with dissensions. if the marriage-ring is too small, misfortune is in store. of the bridal pair, that one dies first who first kneels down or rises from kneeling. those who hold the canopy must not change hands or touch the bride's crown, for that prognosticates misfortune and ennui. if in going out an old woman or one carrying water is met, the room should be re-entered. when the table is set, the bread must be laid upon it immediately. bread must never be placed with the upper crust down. great care must be taken to remove all substances separated from the body, as hair, nails, blood; they must be buried in the soil so as not to come in contact with diseased persons, or fall into the hands of witches. we have selected the preceding observances and rules as examples of those thousands of precepts for all conditions of life which have been collected by investigations in this field from the mouths of the people. a full collection would require a large volume. in all of them is seen a servile fear of mysterious evil influences, lurking on all sides, and whose power or impotency as regards man nowise depends on his morality, but only on the way in which he observes certain ethically indifferent acts. many of them seem to have arisen only by faulty application of the theory of causality; others depend on a symbolical method of contemplating nature. what a difference between this popular wisdom and that stored up in the gnomes of the greeks or in the heathen havamal! part of the former may be likewise an heirloom, but how exuberantly these superstitions grew during the centuries of ripe and glaring belief in personified evil; how deeply they struck root among the people, while havamal has been saved from the flood of time only by the hand of the student! among the superstitions are to be counted the magical prognosis of diseases and death. many were the tokens of the approaching skeleton-figure with his scythe and glass. they were heard in the cawing of crows and ravens, in the howling of dogs, in the chirping of the cricket, and the regular ticking of the wood-worm concealed in the wall. if the horse of a priest riding to visit a sick person in his parish lowered its head upon arriving at a house, if a gnat was caught gnawing any clothing, if a light suddenly went out, if an image fell down, if a glass or a mirror was broken, it indicated an approaching death in the house. to determine the fate of a sick person, a piece of bread of which he had eaten was laid in a dark corner, and its change of color was observed; or a piece of fat with which the soles of the sick had been smeared was offered to a dog, or a stone was lifted to see if any thing was concealed beneath it. if the bread became dark, or if the dog refused to eat what was offered him, or if there was no living thing under the stone, then the sick person was considered incurable, and nothing could be hoped even from the inherited medical skill of the wise old men and women. the exercise of this skill consisted in the use, along with "reading" and conjurations, partly of herbs of more or less known efficiency, and partly also, as it appears, of magnetic forces, resorted to mechanically without reflection. the medical art inherited among the people from generation to generation is a subject which none but a clear-sighted and unprejudiced scientist of the medical profession can treat, and which has been left hitherto without that investigation which the subject undoubtedly deserves, at least from a historical point of view. there was, at the end of the middle ages, among the devotees of the galenic art a man of genius who, despairing to find in the folios of the medical scholastics any traces of truth, abandoned the lecture-room and went forth into the world without in order, as he himself said, to read the book of nature and learn something of that medical instinct with which god, as he believed, must have endowed men as well as animals, and which must find a true expression only in the people living in immediate reciprocity with nature. this man was paracelsus. he who despised and overwhelmed with mockery the coryphei of his days in the medical faculties, did not disdain to listen to "the experience of peasants, old women, night-wanderers, and vagabonds," and the magnetical system which he constructed "by the illumination of nature's light, and not by the lamp-flare of an apothecary's shop," rest in all probability on the general principles which he found in the plurality of sympathetic cures practiced among the people. in the "reading" by which these cures were accompanied, paracelsus saw rightly nothing but a subjective moment, and means of making faith and imagination the allies of the physician. a mass of these conjuration-formulæ in different diseases have been collected and published in various countries of europe. they offer the reader little or nothing of interest.[ ] a very common usage during the middle ages was to measure the sick person, at one time to cure him, at another to find out if the disease was decreasing or increasing. another means was to drag him through a hole. sick children were pulled through holes dug in the earth or through a cleft cherry-tree. sick sheep were forced to creep through the cleft of an oak, and so on. another remedy against many kinds of sufferings was the binding of a thread or a band which had been read over, around the neck or some limb of the sick. connected with this is the tying of witch-knots, used only with evil intent. bands of different colors and material[ ] were required for these. they were buried near the dwelling of the person to be injured. it was thought that by this means any limb or bodily power of an enemy could be impaired. a french jurist and witch-judge, pierre delancre, complains that in his days there were few married couples in france whose happiness had not been marred by this means; young men hardly dared to marry from fear of it. hincmar, archbishop of rheims, advised, as a remedy against this influence, a diligent use of the sacraments. in french rituals church-prayers against the effects of witch-knots are prescribed. hardly less universally was it the custom to make dolls of rags, dough, wax or clay, baptize them with the name of the hated person, put them in the fire or pierce them with needles, and bury them under the threshold of that individual, all in order to inflict sufferings on him.[ ] diseases could also be transferred to dolls by reading certain formulæ, and placing them in some inaccessible place, or in running water. not only against diseases, but also against the dangers of fire and war, against ill-luck in love or chase, on voyages and the like, magical remedies were freely resorted to by the people. the "witch-hammer" complains bitterly against the criminal practice of the soldiers in mutilating crucifixes in order to harden themselves against the sword and bullets. the executioner in passau gained, during the thirty years' war, a wide reputation for his skill in hardening the human frame, which he did by means of scraps of paper with cabalistic figures (passauer henkers-zettel), which were eaten. the belief that hunters procured, by means of conjurations, "free-arrows" and "free-bullets" was very common. the "witch-hammer" accuses various potentates of having in their pay "diabolical archers" who hit their mark from a long distance without aiming. it was customary at fires to throw into the flames so-called shields of david,--plates with two intersecting triangles and the motto "agla" (the initials of four hebrew words meaning: "thou art strong eternally, o lord!") and "_consummatum est_." as late as in the middle of the last century the magistrate of leipzig ordered that such plates should be laid up in the rathhaus to be used in case of fires. in catholic countries the clergy took the employment of magical appliances against fires into their own hands; processions singing and bearing relics went around the burning house three times, and if this had no salutary effect, it was a sure sign that god had allowed the devil to wield the consuming element unto destruction. the extent of this treatise does not allow a detailed exposition of the many divinatory arts which had their adepts among the people. the church preaching mightily against those arts and representing them as devices of the devil, the father of lies and founder of oracles, did not, however, deny, but could confirm by biblical quotation, their power to unveil futurity. every thing that we have here described was to the church black magic: all mystical practices among the people, whether resorted to for good or evil purposes, to heal or cure, were looked upon as implying contempt for the divine magic of the church itself, and also a league with the devil, if not a formal one, at any rate a "_pactum implicitum_." it was therefore the possessors of the traditional popular art of healing who were first sent to the stake wherever the inquisition commenced its trials. but no terrorism could eradicate the popular magic so long as the persecutors themselves believed in its efficiency, and fought only for a consecrated superstition against its outlawed counterfeit. the struggle against the superstition of the church as well as of the people, was reserved for another time and for another theory of the universe and of morals. the so-called wandering scholastics (_scholastici vagantes_, _scholares erratici_) formed a kind of connecting link between the magic of the learned and that of the common people. they were ruined and adventurous students, priests and monks who wandered about in the rural districts of most of the european states, especially germany, representing themselves as treasure-diggers, selling "_spiritus familiares_," amulets, love-potions, and life-elixirs, conjuring spirits, divining by the stars, and healing men and cattle. these adventurers were associated in a regular guild, and had like other vagrant tradesmen, their lodgings and hospitals in the cities. they were dreaded competitors of the witch-fathers of the cloisters, were several times excommunicated by the church, and seem to have nearly disappeared when the witch-trials commenced in earnest. it is to a person of that kind that the faust-legend is attached. it reflects the popular opinions concerning the power of learned magicians.[ ] the same period which saw the bull of innocentius promulgated, and the belief in devils culminate in the witch-processes, gave birth to the _renaissance_. this saviour came to the world in the hour of its intensest need. the hellenic spirit, born again from the study of classic literature and classic art, was a new messias putting his heel on the head of the old serpent and saving humanity from the power of death and of the devil. the people sitting in darkness illumined only by the lurid flames kindled by the inquisition saw a great light and stretched their hands towards the new dawn. the study of the ancients had an immense influence, all the more as the actual world was so different from the antique world. the exhumed monuments of hellas revealed other state systems than the feudal of the middle ages,--states which were organizations, not mere mechanical conglomerates of conquerors and conquered, and were founded upon a nobler basis than given or assumed privileges. these monuments revealed an independent search for truth which had placed itself above tradition--a novel spectacle to the people of the middle ages! they revealed an art in which harmony reigned between spirit and nature, between the higher life and sensuousness, between the relative opposites which the middle ages had conceived as absolute, placing them against one another in a struggle which wrecked beauty and morality. they revealed large symmetrical characters as free from the asceticism of the middle ages as from the wild sensuality of that time. all these ideas, hailed with enthusiasm, could not but transform the appearance of the world. they overthrew the darkness of the middle ages, put the devil and hell to flight, and drove them into that lumber-corner of the spiritual kingdom where they are at present, but from which, at any political reaction, they peer out eagerly watching whether they may not once more bring the great wide world into their power. but they shall scarcely succeed in this, as long as freedom of thought and scientific independence are guarded as the foremost conditions of the spiritual health of mankind; and they shall utterly fail when an all-extended intelligence has taught the people that the premises of the devil-dogma, if they could be again inoculated into the popular mind, would show anew the same results which have been depicted above, and lead us back to the terrible times of the inquisition and the burning of witches. this, no doubt, even the orthodox defenders of belief in an impersonated evil principle do not desire; but they do not observe that history acts more consistently than they, and cures general errors only by making long generations draw from them the last consequences and suffer their full effect. the end. index. adam's sin, brings countless woes on man, . agnus dei, ; its power, . ahriman, affirmed to have been judaized in "satan," ; repelled at marathon, ; his power over man limited, ; author of _black_ magic, . alexander, conquers asia, but helps the triumph of dualism, . ammonius sacca, tries to restore neoplatonism, . amulets employed in church-magic, , . angels, belong to the lowest hierarchy, ; have the care of mortals, . appolonius of tyana, deemed the peer of christ in gift of miracles, , . archangels, part of the lowest hierarchy, ; protect religion, . archetypes, world of, _i. e._, the empyrean, ; all celestial things are in the empyrean; are immaterial, . aristotle's method revives science, . astrology, introduction to (table ii. of correspondences), . atmosphere of earth situate next below space of the moon, . augustine, a manicheian, ; last of the fathers educated in philosophy, ; quoted on baptism, ; quoted on the existence of fauns, satyrs, etc., ; believes in the existence of were-wolves, . baptism, copied, in anticipation, in the mithras mysteries, . baptismal water, its various efficacy, . bartholomeus chassaneus, instructs how to proceed in the courts against common pests, . benoit de montferrand, bishop of lausanne, excommunicates may-bugs, , . _bereshit_, its mystic meaning, . bethesda, the efficacy of the water in its pool inferior to that of baptism, . bishop gerhard, converts the heretics of arras, . boethius, on the basis of creation, . borrichius (olaf borch) cited, . bunsen's gott in der geschichte, quoted, , , . cabalists' method of searching out the inner meaning of the bible, ; discover the seventy-two mystical names of god, . christian fathers, one of, doubts if his way of attaining perfection is the only one, ; one of, declares every thing in heathen thought to be of the devil, . church the, prepared for by election of the jews, and founded by christ, ; is one body; accumulates a wealth of supererogatory works, and grants remission of guilt also to dead, ; a mole against the tide of sin, ; the kingdom of god on earth; her destiny universal extension, ; can not check the growth of sin; her emblem an ark, ; the only legitimate bodily physician, ; forbids at several councils the secular practice of medicine, . church bells, their power against the demons, . clemens of alexandria, fights for the union of belief and thought, ; quoted on the mission of philosophy, ; rejects the doctrine of eternal punishment, . colquhoun quoted, . conception-billets described, - . "conjurer of hell," . contrast between state of society in middle ages and hellenic and later european civilizations due to different theories of the universe, . cosmic philosophy of middle ages, - . cyprianus and others enter into league with satan, . delrio, ascribes the origin of witchcraft to zoroaster, . demonianism, cured by the church, . demons, fallen intelligences of the middle hierarchy, ; war against the good angels; cause storms and drouth; pervade the elements, ; entice man, ; able to take full possession of men, . deutsche theologie, quoted on the nature of evil, . differences between the dualism of zoroaster and the christian, - . dissection prohibited, . dominion, order of angels, receives the commands of god, . dualism, of the middle ages affirmed to have been derived from persia, ; its conflict with the unitarian notions of greece the sum of history between cyrus and constantine; wins a flank-position on the mediterranean upon the return of the jews from captivity; its demon-belief testified to by the many demoniacs in the time of christ, ; magic and belief upon authority its necessary consequences, ; derived from zoroaster, ; spreads over the roman provinces, ; advances against europe, as manicheism, ; is finally absolute and brings on the dark ages, ; is intensified after entering christianity, , and undergoes changes, , ; attacks the inner authority, . earth, encompassed by ten heavens, ; made a paradise for man; explains symbolically man's destiny, . egidius, opposes fire-worship, . _electrum magicum_, . elements, four prime in the constitution of all things, . eleusinian mysteries, fragments of, preserved in magic of the learned, . empire, third order of angels, ward off all hindrances, . empyrean, the heaven of fire; world of archetypes, ; remains after the final conflagration, . europe, belief, of in middle ages, ; defeats dualism, ; goes into the enemy's country, . eucharist, perennial source of power and sanctification, . faust, quoted, , . faust-legend, at first proposed to employ h. c. agrippa as its chief character, . field-rats prosecuted, - . formula against bloody-flux, ; against epilepsy, . formulary of malediction used by priests, , . gnosticism springs up, . god, enthroned in the empyrean, ; associates with man, - . gregory ix. exhorts to a crusade against the stedinghs, . gregory the great, mentioned, , ; forbade the abrogation of pagan festivities, . heaven of crystal, next beneath empyrean,--_primum mobile_; of fixed stars, devoid of weight, . hell, becomes a place of punishment, ; remains after final conflagration, . henricus cornelius agrippa ab nettesheim, on god as the source of all power, , ; is not chosen to represent the magician in the faust-legend, . heretics of arras, their belief, . hermes trismegistus, transmuted whatever he chose to gold, . hincmar, archb. of rheims, propounds a remedy against witch-knots, . hippocrates, mentioned, , . historical development of middle-age cosmic philosophy, - . history, a spiritual comedy, . _homunculus philosophicus_, how produced, , . horst's demonomagie quoted, . houses of the planets, . "hubertus-bands" and "hubertus-keys," . images, their miraculous properties, , . incense appropriate for mars, . "_incubi_" and "_succubi_," . inevitable causation, not admitted in the middle age cosmic philosophy, . isis, secrets of entrusted to the sons of ham, . jacob's ladder, structure of the universe likened to, . jamblichus, practices secret arts, to outrival christian magi, . jean bodin, ascribes witchcraft to zoroaster, . john of salisbury upon witch-festivals, . judaico-alexandrian philosophy blooms, . jupiter belonging to the second of the planetary spaces, . knowledge of highest truths revealed to man, . lucifer, prince of seraphim, ; revolts, and wars with michael, ; is conquered, is permitted to tempt man, ; transformed into an angel of light, ; triumphs, . luther, on satanic malice as the cause of accidents, , ; esteems highly "deutsche theologie," ; tischreden quoted, ; referred to, . lycanthropy of the middle ages, - . "magia divina," quoted - . magic, of the church, - ; what enters into all employment of it, , ; white and black magic, celestial and diabolical, ; of the church defined, . --magic of the learned, - ; is derived from various sources, ; first principle of, . --magic of the people, - ; black magic and devil worship, . magician, the learned of the th century, ; his apartments described, , , ; explains his science, - ; performs an incantation, - . malice of the devil, causes unforeseen accidents, , . man, a microcosm; must dwell on earth, ; at first happy, . mandrake, superstitions concerning, . manicheism, new form of dualism; advances against europe; finds a follower in augustine, . marathon, salamis and platæa really battle-fields of a religious war, . mars, situate in the third of the planetary spaces, . matter, devoid of force and all quality, . may-bugs excommunicated, . men are often terrified into an alliance with the devil, . mercury, path of in planetary world, . middle ages, cosmic philosophy of, - ; historical origin of, - , . miracles, defined, . mithras mysteries, contain a copy, by anticipation, of the sacrament of baptism, ; imitate other mysteries of the church, , . moon, path of, . "_mus exenteratus_," etc., quoted, . native spirits popularly believed to inhabit land, air and water, . nature, knowledge of, same as a knowledge of the angels, . neoplatonism arises, . nine revolving heavens, . nork's "sitten und gebräuche der deutschen," etc., quoted, . number , its significance, , ; number , . origen, attempts to unite belief and thought, ; rejects the doctrine of eternal punishment, . origin of the names of the days of the week, , . ormuzd and ahriman, are the real adversaries repelled at marathon, ; author of _white_ magic, . pentecost, its gifts transmitted, . peter de abano, author of an important question, . _perpetuum mobile naturæ_, method of producing, , . pierre delancre complains against witch-knots, . philosophy, system of possible within the church, ; adherents of the scholastic may use aristotle's dialectics, . planetary world, next beneath that of fixed stars, ; consisting of seven heavens, . planets guided by angels, ; influence the elements and man, , . plotinus, tries to restore neoplatonism, . pope, feudal lord of emperors, ; determines the true inductions of philosophy, ; sergius iii., ; urban vitus, . pope john xxii., complains that his life is endangered by sorcerers, . pope innocent viii., puts forth a bull against the spread of sorcery, . popular maxims of superstition, - . power, from a spiritual source only, ; communicated to the heavens and the earth by angels, . power, order of angels, guide the stars and planets, . principalities, archangels, and angels, the third and lowest hierarchy, hold supremacy over terrestrial things, , . principalities, part of the lowest hierarchy of angels, guardian spirits of nations, . proclus, last neoplatonician, . pythagoras, glorified as fit to rank with christ in miraculous gifts, ; believed the universe founded on numbers, . rain-processions in the middle ages, . reason, darkened by apostacy, . "recognitiones divi clementis ad jacob.," quoted, . reformation, retains somewhat of the church-magic, . relics, their magical use, . remigius, ascribes witchcraft to zoroaster, . renaissance, overthrew the darkness and superstition of the middle ages, - . saints, intercession of, more effective than that of seraphim, ; not disturbed by misery of the damned, ; have control over various diseases, . satan, the judaized ahriman, . saturn, belonging to the first of the planetary spaces, . scale of the holy tetrad (table i.), . _schemhamphoras_, or god's mystical names, , . _scholastici errantes_, . science the, of the greeks is rational, originates logic and geometry; of the middle ages is _magic_, . scotus erigena, mentioned, . seraphim, cherubim and thrones, the first hierarchy, and nearest god, . simon magus, legend of his discomfiture by st. peter, . sprenger, author of malleus malificarum, ascribes the origin of witchcraft to zoroaster, . stedinghs persecuted, . _summa theologica_, quoted on the delectation of the redeemed upon seeing the misery of the damned, . sun, belonging to the middle space of planetary world, . superstitious prognostics of disease and death, - . synodal decree of ancyra, . table of correspondences between microcosmos and things on earth, and the planets, . tekfael, name of the demon summoned, , . terrestrial things, images of the celestial, ; are composed of the coarsest matter, ; are all under the control of special angels, ; are also influenced by stars, planets and archetypes, . theologie der thatsachen wider die theologie der rhetorik (a. f. c. h. vilmar, ) quoted, - . thomas aquinas, on the acquiescence of the saints in the punishment of the lost, ; on the power of demons, . universe, a vast lyre, ; an unbroken harmony, ; divided between good and evil, . university of th century described, - . vampirism, . venus, path of in planetary world, . vilmar, neo-lutheran, would restore to the clergy their mediæval prerogatives, - . virgil quoted, , . von görres, attempts to restore the belief in vampirism, . witch-hammer, contains directions for the judge in witch-trials, , - . witches' sabbath, supposed origin of, . witch-knots, . zoroaster, the reputed founder of magic science; and by some believed the author of witchcraft, ; his religion allows evil to disappear in course of time, and promises a final restoration of all things, . zoroaster and plato's systems blended, . footnotes: [ ] henricus cornelius agrippa ab nettesheim: "de occulta philosophia."--i., xiii. [ ] henricus cornelius agrippa ab nettesheim: "de occulta philosophia."--i., xiii. [ ] _ibidem._ [ ] this passage, directed against the ruler of assyria, was already interpreted by the early fathers as having reference to satan. thus lucifer, the latin translation for morning star, came to be a name for the prince of darkness. [ ] luke x. . [ ] "de contemptu mundi sive de miseria humanæ conditionis," a little book written about , by the afterwards pope innocent iii. [ ] the words of luther, who, in addition to his dualistic belief, was a genuine son of this same middle age, though the destroyer of its autocratic faith. [ ] as such,--as perishable and unreal, are all evil things regarded by an unknown author in the middle ages. in his beautiful opuscule "deutsche theologie," he says among other things: "now some one may ask, 'since we must love every thing, must we also love sin?' the answer is, no; for when we say every thing, we only mean every thing that is good. every thing that exists is good by virtue of its existence. the devil is good in so far as he exists. in this sense, there is nothing evil in existence. but it is a sin to wish, desire or love any thing else than god. now all things are essentially in god, and more essentially in god than in themselves; therefore are they all good in their real essence."--the little work from which the above is quoted, is the expression of a deep and pious soul, struggling to master the dualism which fettered his age. it is remarkable that luther was not more strongly influenced by its spirit, although he confesses that "next to the bible and st. augustine i have found no book from which i have learned more." [ ] see the work "summa theologica" (supplementum ad tertiam partem, quæst. ) by the most prominent and most influential among the theologians of the middle ages, thomas aquinas. it is there said: "ut beatitudo sanctorum eis magis complaceat et de ea uberiores gratias deo agant, datur eis ut poenam impiorum perfecte videant.... beati, qui erunt in gloria, nullam compassionem ad damnatos habebunt.... sancti de poenis impiorum gaudebunt, considerando in eis divinæ justitiæ ordinem et suam liberationem de qua gaudebunt."--with this may be compared the following execrable effusion of another theologian: "beati coelites non tantum non cognatorum sed nec parentum sempiternis suppliciis ad ullam miserationem flectentur. imo vero lætabuntur justi, cum viderint vindictam; manus lavabunt in sanguine peccatorum." [ ] tertullian. [ ] this has been denied in so far as the original teachings of zoroaster are concerned, but is confirmed by a passage in aristotle (metaphys., i., xiv., c. ). [ ] a. f. ch. vilmar: "theologie der thatsachen wider die theologie der rhetorik" (marburg, ). [ ] thus, for instance, the red lustre of copper was supposed to indicate that it was connected with mars, which shines with a reddish light. [ ] "non baptisatis parvulis nemo promittat inter damnationem regnumque coelorum quietis vel felicitatis cujuslibet atque ubilibet quasi medium locum; hoc enim eis etiam hæresis pelagiana promisit" (augustinus: de anima et ejus origine, . i., c. ix). in one of his letters augustine declares that even if the parents hurry to the priest, and he likewise hasten to baptize the child, but find it dead before it has obtained the sacrament, it is nevertheless then doomed to be eternally tormented with the damned, and to blaspheme the name of god. [ ] all these are found, in connection with baptism, in heathen mysteries. [ ] extract from the formula given at the council of rome, a. d. , to berengar of tours, to which he was forced to swear under penalty of death. [ ] the wafer substituted in the twelfth century for bread was called the host. [ ] the discovery made in our days by the danish theologian martensens that the food obtained in the supper of our lord is not for the soul only, but also for the body,--for the nourishment of our ascension-body, is not really new; the pagan initiated into the mithras mysteries was taught that the consecrated bread and wine, being assimilated into his flesh and blood, gave immortality to his corporeal being. like presuppositions produce in different times like ideas. an important question in the middle ages and one which had been already argued with great heat from the time of petrus lombardus until the seventeenth century, is propounded as follows: has a rat which has eaten of the host thereby partaken of christ's body? in connection with this it was further asked: how is a rat which has eaten of christ's body to be treated,--ought it to be killed or honored? ought the sacrament to be venerated even in the stomach of the rat? if some of the consecrated bread is found in the stomach of a rat, is it a duty to eat it? what must be done if immediately after partaking of the sacrament one is attacked by vomiting? when a rat can eat the host, can not the devil also do it?--one of the last products of these important investigations is a book published in tübingen in , entitled: "_mus exenteratus, hoc est tractatus valde magistralis super quæstione quadam theologica spinosa et multum subtili_," _etc._ [ ] during the period of political reaction in , when schlegel and de maistre praised the middle ages as man's era of bliss, and görres sought to restore to credence during the "state period of enlightenment" all the forgotten ghost and vampire stories, the clergy of brussels were celebrating with processions and other solemnities the anniversary of this persecution of the jews in namur. at the synod in a. d. a proclamation was issued forbidding priests to enter into any servile relations with laymen, because it were shameful if the most holy hands which prepared the flesh and blood of almighty god should serve the unconsecrated laity. the famous orator bourdaloue requested that greater homage should be paid to the priest than to the holy virgin, because god had been incarnated in her bosom only once, but was in the hands of the priest daily, as often as the mass was read. [ ] the oldest christian art in which the dying spirit of antiquity yet reveals itself, represented jesus as a shepherd youth carrying a lamb upon his bosom. many a one could only turn away sadly from the beaming world of olympus to the new christian ideal, and when they must needs so do, they would fain transfer to the new "_puer redemptor_" the mild beauty of the former youthful mediator, dionysus zagreus. in the hymns, still preserved to us, of synesius, who combined in one person the bishop and the greek who still longs for wisdom and beauty (doubtless known to many of our readers by kingsley's novel of hypatia), this sadness is in wonderful harmony with christian devotion. with the ruin of the antique world, this longing as well as the capability of satisfying it ceased. the material symbol obtained thereafter a more prominent place. if the phoenicians and canaanites represented their god corporeally as the powerful steer, the christians chose the patient and inoffensive lamb as the type of theirs. the council of constantinople in a. d. confirmed this lamb-symbol. as aaron had made a golden calf, pope sergius iii. procured a lamb to be made of gold and ivory. all who rebelled against its worship were treated as disorderly and heretical. in the time of charlemagne one of them, bishop claudius of turin, from whom the waldenses derive their origin, complained: "_isti perversorum dogmatum auctores agnos vivos volunt vorare et in pariete pictos adorare._" [ ] pope urban vitus presented an _agnus dei_ to the byzantine emperor. an accompanying note described its wonderful powers in the following monkish-latin hexameters:-- _balsamus et munda cera cum chrismatis unda conficiunt agnum, quod munus do tibi magnum fonte velut natum per mystica sanctificatum. fulgura desursum depellit, et omne malignum peccatum frangit, ut christi sanguis et angit. prægnans servatur, simul et partus liberatur. dona refert dignis, virtutem destruit ignis. portatus munde de fluctibus eripit undæ._ [ ] as late as a statute was issued by carl theodor, elector of pfalz, referring to the magic power of st. hubert-relics, and forbidding the employment of "worldly" remedies against the bite of mad dogs. [ ] in the year a large rain-procession was held in lüttich. three times repeated it failed of all effect, "because in the supplication of all saints god's mother had been forgotten." in a new procession "_salve regina_" was therefore sung, and the rain immediately came down with such violence that the devout procession was dispersed.--the clergy sometimes, in order to produce rain, would lead a donkey before the gate of the church, hang the litany about his neck, put a wafer in his mouth, and then bury the animal alive. [ ] especially was the church of the middle ages rich in awful formularies of malediction, testifying to an enormous brutalization of thought and feeling. a single specimen of these formularies will be more than sufficient to illustrate:-- "by the might, power and authority of god, the almighty father, of the son and of the holy ghost and in the name of the holy virgin the mother of our lord jesus christ, by the holy angels, archangels, st. michael and st. john the baptist, in the name of the holy apostle peter and all the apostles, in the name of the holy stephen and all the holy martyrs, and st. adelgunda and all the holy virgins, and of all the saints in heaven and on earth to whom power is given to bind and loose,--we curse, execrate and exclude from the mother church through the bond of malediction (here follows the name of the persons). may their children be orphaned; may they be cursed upon the field, cursed in the city, in the forest, in their houses and barns, in their chamber and their bed, in the town-hall, in the village, on land and sea; may they be cursed in the church, in the churchyard, in the court-room, on the public square and in war; whether they be talking, sleeping, waking, eating or drinking, whether they be going or resting, or doing any other thing, let them be accursed in soul and body, reason and all their senses: cursed be their progeny, cursed be the fruit of their land, cursed be all their limbs, head, nose, mouth, teeth, throat, eyes, and eyelashes, brain, larynx, tongue, breast, lungs, liver, legs, and arms, skin and hair; cursed be every thing living and moving in them from head to foot, etc. i conjure thee, lucifer, and all your crew, by the father, the son and the holy ghost, by the incarnation and birth of christ; i conjure thee by the power and the virtue of all saints, that thou never leave them in quiet, night or day, until thou have brought them to ruin, destroyed them by water, or led them to the gallows, or caused them to be torn by wild beasts, or their throat to be cut by enemies, or their bodies to be destroyed by fire," etc., etc. [ ] a biblical ground for ordeals was found in numbers v. - . [ ] the "witch-hammer" will be more fully described hereafter. the student of history should not neglect this volume, which is the ripest fruit of catholic dualism, and clearly shows the results to which it tends. [ ] "gott in der geschichte," iii. [ ] yet in the days of erasmus of rotterdam the theologians were making great ado over this knotty problem. [ ] this confession cornelius agrippa makes in his "occult philosophy." theophrastus paracelsus and others were less modest. [ ] thus reasoned, as late as the middle of the sixteenth century, borrichius (olaf borch), who was professor in chemistry at the university of copenhagen and wrote a book upon the wisdom of the egyptian hermes. [ ] agrippa: "de occulta philosophia," . i., c. . [ ] we have found in a "_magia divina_" the following directions for accomplishing a _perpetuum mobile naturæ_, the efficacy of which we leave for the reader to decide. "during the twelve nights after christmas - / measures of dew are collected from fruit-trees, and preserved well enclosed. in the month of march dew is again collected from both fruit-trees and meadows and is preserved in another phial. dew collected in may is poured in a third and rain of a thunderstorm during the summer in a fourth. thereupon the contents of the four phials are mixed and one measure of it is poured into a great transparent glass retort where, well covered, it must remain a month until it becomes foul. put it then over fire and subject to heat of the second degree. when sufficiently distilled a substance thick as honey is left. in this residue are poured four grains of astral tincture. the mixture is exposed to a heat of the first degree, by which it is converted into a thick, jet-black lump which again is dissolved, forming below an ink-like fluid, and above a vapor, in which many colors and figures are seen. these soon disappear, and every thing is changed into water, which begins to turn green, and green palaces, constantly enlarging, and mountains and lovely pastures appear, while the water is diminished more and more. when now you find that no more dew rises from the earth within the glass, take the water which you received from the distillation, mix with it a drachm of astral tincture and pour an ounce of this mixture into the glass bulb. then every thing begins again to live and grow. add every month an ounce of this mixture. if then the glass ball is well closed, and is not stirred, a vapor gradually arises, and is condensed into two shining stars, like the sun and the moon, and like the latter, one of these stars waxes and wanes; and all the phenomena of nature, thunder, lightning, hail, rain, snow and dew, will appear in your glass ball as in the real world around you. all this will happen if you keep the great creator before your eyes and in your heart, and if you conceal from the wicked world this great secret." from the second part of goethe's faust the reader may remember doctor wagner, faust's former _famulus_, busily engaged at the alchemic furnace in preparing a _homunculus_, an artificial man. the same "_magia divina_" from which we have quoted the preceding directions, allows us also to trace the secret of the learned wagner: the art of producing "homunculos philosophicos." in a retort of the most beautiful crystal glass is poured one measure of the purest may-dew, collected when the moon is crescent, and two measures of blood from a youth, or three measures from a girl. both the boy and the girl must be hale and, "if possible," chaste. when this mixture has fomented during a month, and been transformed into a reddish clay, the _menstruum_ which is formed on the top is drawn off by means of tubes hermetically attached to the retort, gathered into a clean glass vessel, mixed with one drachm animal tincture, and the mixture is again poured into the retort where it is kept during a month in gentle heat. a sort of bladder will have then formed which is soon gradually covered with an organic net of little veins and nerves. sprinkled every fourth week with the _menstruum_ above quoted, the bladder grows during four months. when now you notice a peeping sound and movements of vitality in the glass, look into it and you will discover to your joy and amazement a most beautiful pair, a boy and a girl, which you can contemplate with heart-felt admiration for this lovely work of nature, though their height is but six inches. they move and walk about in the glass, where in the midst there is a tree growing with all kinds of pleasant fruits. if now you pour into the retort every month, two grains of animal tincture, you can keep them alive six whole years. when one year old they can inform you of many secrets of nature. they are benevolent in their disposition, and obey you in every thing. but at the end of the sixth year you will find that this beautiful pair who have eaten hitherto of all kinds of fruit, except those growing on the tree which sprang up in the midst of the retort, now begin to eat also the fruit of that. then a vapor is found in the retort, which grows denser, assumes a blood-red color and emits flashes. the two _homunculi_ are terrified, and try to hide themselves. finally every thing around them is parched, they die, and the whole is changed into a fuming mass. if the glass is not very large and strong it explodes, causing great damage. [ ] every planet had among the twelve signs of the zodiac its own house, and it was especially propitious when in any of those abodes. the following table shows the order:-- saturn dwells in capricornus. jupiter " " pisces and sagittarius. mars " " aries and scorpio. the sun " " leo. venus " " taurus and ursa major. mercurius " " virgo and gemini. the moon " " cancer. each of the twelve signs (thirty degrees on the arc of the heavens) was divided into three "faces" (ten degrees). the position of the planet was most auspicious when in the first face of the house; if in the third its favorable influence was doubtful. as the reader will see from the first table given above, the signs of the zodiac were supposed to sustain a relation to the elements and to temperaments. aries, leo and sagittarius were warm, dry, fiery and choleric. mars entering these signs--excepting that of aries which was his own house, in which he was auspicious--must therefore bode draught, conflagration and pestilence. taurus, virgo and capricornus, were cold, dry, earthy, melancholic. saturn in the second sign of taurus might consequently betoken a severe winter. the signs of cancer, scorpio and pisces were cold, damp, watery and sanguine. the dominion of the zodiacal constellations over the human body was divided as follows: aries presided over the head and face, taurus over the neck and throat, gemini over the shoulders, arms and hands, cancer over the breast, ribs, lungs and spleen, leo over the upper part of the stomach, back and side, virgo over the lower part of the stomach and intestines, scorpio over the generative organs, sagittarius over the anus, capricornus over the knees, aquarius over the thighs, pisces over the feet. the planets exercised the same influence as their houses, and all elementary things subordinated to a planet were considered to be, during auspicious aspects, excellent remedies for affections in the limbs presided over by that planet. the series of analogies, of which we have given an example above, were therefore inexhaustible mines even for the physicians of the middle ages. since, for instance, capricornus which presided over the knees, is the house of saturn, and all crawling animals are connected with this planet, the fat of snakes is an effective remedy against gout in the knees, especially on saturday, the day of saturn. [ ] the days bear yet, in many languages, the names of the planets which were assigned to them in gray antiquity by astrology. sunday, dies solis, is the day of the sun. monday, dies lunæ, is the day of the moon. tuesday, dies martis, is the day of mars, _i. e._, tiw. wednesday, dies mercurii, is the day of mercury. thursday, dies jovis, is the day of jupiter, _i. e._, thor. friday, dies veneris, is the day of venus, _i. e._, freja. saturday, dies saturni, is the day of saturn. the original names seem to have been introduced by the romans during the later period of the republic. that the idea is derived from egypt is shown by a passage in dion cassius [l. xliii., c. ; compare e. roth, "geschichte userer abendländischer philosophie," i., pag. ]. the question when and how they were introduced by our forefathers will perhaps remain forever a matter only of conjecture. it has caused astonishment that the order in which the days were named after the planets, though the same with all nations, is not the order in which they were supposed to be placed in the universe (saturn, jupiter, mars, the sun, venus, mercury and the moon). this riddle is solved by the passage in dion cassius referred to, in a manner such that the astrological origin of this nomenclature must be undoubted. he relates, namely, that the egyptians devoted every one of the twenty-four hours to a certain planet. the first hour of the first week-day (saturday) was given to the uppermost planet, saturn, the second to jupiter, the third to mars and so on, according to the order of the planets. the th hour of saturday consequently fell also to mars, and the first hour of the succeeding day to the sun, by which that day was therefore named sunday. the th hour of sunday falls according to the same calculation to mercury, and the first hour of monday to the moon; and so on. the astrological distribution of the hours between the planets according to their successive order in the heavens thus explains the apparent disorder which occurs in the week. in the magical works by cornelius agrippa, peter de albano and others, of which the author has availed himself, tables concerning the distribution of the hours are found. these writers have collected from all quarters, and not least from ptolemy and the alexandrians, materials for their magical apparatus. [ ] the prescriptions for these perfumes are found in cornelius agrippa's "occulta philosophia," l. i., c. . [ ] they are found in agrippa's "occulta philosophia," l. iii. cc. , , , . [ ] many pages could be filled with subtle speculations over the word _bereshit_, the first word in the old testament. that the sensual world is only a secondary world, a reflex of the ideal world, the cabalists proved by showing that holy writ commences not with the first but with the second letter of the alphabet, namely [hebrew] (b), which in its form is half a square [found in the number of the world], and therefore signifies an accomplished separation between spirit and matter, between good and evil. by a transposition of the letters in _bereshit_, in accordance with the method of the cabala, two other words are obtained which mean "in the first tishri," showing that the world had been created in the month of tishri (september). the sum of the numerical value of the letters in the word _bereshit_ equals the sum of the numerical value of the letters in two words which mean "he created by the law,"--a proof that the law is the instrumental cause of the world. further, _bereshit_ can be divided so as to form two words meaning "he created six" (six days, six millenniums, the six extensions of universal space, etc.); or, "he created a ram," which was, according to the hebrew cabalists, the same ram that was sacrificed instead of isaac, and the christians add, the same "lamb of god" which gave itself a sacrifice for man. [ ] the table from which the author has amused himself in extracting, according to the rules, this name, is found in "occulta philosophia," . iii. c. . [ ] agrippa's book gives the subtle rules for finding the "signs" or the signatures of the demons.--the reader must remember the part played by the "signs" of microcosmos and the earth-spirit in goethe's faust. [ ] since they (the newly converted anglo-saxons) are accustomed to slaughter many oxen and horses in their feasts to the honor of the devils (their ancient gods) it is necessary to allow this custom to remain, but based upon another principle. thus there must likewise be celebrated on the feast days of the church and of the holy martyrs whose relics are kept in the churches built in heathen sacrificial groves, a perfectly similar festival, by enclosing a place with green trees and preparing a religious banquet. still the animals must not be sacrificed to satan's honor, but slaughtered to the praise of god and for the sake of food, for which the giver of all good gifts must be thanked. [ ] "_creberrima fama est multique se expertos vel ab eis qui experti essent, de quorum fide dubitandum non est, audisse confirmant, silvanos et faunos, quos incubos vocant, improbos sæpe exstitisse mulieribus et earum appetisse ac peregisse concubitum, et quosdam dæmones, quos dusios galli nuncupant, hanc assidue immunditiam et tentare et efficere plures talesque asseverant, ut hoc negare impudentiæ videatur._" (de civitate dei. lib. , cap. ). [ ] "recognitiones divi clementis ad jacob," lib. ii. [ ] this view is expressed already in henoch's book and in the writings of the rabbi. like them even the fathers interpreted the "sons of god" mentioned in genesis who "were fascinated by the daughters of men" as fallen angels. thus cyrillus, anthenagoras, irenæus, lactantius, turtullianus, and others. we have just instanced above a quotation from augustine. the greek mythology with its amours between gods and men was destined to give support to this superstition.--luther, who could not free himself from the superstition of his time, tells us often in his "tischreden" that the devil can beget children by connection with human beings. "es ist wahrlich ein graülich, schrecklich exempel," he says in one place, "dass der teufel kann die leute plagen, dass er auch kinder zeuget." [ ] reginonis libri duo de synodalibus causis et disciplinis ecclesiasticis. the work was republished in leipzig in the year . [ ] "gott in der geschichte," iii. [ ] it is found complete in its original form in horst's "demonomagie," ii. [ ] many etymologies as profound occur in the "witch-hammer." the word _diabolus_ (devil) is derived from _duo_, "two," and _bolus_, "morsel," which is thus explained, that the devil fishes at the same time after two morsels, the soul and the body. [ ] this deduction, replete with indecencies which can not be handled, occupies thirty-three pages of the "witch-hammer." it pretends to be very convincing. it has also sent women by hundreds of thousands to death. [ ] to give the reader a clearer idea of the really diabolical blindness and brutality which characterizes the terrible book we are giving an account of, we quote the following statement from the "witch-hammer," p. : "we (the inquisitors sprenger and his colleagues) find that of all women that we have condemned to the flames very few have voluntarily done harm by sorcery. they have generally been forced by the devil to do it. after having confessed every thing (on the rack) they generally attempt suicide before being taken to the stake. it is the devil who tempts them thus, for he is afraid that by repentance and confession they will receive the pardon of god. if this wily trick is not successful, and if they are prevented from destroying themselves, he knows how to rob them of the chance of grace by other means, namely, by smiting them with fury, madness or sudden death!"--behold a sample of how theological arguments founded on superior natural influences can be used! [ ] horst: "demonomagie," i. [ ] colquhoun. [ ] [greek: mêla mandragorou] (in hebrew _dudaim_) is in the septuagint a name for the love-apples with which leah regaled her husband (gen. xxx. ). pliny speaks of the mandragora as a poisonous herb, dangerous to dig; now already columella knows the mandragora as a half-human being--"_semihomo mandragoras_." [ ] man sagt: wenn ein erbdieb, dem, wie den ziguenern das stehlen angeboren ist, oder dessen mutter, als sie mit ihm schwanger ging, gestohlen, oder doch gross gelüsten dazu gehabt--nach einigen; auch ein unschuldiger, welcher in der tortur sich für einen dieb bekennt--und der ein reiner junggeselle ist, gehänkt wird, und das wasser lässt, oder sein same auf die erde fällt, so wächst an solchem ort der alraun.--"nork: sitten und gebräuche der deutschen und ihrer nachbarvölker." [ ] so propertius and plinius. virgil (eclog. viii.) makes a shepherd sing: has herbas, atque hæc ponto mihi lecta venena, ipse dedit moeris: nascuntur plurima ponto. _his ego sæpe lupum fieri, et se condere selvis moerim_ ... vidi. [ ] melancthon, who firmly believed in the were-wolf, reasoned in the same way. [ ] as late as a vagabond named maréchal was accused by the peasants in longueville as a sorcerer and were-wolf. at his trial the mysterious were-wolf excursions were resolved into thieving rambles, and maréchal was condemned for burglary to the galleys. [ ] during the restauration in , when all the dead rose in their sepulchres, the famous _von görres_ sought to revive the belief in vampirism. he has written about it a work of mighty learning, wherein he discourses profusely of the "vegetative" sources of the body, which he asserts continue their activity after death, and thus enable the soul of the deceased to reoccupy and for a while reoperate its old machinery. [ ] some of the popular forms of conjuration are in latin, though corrupted so as to be almost beyond recognition. a couple of restored examples may be given. this is the formula against bloody-flux: sanguis mane in venis sicut christus in poenis, sanguis mane fixus sicut christus fuit crucifixus. against fever: deus vos solvet sambuco, panem et sal ego vobis adduco, febrem tertianam et quotidianam accipite vos, qui nolo eam. against epilepsy: melchior, balthaser, portans hæc nomina caspar, solvitur e morbo domini pietate caduco. perpetret et ternas defunctis psallere missas. barachun. barachagim. destrue. subalgat. [ ] compare virgil, ecl. viii: terna tibi hæc primum triplici diversa colore licia circumdo.... necte tribus nodis ternos, amarylli, colores: necte, amarylli, modo: et veneris, dic, vincula necto. [ ] compare same eclogue: limus ut hic durescit, et hæc ut cera liquescit uno eodemque igni: sic nostro daphnis amore. [ ] the faust-legend, formed during the time of the reformation, sought at first to employ one of the heroes of the learned magic, henricus cornelius agrippa, as its chief character; but a biography of him, published by his pupil, wierus, having dispelled the fantastical halo enveloping his personality, the creative desire sought a more obscure object which it could transform according to its bizarre imaginations. transcriber's notes: passages in italics are indicated by _italics_. passages in fraktur font are indicated by =fraktur=. the original text includes greek characters. for this text version these letters have been replaced with transliterations. the original text includes hebrew characters. for this text version these letters have been replaced with [hebrew]. produced from images generously made available by the internet archive.) mediÆval byways [illustration: '_... sat for its portrait to matthew paris._'] mediÆval byways by l. f. salzmann f.s.a. author of 'english industries of the middle ages' illustrated by george e. kruger boston and new york houghton mifflin company to whom should i dedicate these studies of the lighter side of the middle ages if not to my wife whose study it is to lighten my own middle age? forewords being sundry personal observations of no importance original research amongst the legal and other documents preserved in the public record office, and similar depositories of ancient archives is a pursuit which our friends politely assume 'must be very interesting,' chiefly because they cannot believe that any one would undertake so dull an occupation if it were not interesting. and it must be admitted that there are grounds for looking askance at such work. to begin with, the financial results of historical research are usually negligible or even negative, and it is therefore clearly an undesirable, if not positively reprehensible, employment. then it is perfectly true that the vast majority of these records are as dry as the dust which accumulates upon them, and that in many cases such interest as they possess is adventitious, being due to their association with some particular person or place whose identity appeals to us. thus even the most trivial technical details of a suit by william s. against francis b. for forging his signature would become of absorbing interest if s. stood for shakespeare and b. for bacon, but the chances are a hundred to one that s. will stand for smith and b. for brown. at the same time the thoroughly unpractical searcher, who allows his attention to be distracted and does not confine himself to the strict object of his search, is constantly rewarded by the discovery of entries, quaint, amusing, or grimly significant, throwing a light upon the lives of men and women whose very names perished out of memory centuries ago. dim the light may be, but yet it is an illumination not to be got elsewhere, for the writers of history, with a big h, are concerned only with the doings of kings and statesmen, and other people of importance, while these records tell us something of the life of those who in their day, like most of us, were each the centre of their own microcosm but made no figure in the eyes of the world. it is, i think, not too much to claim that only through intimacy with the nation's records, and i would use the word in the widest sense to include also the records written on the face of our land in stone and timber and even in earthen bank and hedgerow, that some conception can be obtained of the mediæval spirit. that same spirit is so subtle a thing, though one of its leading characteristics is an extraordinary directness and simplicity, that it is more easily understood than explained. but even if it were an easy matter to dissect and analyse the mediæval spirit, ticketing so much as simplicity, such a percentage as humour, so many parts as fear of god, and so many as fear of the devil, and so forth, it should not be done here. for though this book was written with a purpose, that purpose was not to instruct and edify, but rather to interest and amuse, which is a far higher mission, and if the reader on laying it down feels that he has acquired knowledge it will probably be due in a large measure to the work of the artist, who has translated into line something more than the material details of the incidents which the writer has strung together. so far as the half-dozen essays which follow are concerned their origin was almost as spontaneous as topsy's; like her, they grew. it has been my fortune to spend much time searching ancient documents of every kind, and indeed there is probably hardly a single class of pre-reformation records preserved between chancery lane and fetter lane into which i have not delved. being, moreover, of an unmethodical nature it has been my practice, even when hard pressed for time, to allow my eye to be caught by any strange or unusual entry which had nothing to do with the object of my search;--i may admit in passing that i can rarely look up a word in the _new english dictionary_, because there are so many more interesting words on the other pages. in this way my notebooks became full of queer and fascinating little bits of ancientry, many of them clad in that quaint garb of archaic english which lends a piquancy, and occasionally a touch of unintentional humour, to their presentment. feeling that it was a pity that such treasures should continue in concealment i strung some of them together, amplifying my material with parallel passages from some of the less known chronicles and other printed sources. the resulting essays were published in the _oxford and cambridge review_, and, i believe, gave a certain amount of pleasure to some of their readers. at any rate i was urged to republish them in book form, which i had all along intended to do, and the editor-proprietor of the _oxford and cambridge review_ kindly gave me not only permission but even encouragement. i decided to have the book illustrated, and one or two attempts to procure the services of various artists having providentially failed i was introduced in a fortunate hour to mr. george kruger, whose work it would be superfluous for me to praise. as to the particular sources from which my tales are drawn, they range wide, but it may interest the curious to know that the proceedings of the court of chancery, which at a later date, in _re_ jarndyce and jarndyce, afforded dickens material for _bleak house_, proved the most fruitful class for my purposes. this is due to the fact that in this class of records, more than in any other of equally early date, the vernacular is of common occurrence, and it must be admitted that many incidents which would read but dully in formal latin or in that atrocious language legal french acquire merit by being told in the vulgar tongue and eccentric orthography of the fifteenth or sixteenth century. from a historical point of view there is one great thing to be said for legal records of this type:--they are completely free from unprejudice. no one expects a plaintiff or defendant to be impartial. and there is nothing so hopelessly misleading, speaking historically, as impartiality. for one thing the unprejudiced historian is practically bound to be uninteresting; the works of the most judicially impartial historian of the present time--so far as english history goes--are unreadable. moreover, although he is carefully accurate and painstaking, they give a totally wrong impression so far as they give any at all. a 'history of the reformation,' were such to be written by him, would be infinitely farther from the truth than one by froude or gasquet. to illustrate my meaning from contemporary events: some future historian will undoubtedly write fairly and impartially about tariff reform, women's suffrage, and national insurance. he will thereby completely miss the significance of those movements; for the propaganda and personalities of mr. lloyd george, mrs. pankhurst, and mr. joseph chamberlain are not matters for cool and impartial consideration, and it will only be by the blessed gift of prejudice that the future historian will be able to enter into the feelings of the present generation and obtain the true neo-georgian atmosphere. the chronicles which form the chief of my subsidiary sources are sufficiently full of life and prejudice. very human were many of those old writers, from that brilliant welsh proto-journalist gerald de barri down to those worthy londoners gregory and fabyan. best of all are the rhymesters; there is a vigour and a wealth of detail in their work which endears them to me, and i could view the loss of lydgate's _siege of troye_ or of the unreadable grandfather of english poetry, beowulf, with greater equanimity than the loss of such pieces as the account of the siege of rouen which john page wrote 'alle in raffe and not in ryme by cause of space he hadde no tyme.' few poems can equal this piece in its spirited portrayal of military operations in the fifteenth century, the two sides to the picture, the pageantry of the army and the sufferings of the non-combatants, being contrasted with remarkable dramatic power in the passage which tells how two pavilions were pitched between the english camp and the walls of the city for the delegates appointed by the rival nations to discuss terms of peace. 'that was a syght of solempnyte, to beholde eyther other parte, to se hir pavylyons in hir araye the pepylle that on the wallys laye, and oure pepylle that was with owte, howe thycke they stode and walkyd abowte. also hyt was solas to sene the herrowdys of armys that went by twyne; kyngys, herrowdys and pursefauntys in cotys of armys suauntys, the englysche beeste, the fraynysche floure, of portynggale castelle and toure; othyr in cotys of dyversyte, as lordys berys in hys degre. gayly with golde they were begon, ryght as the son for sothe hyt schone. thys syght was bothe joye and chere; of sorowe and payne the othyr were. of pore pepylle there were put owte and nought as moche as a clowte but the clothes on there backe to kepe them from rayne i wotte. the weder was unto them a payne, for alle that tyme stode most by rayne. there men myght se grete pytte, a chylde of ij yere or iij go aboute to begge hyt brede. fadyr and modyr bothe were dede. undyr sum the watyr stode; yet lay they cryyng aftyr foode. and sum storvyn unto the dethe, and sum stoppyde of ther brethe, sum crokyd in the kneys, and sum alle so lene as any treys, and wemmen holden in thir armys dede chyldryn in hyr barmys. * * * * * thes were the syghtys of dyfferauns, that one of joye and that other of penaunce, as helle and hevyn ben partyd a to, that one of welle and that othyr of wo.' the whole poem shows a pre-raphaelite love of detail combined with a remarkable appreciation of dramatic values, and the same is true of many of the other rhyming chronicles, political poems, and topical ballads. as an example of the value of these poems for interpreting the mediæval spirit i might instance the light thrown on 'the days of chivalry' by the 'maréchal' poem. in this glorification of the great earl of pembroke the business-like record of the monetary profits resulting from his prowess at tournaments takes the gilt off the gingerbread 'knight errant' as completely as the details of the wholesale slaughter and subsequent sale of the bag after a fashionable _battue_ strip the gilt from the modern 'sportsman.' in view of the eminently quotable character of these rhymes it is really rather remarkable that i should have made so little use of them in any of my essays, covering, as these do, so wide a range of subject. it is also a great pity that they are so much neglected by those whose business it is to teach history. the intelligent use of such materials as these would make history live, but unfortunately there is a widespread idea that dates are the be-all and end-all of history, which delusion is fostered by the importance attached to dates in the ordinary accursed examination. whereas in reality dates are utterly unimportant and of no value in themselves, but useful solely as _memoriæ technicæ_ for grasping the sequence of events; there being, for instance, no significance whatever--except possibly for astrologers--in the isolated facts that the black death occurred in , and that the peasants' rising happened in , but very great significance in the fact that the one event was a generation after the other. however, a discussion of the right and wrong methods of teaching history is rather too big a subject to be dragged in at the end of these rambling remarks, which were intended to be an introduction to the essays which follow, so, if any readers have followed the unusual course of starting with the introduction, i will take my leave of them at this point and wish them a pleasant journey through these mediæval byways. contents page i. wise men--and others ii. highways iii. coronations iv. death and doctors v. those in authority vi. ivory and apes and peacocks illustrations page '... sat for its portrait to matthew paris' _frontispiece_ 'a young novice of the priory' robert berewold in the pillory ... sware 'gret othes' and took himself by the hair '... caused to sytte down and in large wyse to gape' '... thrust a leaden bodkin into the head of that image' 'diabolus ligatus' 'a wonderful sight' 'an impromptu entertainment by three minstrels' pilgrims 'st. piran' '... crossed to england' 'henry's badge' a 'herauld' 'the young edward iii.' crowns ancient and modern 'dymoke of scrivelsby' 'the tiger and the mirror' '... got his arms round a branch' 'the broken bough fell on the head of a man standing down below' '... cast her into a cauldron' '... called secretly at the chamber dore' '... gyrd abowte his bodye in iij places with towells and gyrdylls' '... led through the middle of the city' '... failed to identify the geese' '... ducking him in a horse-pond' '... with drawn swords stood in the doorway' 'he incontinently fled' '... compellyd them for to devour the same writte' '... thrust him out of the church' 'latten "agnus dei"' '... playing innumerable pranks' 'when a lion looks at you it becomes a leopard' 'the unfortunate "fowle" was "hurten so sore"' '... constructed a pantomime dragon on the pattern of the real article' 'hakeney' '... showed him his injuries' '... fully armed with swords and bucklers' i wise men--and others the alchemists [illustration] the cyclic tendency so obvious in nature is not least notable in the domain of knowledge. the discovery of one era is lost in the next, only to reappear at a later day, welcomed as a triumph of modern ingenuity or science. in maps of three centuries ago the nile is shown rising from great lakes, but in the atlases that our fathers used the lakes have vanished and a range of imaginary mountains lies like a little woolly caterpillar in the heart of africa as the source of the nile, only to be replaced once more in our own days by the great lakes. dragons, after being commonplaces of ancient time, fell into undeserved contempt, their very existence denied by a sceptical generation, and have only been rescued and rehabilitated in recent years by men of science, who, ashamed to admit that they have found the fabulous monsters of faery, have disguised them in polysyllabic nomenclature of 'saurus.' the 'travellers' tales' of old herodotus, scoffed at by the superior minds of the unimaginative victorian era, are daily gaining acceptance; king chedorlaomer and other worthies, who, after centuries of blameless biblical existence, were conclusively demolished by the high german critics, have reappeared on contemporary tablets of imperishable clay unkindly disinterred by archæological explorers; and, in more mundane matters, the very latest developments of sanitary science prove to have been anticipated by a trifle of sixty centuries in the palaces of crete. so with alchemy. the transmutation of the base into the noble, above all of the baser metals into gold, was accepted as feasible from the earliest historic times until the seventeenth century. then the spread of printing enabled so many votaries of the science to publish their ideas and theories that all belief in alchemy was swept away by the flood of mystical nonsense, but now science is back on the threshold of the knowledge of transmutation. the old alchemists seem to have based their theories on the belief that all metals, and indeed all matter, contained one common element, of which the purest and most perfect form on this earth was gold. this theory was knocked on the head when scientists discovered the atomic theory. proof positive was adduced that certain substances, such as gold and silver, were elements, and that elements consisted simply and solely of agglomerations of indivisible atoms, each of which possessed the characteristics of its particular element. in other words, gold was gold and silver was silver, and there was an end to it. but now the indivisible atoms are beginning to fly in pieces before the skilful and remorseless attack of modern scientists, and it will be no surprising thing if we live to see the 'elements' of our schooldays reduced to combinations of two or three primary elements, even if the primordial element, the great first cause, is not weighed, measured, and photographed. if, then, gold and silver can be split into the same constituents it might well be possible to recombine those constituents in such manner that the silver should become gold and the gold silver. to the scientific mind the two transmutations would be of equal value, but to the philosopher aiming ever at perfection, and to the sordid speculator, aiming ever at profit, the production of gold from the baser metal has always been the goal. we naturally hear little of mediæval alchemists in the legal records. their proceedings were inoffensive and little calculated to bring them within the jurisdiction of any court, except possibly that of bankruptcy. one of the scarce exceptions of this rule of silence occurred in , when edward iv. granted to sir henry grey of codnor in derbyshire, authority to labour by the cunning of philosophy for the transmutation of metals, with all things requisite to the same, at his own cost, provided he answer to the king if any profit grow therefrom. the terms of the grant can scarcely be called liberal. two years later the king decided that sir henry had had sufficient time for his experiments and called upon him to render an account of his gains. the philosopher, who had probably very little to account for, did not appear and his case was postponed from term to term for five years. at last a date was fixed for him to appear in court in the middle of october , 'but before that date the lord king, certain necessary and urgent causes moving him, made a journey from his realm of england to foreign parts, leaving no regent or guardian in the same realm, wherefore the barons of the exchequer did not come to hear pleas.' reading the courtly sentence it is hard to realise that on the rd of october king edward had, in the words of speed, 'fled from his host besides nottingham, passing the washes towards lynne, with greater difficulties than was befitting a prince to adventure, and thus without any order taken for his realme, in two hulkes of holland and one english ship, destitute of all necessary provisions, set sail towards burgundy, and in the way was encountered by the easterlings, england's great enemies, having much adoe to clear himself of their surprize.' the politer version of the legal roll has been written over an entry which, although completely erased, we may be sure set out how henry vi. had recovered the realm from edward, 'king in fact but not in right.' the alchemy of the pen, by which the roseate lancastrian version faded to the colourless statement of the yorkists, was more successful, we may well believe, than was ever the alchemy of sir henry grey. but in spite of the ill-success of sir henry grey the king in licensed david beaupee and john merchaunt to practise for four years 'the natural science of the generation of gold and silver from mercury.' alchemy, indeed, was clearly flourishing in the fifteenth century. in richard carter received authority to practise the art, while under henry vi. several such licences were granted. thus in edward cobbe was authorised 'to transmute the imperfect metals from their own kind by the art of philosophy and to transubstantiate them into gold or silver'; two years later sir edmund trafford and sir thomas ashton were empowered to transmute metals, and in john fauceby, john kirkeby, and john rayny received the royal permission to search for the philosopher's stone or the elixir of life and to transmute metals. presumably the need for royal licence in all these cases was based on the royal claim to all mines, and therefore to all other sources, of precious metals. covetous eyes had been cast upon alchemy as a possible source of revenue at least as early as , when thomas cary was ordered to bring before king edward iii. john le rous and master william de dalby, who were said to be able to make silver by alchemy, with the instruments and other things needful to their craft. but of all these scientists and philosophers no more is heard, and, although i have not searched the accounts of bullion purchased for the mint, it may safely be asserted that the revenue profited little by all their science and philosophy. alchemy, like so many other branches of knowledge, found a home in the monasteries, and there is a story of an abbot in one of the western counties who, at the time of the dissolution, hid his books and manuscripts of the hermetic art in a wall, and returning thither to fetch them found them not, and for grief at his loss lost also his wits. thomas ellis, again, prior of leighs in essex, took more loss than gain from dabbling in the art. rumours of his skill in manipulating metals caused him to be suspected of coining, and he had to give an account of himself. his interest in the theory of alchemy, which he had derived from reading books, had been stimulated by 'commynyng with crawthorne, a goldsmyth in lumbardstrete, that sayd ther was a prest callyd sir george that made himselfe cunning in suche matters.' this priest in turn introduced the prior to one thomas peter, a clothworker of london, 'that sayd he had the syens of alkemy as well as eny man in yngland.' the prior took him at his own valuation and promised to pay him £ for lessons in the art, and gave him nobles in advance. master peter then gave his pupil some silver and quicksilver with instructions how to treat them. these metals prior ellis sealed hermetically in a glass vessel, which he then placed in an earthen pot full of water, and this he kept hot for some ten weeks or more, employing a young novice of the priory, edmund freke, a boy of twelve, to keep up a continual fire. master peter came from time to time to see how matters were progressing, and no doubt reported favourably, but after a while the prior 'perceyved yt was but a falce crafte,' broke the glass vessel, sold the silver for what it would fetch and refused to pay his instructor the remaining marks. peter, however, who was better skilled in making money out of men than gold out of silver, threatened an action for debt, and as it chanced that an offer of marks was made at this time to the prior for the lease of a rectory he handed the money over to master peter. 'and thus i never medelyd with hym syne, nor with the crafte nor never wyll, god wyllyng.' [illustration: '_a young novice of the priory._'] white magic before the days of sherlock holmes and the scientific pursuit of clues the ways of tracing lost or stolen property were devious and varied. in recent times the aid of st. anthony of padua has often been invoked. why that good saint should have taken up this branch of detective work i know not; possibly he was confused with his namesake the hermit, whose pig might well have been trained to search for lost articles as less holy pigs to hunt for truffles, or possibly, as was said of the man who married five wives, 'it was his hobby.' however this may be, i have known excellent results obtained by the promise of a candle or the repetition of a _paternoster_ in honour of st. anthony; the prayer is the more popular offering, being cheaper for the petitioner and more certain for the saint--the candle is apt to be withheld when the property has been recovered, and candles have even been known to go astray and blaze before the altar of the other st. anthony, who was probably too busy in pre-reformation days looking after the cattle of his devotees to trouble about lost property. the man, therefore, who would have supernatural assistance in the recovery of his strayed goods had perforce to seek the aid of sorcerers and their familiar but often incompetent spirits. unfortunately for the modern inquirer no unsolicited testimonials bearing witness to the efficacy of these magicians appear to have survived, and it is only their failures that brought them into unpleasant and enduring prominence. london was naturally a great centre of these occult detectives, and they seem to have been well patronised. in when two silver dishes were stolen from the duke of york's house, application was made to one john berkyng, a renegade jew, who performed certain incantations, and as a result accused one of the duke's servants, william shadewater. in the same way, when lady despenser's fur-lined scarlet mantle was stolen, about the same time, berkyng had no hesitation in denouncing robert trysdene and john geyte. his repute was no doubt considerable, but these two cases proved disastrous; the parties accused had him arrested, and he was found guilty of deceit and defamation, stood in the pillory for an hour, and was then banished from the city. in this case nothing is said as to the means of divination employed, but in two cases that occurred in london in particulars are given. when simon gardiner lost his mazer bowl he employed a german, henry pot by name, to trace it. he made thirty-two balls of white clay, and after appropriate incantations named nicholas freman and cristine, his wife, as the thieves. here again the mistake brought the magician to the pillory, and the same fate befell robert berewold. in this case also it was a mazer that had been stolen; maud of eye was its owner, but a friend of hers, one alan, a water carrier, who had evidently a high opinion of robert's power, called him in. robert then took a loaf and fixed in the top of it a round peg of wood and four knives at the four sides of the same, in the shape of a cross; his further proceedings are vaguely described as 'art magic,' and resulted first in the accusation of joan wolsey and eventually in the appearance of robert berewold in the pillory with the loaf hanging round his neck. the connection between mazers and magic is not obvious, but in when john richardson, a parish clerk, lost a mazer worth _s._ he at once sought the assistance of nicholas hanwode, 'bringing with him divers young children for to behold in a looking-glass.' the record is damaged, but is sufficiently legible to show that the victim was arrested and imprisoned by the mayor and could only invoke the intervention of the court of chancery against his accusers. in this last case we have clearly an instance of divination by the glass, crystal, or similar medium--a pool of ink was used, if i remember right, by the indians in _the moonstone_. the loaf and knives seem vaguely familiar to me as instruments of divination, though i should be puzzled to give the correct ceremonial, but the thirty-two clay balls are more difficult to place, unless possibly they were used for the construction of some kind of geomantic figure. [illustration: _robert berewold in the pillory._] so far we have been dealing with genuine, if inaccurate, magicians, but a case that occurred in london in shows that there were impostors even in that learned profession. mistress alice trig having lost her paris kerchief suspected alice byntham of having stolen it, and apparently not without good reason. the two women seem to have been fairly intimate, and alice byntham went to a cobbler, william northamptone, and gave him information of certain very private matters concerning the other alice. william then went round to mistress trig and posed as a wise man, which he may have been, skilled in magic, which he was not, and revealed to her his knowledge of her private affairs. she, being duly impressed, asked him who had stolen her kerchief, to which he replied, whoever it was it certainly was not alice byntham, and launching out rashly into prophecy told his questioner that she would be drowned within a month. the dismal prospect almost terrified her into an early grave, but in the end she survived to see william standing in the pillory. a case that is recorded in lincolnshire in the sixteenth century is interesting as showing the more than local reputation enjoyed by some of these cunning men. the church of holbeach having been robbed, the parishioners consulted their fellow-townsman john lamkyn, a man known to have 'resonable knowledg in the sciens of gramer,' which he taught to the children of the neighbourhood, and said to have a knowledge not so reasonable of such arts as enchantment, witchcraft, and sorcery. he, at the request of the churchwardens, went off to consult edmund nash, a wheeler, famed as 'an expert man in the knowleg of thynges stolen,' who lived at 'cicestre,' which may have been either chichester or cirencester, as it is called in one place 'chechestre' and in another 'circetter,' but was in any case a very long way off. lamkyn took with him a pair of leather gloves found in the vestry after the robbery, and nash made certain deductions therefrom, which caused suspicion to fall upon john partridge, who complained that he had lost friends and reputation and been 'brought into infamy and slander and owte of credenz.' lamkyn's version of the story made out nash to be merely a private detective following up clues without recourse to magic, and also hinted that partridge's reputation was no great loss. there is as little reason to believe one as the other. probably the most popular method of ascertaining the whereabouts of lost property and the identity of the thief was by the use of astrology. some years ago, when i was in one of those bookshops in which at that time i spent much of my spare time and all of my spare money, i was offered a manuscript volume, formerly the property of william lilly, in which that famous but shifty astrologer had recorded some scores of investigations made by him for clients and mostly concerned with the recovery of stolen goods. the figures were neatly drawn up, and the interpretation written below, but, if my memory serves me, there was nothing to show in how many cases the investigations led to any practical result. there are, i believe, two similar volumes in the bodleian, but what became of this particular copy i do not know; whether it was due to the unfair incidence of taxation under the budget of that year or to more permanent causes, my funds did not permit of its acquisition, and i left it sorrowfully in company with a much-desired augsburg missal and pine's edition of horace--the rare edition of the '_post est_' blunder. i did, however, secure fludd's _macrocosm_, by aid of which i might myself, if time and my mastery of the movements of the whirling spheres permitted, open a branch of the heavenly scotland yard. [illustration: '_... sware "gret othes" and took himself by the hair._'] the early astrologers, thanks to the cautious vagueness of their statements, seem to have avoided the clutches of the law, into which other magicians fell. the stars reveal no names, recording only, by an anticipation of the bertillon procedure, the measurements and physical peculiarities of the thieves. if from these particulars the querent jumps to a false conclusion and accuses the wrong man, so much the worse for him--the stars and their interpreters are not to blame. no one said hard words of the london astrologers whom robert cooke consulted. cooke was a carrier from kendale who came south in with £ in money, much of it belonging to other men, in a 'bogett,' and put up at john balenger's house in st. ives. during the course of the day he opened his packs, bought and sold and drank with his customers, allowing a number of people in quite a casual way to feel the weight of his 'bogett,' but not opening it. it was late that night before they got to bed at john balenger's, for 'it was ten of the clok or they went to soper, for as much as every man pakked up his wares or they sooped,' and when they went up to their rooms the house was apparently pretty full, as cooke shared a bed with john foster, a draper, and there were others in the same chamber. next morning, as they were putting their packs on their horses, cooke suddenly noticed that one of his packs was fastened with a different kind of knot from that which he used. thereupon he suddenly exclaimed, 'my pak is wrong knyt, by the passhion of god, sith yesternight,' and opening it took out the precious 'bogett' and found it full of stones. so he sware 'gret othes' and took himself by the hair and altogether carried on mightily, and finally 'made his advow that he would never ete fisshe ne fleissh until he had been at saint rynyons in scotland if he might here of his goodes.' then, with his bed-companion of the previous night, he rode over to cambridge 'to make calculacion for the said goodes,' but at that seat of learning 'they coude find noo clerk or other person that wold take on hand to calcle for the said money.' however, when robert cooke got to london he had no difficulty in finding astrologers, who expressed the utmost confidence in their ability to 'calcle,' and told him that 'he shulde by the crafte of astronomye, if he wold, have hys eye or arme or other joynte of hys body thatt hadd robbed hym, att hys pleasure.' this ferocious promise, it may be pointed out, merely meant that the astronomer could give a description of any particular physical traits necessary to indentify the robber. in this particular instance the description was that of a fair man with large eyes, hair neither curly nor straight, and a large nose, of medium height, good looking, with a bright expression, and having one or more black teeth. this elaborate account the astronomer, with becoming modesty, had submitted to the judgment of others more learned and experienced than himself, and they guaranteed its accuracy. it was found to correspond with the appearance of john balenger the younger, son of cooke's host, except that the latter 'hath no blak toth in his hed as yt apperith iff ony lust to serch therfor,' and in order to prove this 'the said john balenger was caused to sytte down and in large wyse to gape and open his jowes to be duely seen ... and after due serch therin made yt appeared that the said john had alle his teth whyte and in good maner proporconed.' adding to this the fact that he was 'callid a good young man and wele ruled, not slaundered neither with dicyng, carding ne other misrule,' and the rather suspicious circumstance that the biggest stone found in cooke's 'bogett' after the supposed robbery was a piece of ironstone of a kind not found within forty miles of st. ives but very plentiful in kendale, it is not surprising that the magistrates should have dismissed the case against the younger john balenger. after all, a black tooth is like a finger-tip print--damning evidence if present but powerful for acquittal if absent, and who is a justice of the peace that he should contradict jupiter? [illustration: '_... caused to sytte down and in large wyse to gape._'] black magic considering how large a part magic and the supernatural played in the life of the people in the middle ages it is curious that there should be so few references thereto in the english judicial records prior to the reformation. the ancient chroniclers and historians enlivened many a dull page with the most astonishing tales of sin and mystery, vouched for on the testimony of their own eyes or of unimpeachable witnesses, but the chains of legal evidence are as powerless to bind these legendary sorcerers as were the triple chains of iron to bind the famous witch of berkeley. with the exception of general vague accusations of witchcraft levelled against the lollards and kindred heretics, references to magic are casual and rare in the records of our courts. with the reign of elizabeth this ceases to be true, and from the middle of the sixteenth century to the end of the seventeenth the black arts attracted their full share of judicial and magisterial attention. probably twenty instances of legal proceedings taken in connection with these 'ungodly practices' could be produced after the reformation for every one prior to that date, and while this is in part due to the fact that local records of the later periods have survived in far greater number than their predecessors, there is a possibility that _post hoc_ is in the case also _propter hoc_. it is arguable that the reformation having abolished, for all practical purposes, belief in the miracles of god and his saints, the natural craving of the unscientific man for a supernatural explanation of the abnormal could only be satisfied by a belief in the miracles of the devil and his sinners. be that as it may, the fact remains that after the reformation witches and warlocks became as common as holy nuns and anchorities had once been--the marvels reported of the one class are about as unsatisfactory from a scientific point of view as those of the other. it is, however, with a few chance references of earlier date that i am concerned. suitably enough it is from the land of 'cunning murrell' that my earliest instance comes. the sheriff of essex in made a note of having expended _s._ _d._ on 'a woman accused of sorcery.' the record is brief and unsatisfactory, telling neither the details of the offence, the method of trial, nor the result. these two last items we get in another case which occurred in norfolk in , when agnes, wife of odo the merchant, appealed a certain galiena for sorcery, and galiena successfully cleared herself by the ordeal of the hot iron. for a century after this any magical offenders who may have been brought to trial have eluded my search. then in began the proceedings against the knights templars, based very largely on accusations of practising black magic. in england, however, nothing of the kind was even held to have been proved against the knights, although not only 'what the sailor said' was considered to be evidence, but also what the clerk thought the priest said the soldier heard the sailor say. [illustration: '_... thrust a leaden bodkin into the head of that image._'] it is rather remarkable that the year , in which the great irish trial of the lady alice kyteler took place, was the date of the fullest and in many ways the most interesting of the early english trials for sorcery. in that year robert marshall of leicester, under arrest for a variety of offences, endeavoured to save his own neck by turning king's evidence and accusing his former master, john notingham, and a number of coventry citizens of conspiring to kill the king, the two despensers, and the prior and two other officials of coventry by magical arts. marshall's tale was to the effect that the accused citizens came to john notingham, as a man skilled in 'nigromancy,' and bargained with him for the death of the persons named, paying a certain sum down and giving him seven pounds of wax. with the wax notingham and marshall made six images of the proposed victims and a seventh of richard de sowe, the _corpus vile_ selected for experimental purposes. the work was done in secret in an old deserted house not far from coventry, and when the images were ready the magician bade his assistant thrust a leaden bodkin into the head of that image which represented richard de sowe, and next day sent him to the house of the said richard, whom he found raving mad. master john then removed the bodkin from the head of the image and thrust it into the heart, and within three days richard died. and at that point robert marshall's story comes to a lame and impotent conclusion. not a word of explanation does he give as to why, when the preliminary experiment had proved so successful, they did not go on with their fell design. the unfortunate 'nigromancer' died in prison before the case had been thrashed out and reported upon by a jury, and the case against the citizens was allowed to fall through. even if the trial had followed its normal course it is not probable that we should have had more than a plain and enlightening verdict of 'not guilty,' for robert marshall was a liar of inventive genius. he accused two men of assisting him in the robbery and murder of a merchant from chester 'in erlestrete, coventry, near the white cellar,' with a profusion of 'corroborative detail, intended to give artistic verisimilitude to an otherwise bald and unconvincing narrative,' which proved, as he afterwards admitted, utterly false. one or two other wild accusations also came to nothing, and robert was duly hanged. but while we cannot say that the procedure he described was actually used in this case, we know it was quite in accord with the orthodox methods of magicians. that the story was believed at the time we may conclude, as the younger despenser wrote this year to the pope complaining that he was threatened by magical and secret dealings. the pope, with much good sense, recommended him to turn to god with his whole heart and to make a good confession and such satisfaction as should be enjoined upon him; adding that no other remedies were needful. passing again over a century we find in william, lord botreaux, complaining that sir ralph botreaux, william langkelly, and others, 'unmindful of the salvation of their souls and not having god before their eyes,' had procured john alwode of trottokeshull, hugh bower of kilmington, chaplain, and john newport, who were said to practise soothsaying, necromancy, and art magic, 'to weaken, subtly consume, and destroy by the said arts,' the complainant's body. commissioners were appointed to inquire into the matter, but any further proceedings that there may have been have vanished, or at best are lying hid in some unsuspected corner of the record office. another instance of the use of magical ceremonies with evil intent is alluded to fifty years later, when john knight, chaplain, complained that he had been arrested and committed to the marshalsea for going with the servants of 'the lord straunge' to search the house of alice, wife of john huntley, 'which of long tyme hath used and exercised the feetes of wychecraft and sorcery,' in southwark. they went into 'an house called the lasour loke in suthwerk in kenstrete' (a hospital founded originally for lepers, but by this time used more as an almshouse or infirmary) 'and there found dyvers mamettes for wychecraft and enchauntements with other stuff beryed and deeply hydd under the erthe.' the circumstances are very similar to those related in the case of an old woman turned out of the almshouses at rye in for using magical ceremonies, including the burial of pieces of raw beef, to the intent that as the beef decayed away so might the bodies of her enemies, though it is possible that in the case of alice huntley the objects had only been buried for secrecy. five-and-twenty years later, in , a still clearer case of the use of 'mamettes' or images occurred in wales. the bishop of st. davids, having vainly remonstrated with thomas wyriott and tanglost william for living 'in advoutre,' imprisoned the woman tanglost and afterwards banished her from the diocese. she went to bristol, and hired one margaret hackett, 'which was practized in wychecraft,' to destroy the bishop. tanglost and margaret then went back to wyriott's house, and in a room called, most unsuitably, paradise chamber, made two images of wax, and then, possibly thinking that a bishop would take more bewitchment than an ordinary mortal, sent for another woman, 'which they thought cowde and hadde more cunning and experiens than they,' and she made a third image. the bishop was not a penny the worse for this 'inordinat delying,' but ordered the arrest of tanglost for heresy; wyriott intervened by getting her imprisoned through a trumped-up action for debt, in order to keep her out of the bishop's clutches, and the bishop had to invoke the assistance of the court of chancery. three cases of magic occurred in . on may of that year an order was issued for the arrest of thomas northfelde, d.d., a dominican friar of worcester, and the seizure of all his books treating of sorcery or wickedness, and two days later brother john ashwell of the crutched friars, london, john virley, priest, and margery jourdemain, who had been imprisoned at windsor for sorcery, were released. in these cases it is very likely that the sorcery consisted in an uncanny and suspicious addiction to unusual branches of learning, combined possibly with experiments in chemistry or heretical tendencies, both alike dangerous in the eyes of the orthodox, but the third case was clearly a matter of bewitchment--in the opinion of the victim. the facts are quite simple. john duram of york had a field with a pond in it, and having in some way incurred the enmity of thomas mell, a farmer, the latter, 'per divers artes erroneous et countre la foy catholice cest assavoir sorcery,' withdrew the water from john's pond, to the great injury of his cattle, besides certain other unnamed injuries wrought by his 'malveys ymaginacion et sotell labour.' mell being under the patronage of men of influence because of his magical abilities, duran did not dare to bring an action against him in the ordinary court, and therefore sought the intervention of the court of chancery, with what success i do not know. so far my magicians, it must be admitted, have been rather commonplace people, proceeding on the usual lines of their craft and displaying little originality, but my final instance is, so far as i know, unique. in an eighteenth-century manuscript in my possession, formerly in the phillipps collection, amongst a mass of extracts from all kinds of records is an entry said to be taken from the court rolls of the manor of hatfield in yorkshire. according to this, at a court held in robert of rotheram brought an action against john de ithen for breach of contract, alleging that on a certain day, at thorne, john agreed to sell him for threepence-halfpenny 'the devil bound with a certain bond' (_diabolum ligatum in quodam ligamine_), and robert thereupon gave him 'arles-penny,' or earnest-money (_quoddam obolum earles_), 'by which possession of the said devil remained with the said robert, to receive delivery of the said devil within four days,' but when he came to john the latter refused to hand over the devil, wherefore robert claimed _s._ damages. john appeared in court and did not deny the contract, but the steward, holding that 'such a plea does not lie between christians,' 'adjourned the parties to hell for the hearing of the case,' and amerced both parties. the first question is, is this a genuine extract from the rolls? the critic who is inclined to think that he smells a rat may be confuted by camden, according to whom no rats have ever been known in the town of hatfield. the extremely solid nature of all the other extracts in my volume is almost a guarantee of good faith so far as the eighteenth century copyist is concerned, and the probability that he took it from the original is strengthened by his having in one place misread _unde_ as _vide_ and subsequently corrected the error. but allowing that it occurred on the rolls, was it a genuine transaction or was it a facetious invention of the manor clerk? i incline to believe that it was genuine. a man who invented such a case to fill up a blank space on the roll would have been almost certain to have elaborated it further, while, on the other hand, having noted the adjournment of the case to 'another place,' to use parliamentary language, he would not have been likely to add that both parties were fined. granting that the action was actually brought, we are left in doubt whether robert was a simple gull with whom john had been amusing himself, or whether the defendant really believed that he could fulfil his contract. again, what was that contract? latin, though admirably clear in many respects, suffers from the absence of the definite article, and it is difficult to be certain whether it was a question of 'the devil' or 'a devil'; judging by the price, the latter seems more probable, as threepence-halfpenny for the prince of darkness seems absurdly little, and i believe that _diabolus ligatus_ was sometimes applied to a divining spirit imprisoned by magic arts in a bottle or crystal. however that may be, it is not probable that a law court has ever before or since been asked to decide the question of proprietary rights in the devil or his imps. [illustration: '_diabolus ligatus._'] ii highways so much is heard of the modern facilities for travelling that one might almost think that before the days of cook (thomas of the tickets, not the polar mandeville) no englishman had ever stirred abroad. yet it is hardly questionable that in mediæval times the proportion of englishmen who had visited foreign lands was far larger than at the present day. thanks to military feudalism it is scarcely an exaggeration to say that during the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries most of our country gentlemen had seen service in france, taking with them contingents of hired or pressed men from every village in the land. for the more peaceful classes there were the attractions of the pilgrimage, the spiritual advantages outweighing the dangers and hardships of a journey to rome, and the celebrated shrine of st. james of compostella drawing thousands every year to spain. still earlier the crusades drew the pious and the martial alike yet farther afield, but of those who journeyed to the east many did not return. at all time a pretty sharp limit was set to the travels of the ordinary man by the seaboard of palestine, and those who penetrated still deeper into the mysterious east were few. it is therefore interesting to follow geoffrey of langley on his embassy to the tartar court in and back to england, piecing together the story of his travels from the prosaic accounts of his paymaster. towards the end of the twelfth century the tartars, a nomadic tribe who inhabited the district between the caucasus and the euphrates and professed the christianity of the nestorians, came into some prominence in europe through the fame of their khan, the celebrated 'prester john.' he, however, was killed in by the terrible genghiz khan the mogul, from turkestan, whose successors adopted the name and, after one or two generations, the religion of the conquered tartars. argon, king or emperor of the tartars, accepted christianity in , and in alliance with the kings of armenia and georgia inflicted a severe defeat upon the forces of the soldan. later in the same year his ambassadors reached europe, charged to preach a new crusade for the ejection of the saracens from palestine. strengthened with commendatory letters from the pope, they visited the english court. king edward made them welcome, and wrote to argon expressing his delight at his proposed attack upon the sultan of babylon, and promising to come in person as soon as the pope would sanction his going to the holy land. to cement the alliance he promised to send the king some gerfalcons, for which he had asked. this letter was written in september , and next year the falcons were duly dispatched by the hands of sir geoffrey of langley. the embassy reached trebizond about the middle of june , and obtained quarters for themselves and the precious gerfalcons while waiting for a safe-conduct to the tartar court. the king's whereabouts were uncertain, and nicholas de chartres, geoffrey's squire, and conrad, nephew of the ambassador's chief-of-staff, buskerell, were sent by sea to samsoun, and thence first to kaisarieh and then to sivas, where they waited for the king. at last all was ready; a tent had been made from cotton cloth and scarlet and grey material, bought in trebizond, a parasol had been purchased for the ambassador, and a horse for him to ride, and also a mule, which cost more than three times as much as the horse. for the first stage of the journey to tabriz, where they were to see the king, thirty horses were hired, but at baiburt, which they reached on july , the number was reduced, and from baiburt to zaratkana only fourteen horses were employed. beyond the giving of presents to tartars and others, including a gift of cloth to 'the lady' of erz roum, little is recorded of the journey to tabriz--the city of baths and iced drinks, as the spanish ambassadors to timour bey found it a century later. the embassy left tabriz, carrying with them a leopard as a present from the tartar king, and on friday, september , reached the busy trading town of khoi, where gonzalez de clavijo on his way to samarcand in saw a giraffe, which he deemed, 'to a man who had never seen such an animal before, a wonderful sight.' sunday night they spent at 'nosseya,' presumably nuskar, and monday at a village 'of the armenians,' evidently near the lake of van, as fish appear for the first time amongst the provisions bought, in addition to the usual bread, cheese, and fruit. at argish on the lake of van boots were bought for three members of the suite, the horses were shod and stores laid in, including wine, meat, ducks, eggs, and salt. after stopping one night at 'jaccaon,' melasgird was reached, where they dismissed their mounted escort from argish and proceeded under fresh escort through three nameless saracen villages to erz roum, which they reached on monday, october . a two days' halt was made here while they laid in stores and had their clothes washed. the wear and tear of travelling began to be felt; boots had to be bought for the chaplain, john the clerk, robert, gerard, another robert, and william and martin the grooms, and a hat and shoes for willecok. on the wednesday night, when they stayed at another saracen village, they were entertained by native minstrels, and the following day they reached baiburt, where john the scullion's boots gave out. here they had to lay in stores, as the next two halts were to be 'in the fields,' away from habitations. [illustration: '_a wonderful sight._'] at last, on monday, october , they found themselves back at trebizond, where they rested for a week and invested largely in new shoes, as well as in such heavy and bulky conveniences as pots and pans, plates, dishes, and stools, with which they had had to dispense on their journey. the saracen porters who had carried the baggage from tabriz were paid off, a tartar who had rendered some small service was rewarded with a carpet, and the ambassador's suite received their wages and allowances of linen. at the head of the suite was andrew balaban, who received a scarlet robe in addition to his wages, and martin the latimer, or interpreter; then there were willecok the chamberer, john the clerk, walter the cook, martin lombard the larderer, and michael and jonot 'of the kitchen'; chyzerin, copin, and tassin the falconers, jacques and oliver the grooms, michael de suria, theodoric, manfred, gerardin, robert, and robekin, and one or two others of whom we learn nothing but their names. altogether there must have been about twenty or thirty persons who sailed from trebizond and after a slow voyage reached constantinople on sunday, november . at constantinople, which the accountant by an ingenious error of derivation calls 'constantinus nobilis,' the galley lay for a week, possibly delayed by adverse winds. there were compensations for the delay; oysters, hares, mallards, chestnuts, pears, and apples must have been welcome luxuries after the hardships and monotony of the past weeks, and it is possibly more than a coincidence that the doctor had to be called in to attend richard. even the leopard fared daintily, three chickens making a pleasant change from his usual mutton. at last everything was ready, the clothes had been washed, john the clerk's hose had been mended, some persian cloth had been bought for richard's tabard, and the parasol had been re-covered, which seems hardly necessary, unless it was to be used as an umbrella; the weather being cold, eighteen sets of wraps (_muffeles_) were bought for the suite, while sir geoffrey procured fur-lined robes of vair, gules, and white fox with a hood of 'alcornyne,' and on monday, november , the galley set sail for italy. otranto was reached on saturday, november , and here the ambassador and part of his suite landed, richard and robert going on at once to brindisi by boat. the galley waited long enough to revictual and to allow of cleaning the leopard's cage, and then went on with the rest of the suite and the heavier luggage to genoa. on sunday, the bishop of otranto having kindly lent them horses, the ambassador's party started on their journey overland to genoa, reaching lecce in time for dinner and an impromptu entertainment by three minstrels. the first four days of december were spent at brindisi, whence they went on up the east coast by villanuova and mola to barletta, then turning inland to 'tres sanctos,' which may have been trinitapoli, but was chiefly noteworthy for a dinner of chicken, pigeons, and sausages. next morning, wednesday, december , they lunched at san lorenzo on their way to troja, and so, past 'crevaco' to 'bonum albergum,' which, if it was not benevento, was not far from that town. two days more brought them, by monte sarchio and acerra, to naples, where they remained until thursday, the th. here they were once more in a land of plenty and could feast on pheasants, partridges, mallards, hares, and pigeons, skilfully seasoned with sage and parsley, garlic, and saffron. two mules and a dappled grey horse were bought, as well as some glasses and earthenware pots and mugs, and the party set out for capua, sending their silver plate on ahead by the hands of manfred oldebrand. at capua, on friday, december , tassin the falconer died, much regretted by his brother falconer, hanekin, to whom he owed _s._ _d._, and offerings were made for the good of his soul. [illustration: '_an impromptu entertainment by three minstrels._'] five days' march, through mignano, ceprano, anagni, and a place called 'mulera,' which i cannot identify, brought them to rome. at rome they spent christmas. a doctor was called in to attend one of the grooms, and medicine was obtained for a horse, possibly without avail, as two horses were bought for thirty florins, from 'the merchants of the ricardi.' on sunday, the th, the journey was resumed, isola and sutri forming the first day's march, viterbo and monte fiascone the second. acquapendente was reached on tuesday, and here they spent _d._ on 'a small box (_cofinello_) in which to carry eel pies.' passing san quirico, siena was reached on the st of january, their road after that leading through san cossiano, pistoia, and buggione, to lucca. from lucca they struck across to the coast, through avenza and sarzana to sestri, and so up by rapallo and recco to genoa, which they reached on sunday, january . at genoa they found their companions, who had come round by sea. a house was hired from pucino roncini, the galley was unloaded and paid off, its cost from trebizond to genoa being £ , a sum more formidable in appearance than in reality, as the genoese pound was only about _s._ _d._ of english money. tamorace the tartar was dismissed with the present of a silver cup, and there remained only the leopard to link them with the east. at genoa the series of accounts terminates, but the dispatch of a messenger to the marquess of saluzzo suggests that our travellers were going through his territory, by the same road that henry of bolingbroke, earl of derby and afterwards king of england, followed just a century later on his return from venice and the east, taking with him, by a coincidence, a leopard. in that case they would have gone inland, past novi, asti, and turin to chambéry in savoy, then northwards to châlons, and by beaune, châtillon, and nogent-sur-saône to paris. thence they would probably have made for wissant, and so across to dover, reaching england about the beginning of september, , or rather earlier, after two years of almost continual travelling. of the wonderful things that they saw, and the yet more wonderful things that they heard--tales of monstrous men, uncanny beasts, and evil spirits--of their adventures, perils of shipwreck, and perils of robbers, no record has survived; but something of their slow journeying, the trying desert marches, the vexatious delays of contrary winds, pleasantly varied by the relaxation of a halt in some great city, we have managed to piece together. such exceptional voyages as those of geoffrey of langley to tabriz or of gonzalez de clavijo to samarcand are interesting for their rarity; but a value of another kind attaches to the embassy of hugh de vere to the papal court in . it was a placid and uneventful journey, and would seem to have been not merely without adventures, but without incidents. beyond the trifling worries attendant on pack saddles and harness that required constant repairs, the trifling interest derived from varying changes of diet, and the complication of accounts caused by the existence of an entirely fresh monetary standard in each state through which the travellers passed, there was little to record but the list of stages on the journey. as, however, the route followed was the main road to rome, along which passed a constant stream of pilgrims, prompted by piety or a wish to see the world--priests seeking benefices for themselves or curses for their neighbours; penitents desiring absolution; appellants with their wallets stuffed with deeds, decrees, and legal precedents, and their appellees carrying the weightier argument of english gold--it is worth while following the embassy and noting the stopping-places. most of these are identical with those used by henry of bolingbroke on his return from venice almost a century later, and were, therefore, evidently the usual stages on this road. [illustration: _pilgrims._] hugh de vere and his suite, consisting of two knights, two chaplains, a clerk, ten esquires, and some thirty grooms and other attendants, assembled at paris on good friday, april , , and next day rode as far as rozoy, contenting themselves on the journey, as it was a fast day, with fish and fruit. the next day being easter sunday they did not start until after dinner, but reached provins, fifty miles south-east of paris, in the evening. from provins of the roses the cavalcade passed by pavillon down the valley of the seine to bar-sur-seine, where, lent being over, they feasted on meat and pies and flauns, a kind of mediæval pancake particularly popular at easter-time, according to haliwell. they soon entered burgundy, and turning south through montbard followed for some distance the route now taken by the canal de bourgogne with its innumerable locks, and after halting a night at 'flori'--which occurs in bolingbroke's account as 'floreyn,' but would seem to have dwindled out of the maps if not out of existence--reached beaune; and still doing an average of thirty miles a day came to lyons, stopping at tournus and bellville on the way, on monday, april . after following the valley of the rhone a few miles farther south, they turned off eastwards near vienne through st. georges to voiron and thence northwards, passing close to the grande chartreuse, across the borders of savoy to chambéry. so far the currency in use had been 'neir turneis,' or black money of tours, _d._ of 'petit tournois' being equivalent to one 'gros tournois,' the standard to which all other denominations are reduced in these accounts, a coin worth approximately _d._ sterling; but now and all the way through savoy and piedmont payments are entered in 'vieneys,' of which seventeen went to the 'gros tournois.' through the mountainous district of savoy progress was markedly slower, the sixty miles from chambéry to susa taking six days. the road by which they travelled followed the valley of the arc, as does the modern railway, past montmélian, la chambre, and st. michel; but as the mont cenis tunnel had not then been completed the ambassador and his suite had to go farther east to lansle bourg, toiling up mont cenis to the hospice founded on that storm-swept road by the pious king louis, first of his name, and then dropping down to piedmont and the ancient town of susa, where after the hardships of the day's journey they regaled themselves with 'tartes et flaunes.' whether it was the climbing or the flauns i do not know, but next day sir hugh's palfreman was ill, and another servant had to be put in his place at avigliano. on friday, april , turin was reached, and a stay was made here until the following tuesday, a rest that must have been welcome after three weeks' continuous travelling. portmanteaux and bags were repaired, clothes washed, and bodies reinvigorated by a more varied choice of food than was possible while travelling; shoulders of mutton, pigeons, chickens, figs, grapes, and other fruit were bought, and the cook prepared 'charlet,' evidently an ancestress of the aristocratic charlotte russe rather than of her plebeian namesake apple charlotte, as the constituents were milk and eggs. the journey was resumed on wednesday, april , the route lying eastwards through chivasso and moncalvo to an unidentifiable place, 'basseignanh,' evidently just across the po in lombardy, as here the coinage becomes 'emperials,' of which it required twenty to make a 'gros tournois.' lomello, pavia, piacenza, borgo san donnino (where for the first time we note a purchase of cheese, for which the district is still famous), parma, reggio, and modena follow in uneventful succession, but instead of continuing along the same line to bologna, as does the modern traveller, the embassy now turned sharply to the south-west to sassuolo. in this more countrified district the rate of exchange fell, and the 'gros tournois' was only worth eighteen instead of twenty 'emperials,' but as a compensation the accountant notes under frassinoro, the next station on the road through the picturesque valley of the secchia, that the expenses of four days were small, thanks to the presents of 'la marcoys.' i am not clear as to the identity of this marquess; all this part of italy was a mass of little lordships and semi-independent principalities, but for the most part their lords were dukes. the marquess of carrara seems a reasonable suggestion--if i am right in thinking that there was such a person, and am not confusing him with the marquess of carabas, who, from his occurrence in the history of _puss in boots_, was presumably a noble of catalonia. lucca was reached on the eve of ascension day, and the feast itself was spent at pistoia, where the coinage in use was 'pisans,' the 'gros tournois' being worth _s._ _d._ of pisan money. the same currency continued in use in florence and siena, after which 'curteneys' are introduced, the 'gros tournois' being worth _s._ of this money, which, however, was only in use for two days, during which halts were made at acquapendente and santa cristina, a town on the shore of the lake of bolsena, which name commemorates that saint's escape from martyrdom by drowning, thanks to the miraculous buoyancy of her millstone, on which she floated to shore as st. piran floated on his stone to the delectable duchy of cornwall. after this the accounts are kept at viterbo in 'paperins,' _s._ _d._ of papal money being equivalent to the 'gros tournois,' changing next day, for the last time on the way out, to 'provis,' at _s._ _d._ passing sutri and isola, rome was reached on whit monday. here they found master thomas of southwark, who had been sent on ahead to hire lodgings and furniture, and here they spent six weeks. [illustration: '_st. piran._'] pope boniface having agreed to act as arbiter between the kings of france and england, sir hugh de vere's mission was accomplished and the embassy left rome on the afternoon of thursday, july , the count of savoy accompanying them as far as isola, their first halting-place. the route followed as far as pistoia was the same as that taken on the way out, but by rather shorter stages, as several of the party appear to have been knocked up by the heat. at san quirico, between acquapendente and siena, hackneys were hired for the invalids and special dishes were prepared for them--eggs, honey, and apples being bought 'to make appilmus,' as well as 'verjus, peresill et autre sause.' ten miles out of pistoia, at buggiano, a halt had to be made and rooms hired for the sick members of the party, who were left here while the others went on to lucca. here a fortnight's stay was made, and when the journey was resumed, on august , progress was very slow. possibly in order to get the benefit of the sea air a different route was followed from this point. the halt at lucca had not restored the strength of the invalids, and the party crept on at about five miles a day, stopping at insignificant villages, such as 'pont sent pere' and 'valprumaye' between lucca and camajore, 'fregedo' on the coast between pietrasanta and sarzana, 'pamarne' and 'la matillane' between sarzana, where a three days' halt was made, and borghetto. it would seem that there was a particularly bad piece of road after sestri, as sir hugh and the other sick persons were taken by boat from sestri to chiavari, where a whole week was spent. during this halt wilkoc the clerk was sent into genoa to fetch a doctor for sir hugh, and at the same time, money having run short, fresh supplies were obtained from some pistoian merchants resident in the town. fortunately genoa was well furnished with both cash and curatives, for not only was it one of the richest ports in europe, but it shared with its rival, venice, the fame of producing a 'treacle' which possessed as many healing virtues as any of the quack compounds that now make england hideous to the railway traveller. after halts at rapallo, recco, and nervi, genoa was reached on september . here they rested for two weeks, and as the treacle had apparently proved ineffectual, even when supplemented with 'surupes, leitwaires, especeries, emplastres et totes manieres de medicines,' seven members of the party who were still ill were sent by sea to savona. their comrades who came by land having joined them, they left the coast and turned north through cortemiglia, 'castillol,' which i suppose is castagnole, villanova, and rivoli, ten miles west of turin, to susa. here two days were spent and 'monsieur johan carbonel and jak le gigneur' dined with them, but who these guests were i do not know. from susa to chambéry the route followed was that by which the embassy had travelled on their way out, but from chambéry they took a more easterly road through belley, st. rambert, and bourg, rejoining the former route at tournus. from 'petit paris,' somewhere between nogent-sur-seine and tournan, four men were sent on ahead to secure accommodation. only one night was spent in paris, and our travellers pressed on northwards through hodancourt, etrépagny, oisemont, and neufchâtel by boulogne to wissant, which they reached on the last day of october, and whence they crossed to england a week later, regaling themselves in the meanwhile with whelks and mustard--not necessarily eaten together. [illustration: '_... crossed to england._'] sir hugh and his company had thus been out of england eight months, the journey to rome occupying some seven weeks, but the return trip covering four months. if we have no hint of any adventures and few details of anything but food, it only shows that the roads were safe and the travellers good englishmen. iii coronations at the present time[ ] the coronation is the rome towards which all roads lead; and if a walk down oxford street lands us among 'coronation' cuffs and collars and soaps and souvenirs it is only to be expected that a mediæval byway should bring us into the subject of coronations. for of all the survivals with which we are surrounded in this conservative country the coronation ceremonies, though shorn of much of their grandeur and significance during the last hundred years, are still the most unchanged in spirit and in detail. for one thing, they restore to london for a brief period the predominant feature of mediæval life--colour. for a few days, in as in , the city is 'adorned with silkes, banners, crownes, pals, tapers, lampes, and with certaine wonders of wit and strange showes'; and, though the colour-scheme is baulked of fulness by the sad clothes of the spectators, there is a blaze of gaiety which is pleasing in its appeal to primitive instincts and its disregard of business and utilitarianism. [illustration: '_henry's badge._'] the proceedings in connection with the coronation of our mediæval kings began at the tower. very significant was it that before taking formal possession of his throne the king took practical possession of the fortress. but if his claim to the crown rested partly on force and the strong hand, it rested also upon the elective will of the people, and accordingly, on the day before the coronation the king rode from the tower to westminster palace to show himself to his subjects that they might see what sort of man it was whom they were choosing for king. naturally the processional ride was made as magnificent and impressive as possible. with the king went a crowd of nobles, all on horseback, conspicuous amongst them being the recipients of 'coronation honours,' the new-made knights of the bath, usually thirty or forty in number, upon whom the honour of knighthood had been bestowed, with the accompaniment of scarlet-furred robes and other gifts of apparel, the previous day. richard iii., whose cavalcade eclipsed the splendour of his predecessors, was accompanied by three dukes, nine earls, and a hundred knights and lords, all gorgeously attired, 'whereof the duke of buckingham so farre exceeded, that the caparison of his horse was so charged with embroydered worke of gold, as it was borne up from the ground by certaine his footmen thereto appointed.' nor did henry vii., though careful and even parsimonious in most matters, spare expense over his procession. he himself was arrayed in rich cloth of gold of a purple ground, of which ten yards were bought from jerome friscobaldi at the prodigious price of £ the yard; the 'trappour,' or caparison, of his charger was made of crimson damask cloth of gold, costing £ , and either this or another trappour was adorned with silver-gilt 'portculiez' (henry's badge, so often repeated upon the walls of his chapel at the abbey) made by 'hanche doucheman.' over the king's head was a canopy of cloth of gold, the gilded staves of which were carried by relays of knights, changed at frequent intervals that many might partake of the honourable but arduous duty, and in attendance on him were the 'henxmen,' dressed in crimson satin (costing _s._ the yard) and white cloth of gold embroidered with the royal arms from designs by christian poynter, who also executed twelve 'cotes of armes for herauldes, beten and wrought in oyle colours with fyne gold,' and twelve similar trumpet banners. the henchmen led the spare charger which for some reason always formed part of the royal procession. it was, possibly, for this state charger that the 'trappours of st. george' were made, of white cloth of gold, but the 'trappour of blue velvet with red roses worked with venice gold and dragons of red velvet,' and the other 'trappour' with the arms of cadwallader, clearly belonged to the queen's portion of the procession. she was clad in white damask cloth of gold, reclining on cushions of the same material in a litter drawn by two horses with white harness and trappings, under a canopy of white damask with silver staves. five henchmen in crimson and blue led her palfrey of estate; then came three 'cheires,' or carriages, each containing four ladies and draped in crimson, and then seven ladies in blue velvet 'purfelled' with crimson satin, riding on palfreys all of one colour with harness of crimson cloth of gold, her suite displaying a splendour of colour which formed an excellent foil to her own silvery radiance. [illustration: _a 'herauld.'_] our sovereigns no longer start from a fortress to ascend the throne, and they show themselves to their loyal subjects after they have been crowned instead of before the ceremony, not from any fear that they may prove unacceptable to the people, but because none would dream of challenging their right. but if buckingham palace is a less satisfactory starting-point than the tower (and there are artists who consider the latter the more picturesque), there are some things in which we have improved upon our ancestors. chief amongst these are the police arrangements. it is no longer necessary to proclaim, as was done when edward ii. was crowned, 'that no one shall dare to carry sword, or pointed knife, or dagger, mace, or club, or other arms on pain of imprisonment for a year and a day'--the only weapon of offence thus sternly prohibited now-a-days being the aeroplane. nor is the threat of a similar penalty needed to ensure the polite treatment of foreigners attending the coronation. a certain amount of severity was no doubt required to counteract the effects of nine conduits in the cheap running red and white wine, with auxiliary fountains at westminster, however weak the wine may have been. modern coronations are not 'hanseld and auspicated,' as was that of richard i., with the blood of many jews, because some of their number had dared sacrilegiously to gaze upon the king--a privilege notoriously accorded to cats, but evidently forbidden to a dog of a jew. on the other hand, we are spared such disastrous overcrowding as occurred at the coronation of edward ii., when the king had to go out of his palace by the back door to avoid the crush, and by the pressure of the crowd within the abbey a stout earthen wall was broken down, a prominent citizen 'threstyd to deth,' and the area reserved for the ceremony invaded. it would seem from the instance just quoted that the temporary erections made by our ancestors on these occasions would not have passed the l.c.c. tests, and we may also flatter ourselves that they would never have been capable of hiding their churches and other public buildings under a sea of ingeniously constructed deal seats, but still the carpenters and upholsterers were kept pretty busy at the abbey for some little time before the ceremony, though the tradesmen who most benefited were the leading mercers, who had to supply great quantities of cloth of gold, velvet, turkish and italian silks, samite, and fine linen of tripoli. within the abbey, at the crossing of the transepts, a high stage had to be erected for the chair of state, where the king sat in full view of the people during the first part of the service. this stage was covered with rugs and hung round with silken cloth of gold, the chair of state being also provided with a golden canopy and silken cushions. several varieties of cloth of gold were used, the bill for this material at the coronation of edward iii., in , amounting to £ , much of it being bought from one john de perers, who might very well have been the father of alice perers, that 'busy court-flie' who infatuated the king in his declining years. the most expensive variety was 'silken cloth of gold of nak,' but what place is meant by nak i cannot say with any certainty: just conceivably it might be nasik close to bombay, for much of this material came from at least as far east as turkey; but whatever its place of origin, it was used for the king's hose and shoes, and for the little tent or shrine before the high altar within which the ceremony of anointing, with its attendant disrobing, took place. the next most valuable kind is described as _raffata_--presumably 'reeded,' though the word is not to be found in ducange (when will some one do for mediæval latin what oxford and sir james murray are doing for modern english?)--was used for covering the archbishop's chair, while of a third variety, diapered or damask, one whole cloth was offered at the high altar, and two cloths sewed together were used to cover the tomb of the king's grandfather, edward i. others of these diaper cloths, with purple velvet and cloth of tartar, or armenian, silk, were used in the chancel and round the high altar, while canvas cloth of gold was mixed with the more precious kinds or employed in less important positions. [illustration: '_the young edward iii._'] the king, after his ride to westminster palace, partook of a light supper and retired to his chamber. if he had not already been knighted he prepared for that ceremony, a usual though not invariable preliminary to coronation, by keeping vigil. the room in which the young edward iii. rested was provided with red rugs with the royal arms worked in the corners, three 'bankers' or bench covers of a like design, and other 'bankers' of red, green, murrey and blue, and his bath was covered with silken cloth of gold, though for the bath of henry vii. flemish linen was considered good enough. on the morning of the coronation day the king, after the ceremonial bath, put on spotless raiment, to signify that 'as his body glistens with the washing and the beauty of his vestments so may his soul shine,' and went into westminster hall, where he was lifted by his lords into his throne. presently the royal procession, the king walking barefoot and the various nobles carrying the regalia, started down the covered way, carpeted with the coarse burrell cloth of candlewykstrete (now cannon street), so much of this carpet as lay outside the church being the perquisite of the lord of the manor of bedford as almoner for the day, and were met by the monks and clergy, and by them conducted into the abbey. with the details of the ceremony that then ensued, 'whereof the circumstaunce to shewe in ordre wolde aske a longe leysoure,' all who are interested must by this time be well acquainted, so often and so fully has it been described. [illustration: _crowns ancient and modern._] the ceremonial investiture was performed with the regalia of st. edward, preserved in the abbey treasury and regarded as too sacred for lay hands to touch, so that in the procession they were carried set out upon a covered board; but before the close of the service the king laid aside the crown of st. edward and assumed his royal crown. this did not resemble the glittering monstrosity with which we now render our sovereigns' heads uncomfortable and slightly absurd, but was a dignified and artistic circlet of the type known to heraldic writers as a ducal coronet. edward iii. had three crowns, all of gold, the chief--described in as 'lately pawned in flanders'--with eight fleurs-de-lys of rubies and emeralds with four great orient pearls and eight sprays of balas rubies and orient sapphires; the second, given to queen philippa, had ten fleurs-de-lys of rubies and emeralds with groups of emeralds and six pearls; the third was not, strictly speaking, a crown, but a chaplet, being an unflowered circlet with nine groups of great oriental pearls and in the midst a beautiful ruby. wearing his crown and attended by his nobles bearing the other insignia of royalty, the newly anointed king returned to westminster palace for the great business of the coronation banquet. for this event westminster hall was prepared, a 'siege royal,' or throne, being set for the king at the upper end, covered with 'turkish cloth of gold,' or other handsome material, with a canopy. the benches of the lower tables were covered with 'bankers' of red or blue cloth and 'dorsers' of the same material hung behind the guests--the 'dorser' being the mediæval equivalent of the 'thing they call a dodo, running round the wall.' the 'dorsers' behind the royal seat were of cloth of gold and were protected from the dampness of the walls by a lining of canvas. when the guests were seated in their order of precedence, and the earl marshal and his attendants had ridden up and down the hall to make room for the attendants, the banquet began, and during its course a number of nobles and lords of manors had the duty or privilege of discharging various services to the king, receiving as a rule valuable perquisites. thus the table had been laid by the lord of kibworth-beauchamp manor, in return for which service he kept the salt cellar, knives, and spoons; the cloths and napkins had been provided by the lord of ashley in essex, as chief napier, and remained his property. the important post of chief butler was filled by the earl of arundel, though at the coronation of queen eleanor, in , his place was taken by the earl of surrey, as he had been excommunicated by the archbishop of canterbury in a quarrel over sporting rights, but the lord of wimondley had the privilege of passing the first cup of wine to the king, and then withdrew in favour of the mayor of london, who acted as chief cupbearer--not without reward, for at the coronation feast of edward iii. the mayor received as his fee a gold cup enamelled with the royal arms, and a gold 'water-spout-pot,' or ewer, ornamented with enamel and two scottish pearls. at the same feast the earl of lancaster as steward secured four silver chargers stamped with the arms of harclay, and four others bearing the badge of the countess of hereford, ten silver skewers, and eight sauce-boats, each marked with the royal leopard, and the chamberlain carried off two basins parcel gilt and enamelled with the arms of england and scotland. the lord of addington supplied a dish of gruel and the lord of liston in essex wafers; other persons brought water and held basins and towels, and the head of the family of dymoke of scrivelsby rode into the hall in full armour, with his punning crest of a moke's ears on his helm, and offered to fight any one who would deny the king's sovereignty. [illustration: '_dymoke of scrivelsby._'] but after all the main thing at a feast is the food. and that was plentiful--even at the banquet of edward ii., where the waiting was disgraceful. for his coronation feast edward i. sent out orders to the sheriffs of the different counties to provide , chickens, oxen, about a thousand pigs and sheep, besides instructing the prelates to send up as many swans, peacocks, cranes, rabbits, and kids as possible, and also giving large orders for salmon, pike, eels, and lampreys. it is not surprising that his cook, hugh of malvern, required six oaks and six beeches to be made into tables for the kitchen. this suggests a certain grossness of feeding which a study of the actual menu might dissipate; certainly the banquets of later sovereigns were sufficiently elaborate and varied. when henry vi. was crowned in , at the early age of nine, he was served with three 'courses.' the first of these included not only boiled beef and mutton, capons, herons, and cygnets, but 'frument with venyson; viand royall plantyd losynges of golde; bore hedes in castellys of golde and enarmed; a rede leche with lyons coruyn therin'--in other words, a pink jelly or mould ornamented with lions--and, as a crowning glory, 'custarde royall with a lyoparde of golde syttynge therein and holdynge a floure de lyce.' the second course, besides chickens, partridges, cranes, peacock 'enhakyll' (with its feathers), and rabbits, contained 'pygge endoryd'--gilded sucking-pig--'a frytour garnysshed with a leopardes hede and two estryche feders; gely party wryten and notyd with te deum laudamus,' and, as a masterpiece, 'a whyte leche (or blancmange) plantyd with a rede antelop, a crowne aboute his necke with a chayne of golde; flampayne powderyd with leopardes and flower delyce of golde.' after this the third course, with no creation more wonderful than 'a bake mete lyke a shylde, quarteryd red and whyte, sette with losenges gylte and floures of borage,' falls rather flat. with each course was presented a 'sotyltie,' or elaborate device made, presumably, of sugar and pastry, representing groups of kings and saints. these 'subtleties,' however, were not to be compared to those at the coronation banquet of katherine of france, queen of henry v. her banquet also was of three courses, 'and ye shall understand that this feest was all of fysshe,' and a most astonishing variety of fish there was. besides all the common fish--salmon, soles, turbot, etc.--there were lampreys, in comparison with which henry iii. once declared that all other fish were insipid, 'sturgeon with welkes,' a combination of the royal and the plebeian, fried 'menues,' or minnows, the mediæval whitebait, conger, now much neglected, and 'porpies rostyd,' besides a score of other kinds, including certain mysterious 'dedellys in burneux.' the sweets included 'gely coloured with columbyne floures'; 'flampeyn--a kind of raised pie--flourished with a scochon royall, therein three crownes of golde plantyd with floure delyce and floures of camemyll wrought of confeccyons'; 'a whyte leche flourysshed with hawthorne levys and redde hawys;' and 'a march payne garnysshed with dyverse fygures of aungellys, amonge the whiche was set an ymage of seynt katheryne holdynge this rason, _il est escrit, pur voir et dit, per mariage pur cest guerre ne dure_.' of the 'sotylties' the first showed a pelican and its young, and an image of st. katherine (of alexandria) holding a book in one hand and an inscribed scroll in the other; the second showed a panther, the queen's badge, and st. katherine with her more usual emblem, the wheel. the third and most elaborate was 'a tigre lokyng in a mirrour and a man sittyng on horse backe, clene armyd, holdyng in his armys a tiger whelpe, with this reason (_i.e._ motto), _par force sanz reson ie ay pryse ceste beste_, and with his one hande makynge a countenaunce of throwynge of mirrours at the great tigre, the whiche helde this reason, _gile de mirrour ma fete distour_.' the legend of the tiger and the mirror has been very fully worked out in connection with the arms of the kentish family of sybill by mr. g. c. druce, a great authority on unnatural history, but he does not appear to have known this instance of its occurrence. an early bestiary informs us that 'there is a beast which is called tiger; it is a kind of serpent' (this suggests the zoological classification of _punch's_ railway porter--'cats is dogs and rabbits is dogs, but a tortoise is a hinsect'). 'this beast is of a nature so courageous and fierce that no living man dares to approach it. when the beast has young the hunters ... watch until they see the tiger go off and leave its den and its young; they then seize the cubs and place mirrors in the path just where they leave. the character of the tiger is such that however angry it may be it is unable to look in the mirror without its gaze becoming fixed.' (surely this is more suggestive of eve than of the serpent?) 'it believes then that it is its cub that it sees in the mirror; it recognises its figure with great satisfaction and believes positively to have found its cub.' (this property of the mirror may explain the puzzling question why so many ladies persist in dressing like their own daughters.) thus the hunters escape while the tiger stops where it is, and i think that i had better follow the tiger's example. [illustration: '_the tiger and the mirror._'] iv death and doctors to read a medical dictionary is to marvel that any man should enjoy even brief intervals of health, there are so many delicate organs in the body and so many diseases lying in wait for them. read the pronouncements of specialists on diet and the dangers which attend the eating of any food or the drinking of any liquid, and the marvel grows. add the extraordinary facility with which accidents occur, and the margin between life and death becomes surprisingly narrow. the crew of a destroyer are habitually separated from the other world by about a quarter of an inch of steel. with most of us the partition is less obvious, less constant and uniform, but very nearly as thin in places. for any but the most hardened there must always be a feeling of pleased surprise upon emerging safely on the other side of piccadilly circus or the embankment by blackfriars. (it is true that in the latter case a paternal, not to say grandmotherly, council has provided the unexciting alternative of a subway, but only leisurely athletes have the time or energy to descend and reascend those stairs.) the average city man is within inches and seconds of death every day, and it is only when the inches and seconds become fractional that he realises for the moment his insecurity of tenure. which is just as well. every age has its own dangers: we have the motor car, unwitting apostle of socialism in its brutal, individualistic disregard for the rights of others; mediæval man, i am inclined to think, ran most risk from the quick temper of his fellows. from time to time, when some undesirable alien is arrested for stabbing an enemy or chance acquaintance who has annoyed him, the police-court magistrate before whom he is brought will comment, with patriotic pride, on the 'un-english' nature of the offence. and it is true that at the present time the englishman as a rule emphasises his disagreement with his opponent by means of fist or hob-nailed boot rather than with a knife, but this was certainly not so in mediæval times. call a man 'a boor' nowadays and you may get a black eye, but the results were more disastrous in the thirteenth century, as john marsh found when he applied that opprobrious term to richard fraunkfee as they were walking back from church at doncaster, for richard promptly knifed him. every man in those days carried a knife, dagger, anelace, or baselard, and produced it without hesitation if angered. needless to say, the knife was much in evidence after harvest feasts, wakes, and especially visits to the tavern, for drunkenness has been an english vice since fitz stephen, in the twelfth century, spoke of 'the inordinate drinking of fools' as one of the two plagues of london. how far this failing was common to both sexes i do not know; casual references to women in taverns occur occasionally, but they might have been there as blamelessly as their descendants in a modern tea-shop, and, so far as i can remember, i have only come across one woman who met her death when drunk--a yorkshire woman who fell down a well. at the same time, seeing that 'the good wyf taugte hir dougter' in the fifteenth century that 'if thou be ofte drunke it falle thee to schame,' it looks as if occasional excess might have been condoned. with the exception of drunkenness, the moving cause of the innumerable murderous assaults is rarely given, and it is rather curious that the only two cases which i have found of men quarrelling, with fatal results, over a woman both occurred at ironworks in yorkshire in . [illustration: '_... got his arms round a branch._'] knives were not infrequently responsible for deaths without any evil intent on the part of their owners. in quite a large number of cases when boys were playing together a knife would fall out of its sheath and inflict a mortal wound. and then, if the owner were over twelve, he would have, theoretically, to go to prison and stay there till he received a formal pardon from the king for accidental manslaughter. i say 'theoretically' because in practice the culprit usually 'fled,' which, i suspect, meant that he went round the corner while the village constable carefully looked in the wrong place for him. an unusual incident connected with a knife occurred in dorset in , when a girl, clearing the table after dinner, picked up the tablecloth with a knife inside, and as she went out of the room tripped and fell so that the knife stuck into her. it was about the same date that a suffolk peasant, william le keu, flung a knife against the wall of his house and it bounded off and killed his infant daughter, lying on her mother's lap in front of the fire. why he should have thrown his knife at the wall does not appear, but people were always throwing things about and hitting inoffensive passers-by. for instance, a man would fling a rake or a flail at some chicken and hit his own child. children, in fact, had an unhappy knack of coming round the corner with disastrous results to themselves, especially when their elders were playing quoits or pennystone down the village street. one of the most curious cases of what we may call an indirect accident was when two small boys went into an orchard to get apples; one of them threw a stone up into a tree, but instead of bringing down an apple it hit a stone that some one had thrown up long before, and this fell on his cousin's head and killed him. another case of the unforeseen happened in nottinghamshire in the thirteenth century, when richard palmer was climbing a tree in a churchyard to take a crow's nest. he was standing on a bough when suddenly it broke; but the result was not what might have been expected, for richard got his arms round a branch and after hanging for a long time came down safely, but the broken bough fell on the head of a man standing down below, and 'the dog it was that died.' [illustration: '_the broken bough fell on the head of a man standing down below._'] fire, the second of fitz stephen's 'plagues,' played its part in preventing over-population, as might be expected when the framework of the huts was of wood, the roof of thatch and the floor covered with straw or rushes. if a woman went to bed leaving a lighted candle stuck on the wall it was hardly surprising if she paid for her carelessness with her life, but as a rule the victims were children or very old people, and as often as not the immediate cause was some chicken, or pig, or calf getting on to the open hearth and scattering the fire on to the straw-covered floor. for the mediæval peasant shared his hut with his live stock, though it would not be often that a man would be called upon to separate two horses fighting in his kitchen; this did actually happen to a man in winchester, and as usual the peacemaker got the worst of it. fire, again, acting indirectly through the medium of water, was another frequent cause of disaster, a most astonishing number of cases occurring of persons, usually children, scalded to death. i can only suppose that the cauldrons were large and insecurely balanced; that they were large may be concluded from the frequency with which people fell into them. but cold water was perhaps as deadly an agent as any. in yorkshire in particular the coroners' rolls suggest that the number of people that fell off bridges and out of boats into streams and down wells must have seriously interfered with the purity of the water supply; but, fortunately, water was very rarely drunk in those days. the most frequent cause of drowning seems to have been falling off a horse, and the mediæval version of the well-known proverb ought to have been 'one man can ride a horse to the water, but nine out of ten can't stay on when he drinks.' taking the number of cases in which men watering their horses did get drowned, and allowing that a reasonable percentage of those thrown into the water scrambled out again, the standard of mediæval riding must have been about equal to that of the white knight, who, when his horse stopped fell over its head, and when it went on again fell over its tail. occasionally the propelling agent, so to speak, was human, as in the case of a clothworker of tadcaster, who, 'being annoyed with his wife,' flung her into the wharfe and drowned her. the measure seems extreme, and he could not plead peril of shipwreck, the excuse of the syracusan, who, 'when all ponderous things were to be exonerated out of the ship,' flung his wife into the sea 'because she was the greatest burden.' in spite of a verdict of 'misadventure,' i cannot help feeling a little sceptical about an incident which took place at bedford in , when william the miller was driving certain jews in his cart, and at the bridge the cart fell into the water and three jews were drowned. as i read the story there came into my mind sam weller's conversation with mr. pickwick about his father's remarkable accident with the voters: '"here and there it is a wery bad road," says my father. "'specially near the canal, i think," says the gentleman.... you wouldn't believe it, sir, but on the wery day as he came down with them woters his coach was upset on that 'ere wery spot and every man on 'em was turned into the canal.' occasionally, also, the victim was a voluntary one, as in the case of john milner, who, with the contempt for consequences which we might expect from one of his name, jumped into the ouse. the consequence for him was that he became what mr. mantalini called 'a demmed, moist, unpleasant corpse,' and the jury decided that he had acted 'by temptation of the devil.' while they displayed a certain boldness in thus arraigning the devil for procuring, aiding, and abetting a felony, they showed more discretion in another quarter, for when a man and his wife were found struck by lightning, where a modern jury would have declared it an 'act of god' the mediæval jury preferred the less dogmatic and more reasonable verdict that 'no one is suspected.' it is pleasant to note that in another instance, where the body of a man struck by lightning was first found by his wife, the jury expressly exonerated her, saying 'she is not suspected' (of having done it). i am not quite certain of the force of a verdict of 'by temptation of the devil' in a case of suicide, but it seems to have been the half-way house between _felo-de-se_ and madness, to have been, in fact, the mediæval equivalent of that 'temporary insanity' which is the invariable verdict in modern times. the idea that a man must be mad to take his own life, and that therefore all suicides were insane, had not occurred to the mediæval mind, but they evidently felt that there were cases in which the suicide was not himself, although he was not sufficiently outside or beside himself to be considered an absolute lunatic. there are strange and grim little stories of madmen in some of these old records. one of these, not wanting in pathos in its evidence of good intentions diabolically twisted, tells how robert de bramwyk, a lunatic who had some lucid intervals (and was, therefore, probably not so closely guarded), in a fit of frenzy took his sister denise, who had been deformed and hunchbacked from her birth, and, wishing to make her straight, cast her into a cauldron of hot water, and taking her out of this bath trampled upon her with his feet to straighten her limbs. [illustration: '_... cast her into a cauldron._'] with the exception of this madman's empiric bone-setting i only remember to have come across one instance of an operation being mentioned in this particular class of coroner's records. this was in , when richard de berneston, a surgeon of nottingham, cut a 'wenne' on the arm of william de brunnesley and william afterwards died of heart failure. it is rather remarkable that doctors seem hardly ever to have been held responsible for the death of their patients, though in we do find thomas rasyn, leech, and pernel, his wife, pardoned for the death of john panyers, miller, of sidmouth, whom they were said to have killed through ignorance of their art; the inclusion of the wife seems to point to a mediæval nursing home. as a rule, probably, when a patient died under a doctor's care, his relations took the matter philosophically and assumed that the treatment had been correct and that he would have died in any case. it was the patients who survived that made all the fuss. for instance, there was thomas medewe, the vicar of a hertfordshire parish in the fifteenth century, who 'by goddys visitacion had an infirmyte in his throte.' the local practitioner, or his equivalent, who would probably have been a 'wise woman,' being unable to deal with it, the vicar came up to london and consulted john dayvyle, surgeon, who gave him a plaster for his throat which did him much good and only cost _d._ unfortunately for both parties, the surgeon finding that his patient was 'nygh hole' as a result of his first experiment insisted upon his having another plaster, for which he charged _d._ to make him 'thurgh hole.' the result was disastrous, as the patient 'felle in suche infirmitye that he might not speke and was like therby to have dyed' if he had not called in another doctor. it was, in the circumstances, perhaps natural that the vicar expressed his feelings strongly when dayvyle sent in a bill for _s._ for attendance. there was the case also of edmund broke, of southampton, who came up to london to undergo an operation, and put himself in the hands of nicholas sax, who stipulated for a fee of _s._ _d._, of which _s._ _d._ was paid in advance. the patient, according to his own account, was in jeopardy of his life through the 'defaute and unkunnyng' of dr. sax, and had to call in john surgeon, 'dwelling at powlez cheyn,' who cured him and to whom he paid the _s._ which his incompetent attendant claimed was due to him. of course there was another side to the question, patients then as now being more ready with promises when ill than with fees when well. there was william robinson, for instance, a haberdasher of lombard street, who fell ill with pestilence and sent for william paronus, promising that if he would only save him 'he would reward him as well as ever he was rewarded for any cure'; but when, after a month's attendance, he was well again, he declined even to pay the doctor's out-of-pocket expenses incurred for drugs. and sometimes there were cases in which it was difficult to decide who was in the right. one such case came into court in . mauger le vavassour, a member of a leading yorkshire family, fell ill; his wife, agnes, and other friends, including his uncle, henry le chapeleyn, sent for master otto of germany, evidently a doctor of repute, promising him one mark to come and see the invalid, and further six marks if he would undertake his treatment. so master otto paid his visit and then went off to york to the apothecary's and compounded various medicines and healing drinks, which he gave to mauger, with excellent effect. when the patient was convalescent master otto put him on a very strict diet, so strict that mauger grew restive, and his wife, who sympathised with his feelings, gave him various forbidden foods. the doctor, finding his orders disobeyed, declined to accept responsibility, washed his hands of the case and withdrew. the question then arose whether he was entitled to his fees or whether he had shown neglect by leaving his patient before he was fully cured. the jury decided that master otto ordered the strict diet for mauger's good, and not, as had been suggested, with the object of keeping him weak, and so increasing the bill for attendance, but they also found that as a matter of fact the extra food did the patient good and not harm. the verdict being thus for both parties the judges were puzzled and reserved their decision. another rather curious point cropped up about the middle of the fifteenth century. eryk de vedica, one of the brethren of the grey friars of london, was a physician of skill and reputation, and was sent for by alice, wife of william stede, a vintner. she seems to have been in a very bad way, and when brother eryk saw her and understood her 'grete age and jubertous sikeness' he was with difficulty persuaded to attempt her cure. however, after five weeks' attention he 'had soo doon hys parte vnto her that she thought herself wele amended in her body, she cowde hym grete thancke and gave hym _s._ for his labour.' and then her curmudgeon of a husband, who was possibly not particularly pleased at her recovery, sued brother eryk for taking the money, and technically the unfortunate friar had no defence, as 'the common law supposeth every receiving of the husband's goods or money by the hands of his wife without his licence or command to be a wrongful taking away of the same from him.' we will hope that the court of chancery, whose assistance was invoked, over-ruled the common law and did the friar justice. it was not unusual for friars to have a knowledge of science and medicine, but a statement that i read the other day in a book recently published, that most (i believe my author said 'all') mediæval doctors 'were, of course, monks' is singularly wide of the truth. on the contrary, in even the largest monasteries it was customary to call in a doctor from outside in any case of serious illness, and the greater houses frequently retained the services of a secular physician. the cathedral monastery of winchester, for instance, in the fourteenth century, made an agreement with master thomas of shaftesbury that he should attend the convent in return for his board and lodging, the board, it may be noticed, including a daily allowance of one and a half gallons of the best ale and a gallon of a smaller brew. it is probable also that master adam of st. albans, surgeon, who came from the priory of ely to attend king edward i. in his last illness at lanercost, was the cathedral doctor. there were, of course, medical attendants attached to the court; their salaries were not large, the surgeons of the first two edwards being paid only from one to two pounds a year, but there were perquisites in the shape of furred robes, gifts of money, or silver goblets from grateful patients, and substantial pickings in the shape of ecclesiastical benefices--the favourite way of pensioning a court physician being to give him one or more prebends or rectories. occasionally the pension took the form of landed estate, as when edward iii. gave land in kildare to his surgeon, john leche, a grant which proved rather a white elephant, for early in the next reign parliament, seeing the evils of absenteeism, ordered that all owners of estates in ireland should reside on them in person or else pay for an able-bodied man to assist in policing the country, two alternatives equally trying to the old surgeon's feelings. with such slender and precarious remuneration it was excusable that the royal doctors should sometimes have an eye to the main chance, and fabyan tells a story against one master dominic, physician (very much) in waiting to elizabeth, queen of edward iv. before the birth of her first child (the princess elizabeth) master dominic had been very positive that it would be a boy, and so, when the time came, he stood outside the queen's room 'that he myght be the firste that shulde brynge tydynges to the kynge of the byrth of the prynce to the entent to have greate thanke and rewarde of the kynge; and lastly when he harde the childe crye, he knockyd or called secretly at the chamber dore, and frayned what the quene had. to whom it was answeryd by one of the ladyes, "what so ever the quenes grace hath here wythin, suer it is that a fole standithe there withoute." and so confused with thys answere, he deperted wythoute seynge of the kynge for that tyme.' [illustration: '_... called secretly at the chamber dore._'] the position of the medical man who was not attached to the court or to some nobleman's suite is rather obscure. in london during the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries the surgeons of the city were under the control of two or more master surgeons who acted as universal consultants; any surgeon undertaking a case involving risk to life or limb being obliged to call in one of the masters to see that his treatment was correct. in the same way the veterinary surgeons were at liberty to call in the advice of a master farrier, and if through conceit or negligence they did not do so and the horse they were treating died, then they would be responsible to the owner for its value. as to the country practitioner, it is not quite clear who licensed him to take the title of 'leech' or whether he merely assumed it. there were, no doubt, a certain number of men of learning in the provinces, and in sir john savage was able to find a 'connyng fisission' for robert pilkington in macclesfield. he certainly required such a one, for, as a result of eating a mess of 'grene potage' containing poison he was 'swolne so grete that he was gyrd abowte his bodye in iij places with towells and gyrdylls' to prevent him bursting. when a man is in such a state it is 'a thousand to one if he lives the age of a little fish,' as nicholas culpeper would say, but the physician 'dyd grete cures to hym' and he recovered. as a rule, however, it is probable that the country leech had little more knowledge of the healing art than many of his patients. it must be remembered that a knowledge of simple herbal remedies was pretty widely diffused, and an acquaintance with more elaborate preparations formed part of the education of the upper classes. did not the lady of the manor almost to our own days dispense home-made medicines with moral stimulants to her tenants, whose simple minds and _dura ilia_ received therefrom much benefit? yea, 'kynges and kynges sones and other noble men hath ben eximious phisicions,' and there is in the british museum a book full of recipes for plasters and ointments, composed by henry viii. half a century before that bluff but gouty monarch 'the gude erl of herforth was holden a gud surgen,' though he seems to have had a tendency towards extravagant multiplication of ingredients in his prescriptions. in humbler ranks of life every monastery had an infirmarian who, though dependent on outside assistance in serious cases, was expected to treat the ordinary illnesses of his brethren, and at least to see that there was always ginger, cinnamon, and peony (this last most effectual for the incubus or nightmare) in his cupboard. it is noteworthy that in all the hundreds of hospitals founded prior to the reformation, from st. leonard's at york with its two hundred beds downwards, there appears to have been no provision for medical attendance. the wardens were rarely medical men; master thomas goldington, one of the surgeons of edward iii. was made warden of two hospitals, at derby and carlisle, but the only result was that he attended to his private practice and neglected the hospitals. clearly the rudiments of nursing were assumed to be known to the resident chaplain or some of the inmates--more particularly the women. wise women have doctored the country-side time out of mind, and in the reign of elizabeth we even find one, isabel warick, practising surgery in york and requiring protection from her male rivals. a century earlier alice shevington, servant to william gregory of london, 'pretendyng hirself to have had connyng in helyng of sore ighen,' spent much of her time attending to her neighbours' eyes instead of her master's house, wherefore he docked her of part of her munificent wages of _s._ a year. [illustration: '_... gyrd abowte his bodye in iij places with towells and gyrdylls._'] but, of course, this lay knowledge of herbs and so forth was not enough, for, as andrew borde, that man of wit and sound learning, said, quoting galen, '"if phisicions had nothing to do with astronomy, geomatry, logycke and other sciences, coblers, curryars of lether, carpenters and smythes and al such manner of people wolde leave theyr craftes and be phisicions," as it apereth nowe a dayes that many coblers be; fye on such ones!' without a knowledge of astronomy how could culpeper have discovered that a certain french quack was 'as like mars in capricorne as a pomewater is an apple,' and that therefore he was a fool? it was important also to comprehend the mystical properties of gems, many of which exercised as healing an influence as any herb. so well was this recognised that in , when alice lunsford, a member of an old east sussex family (whose later descendants endeavoured to extend its antiquity by forging saxon ancestors with the delightfully improbable christian names of david and joseph), fell ill, she sent to philip daubigny and borrowed three rings from him, and when he asked for them back begged him, for the love of god, not to take them away, as without them she could not recover. unfortunately the troops of louis the dauphin plundered her house shortly afterwards, and although she did recover philip lost his rings, one of them being a sapphire for which he would not have taken marks. gems were not only held to exercise a beneficent influence when worn in rings or held in the mouth, but were also administered internally. amongst the long list of medicines made for edward i. during his last illness, in , is 'a comforting electuary made with ambergis, musk, pearls, and jacinths, and pure gold and silver.' lower down in the list occurs 'a precious electuary called dyacameron,' and a fifteenth-century book of prescriptions shows that this was composed of ginger, cinnamon, clove, and other spices, black, white, and long pepper, musk, ambergris, 'the bone of a stag's heart,' coral, pure gold, and shavings of ivory, amongst other things. this same book shows a still more elaborate preparation, called 'the duke's electuary,' containing fifty ingredients, but mostly herbal, and not so precious or indigestible as these others. these electuaries, which were a kind of medicated sweetmeat, seem to have been taken in large quantities, as richard de montpelier, king edward's apothecary, prepared over pounds of electuaries made with sugar. these cost a shilling the pound, while dyacameron ran up to _s._ _d._ the pound, and four ounces of rose comfits (_sucurosset_) flavoured with pearls and coral cost £ , _s._ _d._ oriental ambergris to put in the king's food and in his claret was another expensive item. but all these drugs and all the care of master nicholas de tyngewyk, his physician, of whose skill the king held a high opinion, proved unavailing. a list of drugs provided for the scottish expedition in is chiefly of interest as showing that the virtue of a fine-sounding name for a medicine was recognised some six centuries before mr. ponderevo hit on the sonorous tono-bungay. here are some of the items; oxerocrosium, diaterascos, apostolicon, dyaculon, ceroneum, popilion, agrippa, gracia dei--all of them compounds of the patent medicine types; galbanum, armoniak, apoponak, bedellum, collofonium, mastik, and dragon's blood--simpler vegetable preparations; seruse, calamine, litharge, and tutie--which are mineral substances: tutie being 'bred of the sparkles of brasen furnaces, whereinto store of the mineral calamine beaten to dust, hath been cast.' of the high-sounding preparations popilion was so called from its containing poplar leaves; diaterascos was a plaster compounded of pitch, wax, acetic acid, and various aromatics; ceroneum was a similar plaster without the acid, containing rather more aromatics and also saffron, aloes, and litharge; and dyaculon was a third variety of plaster, very remotely, if at all, connected with the adhesive diachylon plasters of modern times. 'the oynment that is called agrippa' was still used in the fifteenth century for deafness, and at that date apostolicon was made as follows: take equal quantities of 'vermod (wormwood), smallache (water parsley), centori, waybred (? plantain), and the rote of osmond and als muche of egremoyne (agrimony) as of all the others,' seethe in vinegar and add an ounce of 'medwax (beeswax) that is multen in woman's milk' (a favourite solvent). to this is added alum, galbanum, pitch, and turpentine, and the whole worked up into an ointment. if this is not sufficiently elaborate for your purpose, 'her is makyng of gracia dei: take betanye, pympernel and vervayn, of ilkon an handfull, bothe crope and rote, and wasshe hem clene and stamp hem smalle and do hem in a new erthen pote and put therto a galon of white wyne, and if you may get no white wyne take red, and sethe them till yt come to a potell:' let it cool, strain through canvas, seethe again, and add half-a-pound of 'gud mede wax, bot loke the wax be molten first, and woman's milke of knave child and a pond of rosyn and a pond of gome litarge and a pond of galbanum and a pond of popanelke (? opoponax) and a pond of arestolog rotundum (birth-wort) and an unce of mastike wel poudred,' stir well and then 'do als mykill baume (balsam) als weies a peny and a ferthyng and lete it sethe whil you may say iij _miserere mei deus_ all the hole salme'; take off the fire, add gum turpentine, and stir till melted, strain and skim off any dirt with a feather. when cold it should be worked up between the hands until it becomes of sticky consistency, it is then to be spread on clean linen or leather, and is good for all manner of sores that be perilous. there is another method of preparing gracia dei which was used by 'hopkyn of the fermory of killyngworth,' that is to say in the infirmary at kenilworth priory, and a third, devised by 'the gude erl of herforth' which is much more elaborate, the herbs used being 'betany, vervayne, pympernel, comfrey, osmond, dayshy, mousher (mouse-ear) weybrede, rib (? rhubarb), milfoile (the yarrow, which in saxon leechdom seems to have been held good for everything from headaches to snake-bites), centory, anence, violete, flos campi (? campion), smalache, sauge, and egremoyn.' [illustration: '_... led through the middle of the city._'] when these simple remedies were not successful recourse could always be had to charms--either sheer pagan gibberish or rhyming prayers and invocations of saints. it was obviously appropriate for the sufferer from toothache to appeal to st. appolonia, who was tortured by having her teeth broken with a mallet, but it was less obvious why a man with the falling sickness should cut his little finger and write with his blood the names of the three kings, jasper, balthazar, and melchior, on a piece of parchment and hang it round his neck; nor do i know why ss. nichasius and cassian should be invoked against any 'erwig or any worme that is cropyn into a mans bed.' it was as well in any case to be sure that the charm was genuine, as roger atte hache found in . his wife, joan, being ill, he accepted the word of one roger clerk of wandsworth that he was skilled in medical lore and paid him _d._ to undertake her cure. clerk took a leaf of parchment out of a book and sewed it up in cloth of gold and bade joan put it round her neck. when she got no better her husband grew suspicious and summoned clerk for fraud. clerk, being asked to explain the value of the piece of parchment, said that it was a good charm for fever and contained the words 'anima christi sanctifica me' and other similar pious expressions, but upon examination it was found that there were no such words upon it, and as he proved to be ignorant of physic and illiterate, it was adjudged that he should be led through the middle of the city, with trumpets and pipes, riding on a horse without a saddle, with the parchment and a whetstone (the recognised symbol of a liar) hung round his neck, and in front of him the unseemly emblem of the medical profession. v those in authority it is a common delusion, or, not to beg the question before producing evidence, a common opinion, that england in olden times, by which i mean that vague period when all words were spelled with an 'e' at their end and most with a 'y' in the middle, was a 'merrie' place. this idea is held not only by the _laudatores temporis acti_, who find it safer to repine for a past which can never be recovered than to enthuse over a future which may arrive and prove disappointing, but also by those energetic persons who set out to make the world enjoy itself and imagine that their schemes for compulsory happiness will really only restore a lost gaiety to the nation. life in the middle ages was undoubtedly more highly coloured, more varied, more picturesque, but that it was merrier is at least a doubtful assumption. as the life of a people is reflected in their arts, we may compare the life of the middle ages to the quaint, irregular lines of some unimproved village street, or to the older parts of such towns as winchester and guildford, and contrast it with the mid-victorian era, the flattest and dullest of all periods, as typified by brixton, or with the frivolity of the present day, portrayed in the outbreak of terra-cotta and white wood flimsinesses all over the country. but the picture is not complete. in the background, behind the straight sameness of 'alma terrace,' or the quirked and joggled sameness of 'mafeking avenue,' lies nothing more terrible than the 'desirable residence' or the 'eligible mansion.' behind your picturesque old-world cottages frowns the shadow of the feudal fortress. and, as huxley remarked to the young man who said that he did not see what difference it would have made to him if his great-grandfather had or had not been a monkey, 'it must have made a lot of difference to your great-grandmother.' it was not without reason that such names as batvilayne, scorchevilayne, and maungevilayne are found amongst the landowning classes. there were men who would beat, scorch, or devour their villeins, and some six-and-a-half centuries ago an ancestor of the present lord ashburnham could oppress his tenants until they were reduced to literal beggary, and when they complained to the justices could airily reply that they were his villeins and, short of injury to life and limb, he need not answer them. such was the position of the bulk of the peasantry, but in practice they did not often suffer by it, for it was obviously to the advantage of the landlord to have prosperous tenants. it was at the hands of the officials, the swarm of stewards, bailiffs, catchpoles, and so forth, that the peasants, yeomen, and smaller gentry suffered. these men, secure in the protection of a chain of superiors reaching back to some great noble, lived on their neighbours, wringing money from them on every, or no, pretext. a favourite weapon was the jury list; the frequency with which juries were summoned and the resulting inconvenience to those called away from their work made the more wealthy willing to pay well for exemption; then money could be obtained by summoning four or five times as many jurors as were required and taking bribes from the superfluous to let them go home again. another common object of the country-side was the 'scotale,' which was a kind of bean-feast. no doubt this lent an appearance of merriness to life in the country, just as the wriggling of the worm on the hook lent it a superficial air of gaiety which deceived old isaak walton, but it is questionable if the feasters really enjoyed themselves, as they knew that the ale which formed the main feature of the meal was brewed from malt which they had unwillingly contributed, and that they were paying for the (compulsory) privilege of consuming their own produce. nor did the townsmen escape entirely; even five hundred years ago the christmas box was an established extortion, and, in , william sevenok, mayor of london, had to forbid the custom of the servants of the mayor, sheriffs, and corporation begging gifts from the tradesmen at christmas, as it was found that they used threats towards those who would not give and accepted the gifts of others as bribes to overlook their offences against the trading laws. not only at christmas did the servants of the city and the court fleece the tradesmen; the doubtful privilege of supplying the royal court with provisions could be, and frequently was, avoided by a gift to the purveyors, and one result was that rogues from time to time went round the breweries pretending to be court purveyors and taking money to leave the ale alone. a rogue of a similar type, with a turn of humour, was william pykemyle, who in went to the town house of the countess of norfolk, and, pretending to be a royal messenger, left word that she was to dine with the king at leeds castle, near maidstone, next day; having received from her a reward of _s._ _d._ (royal messengers always expecting a substantial tip) he went on to the countess of bedford and gave a similar message, only making the place of dining eltham. whether the ladies kept their appointments is not recorded, but the gay deceiver was caught and committed to newgate. if the men of the middle ages had had nothing more to complain of than extortion by threats and trickery they might have been merry enough, but when the bailiffs exercised their powers of arbitrary arrest and imprisonment it was another matter. from the sheriffs downwards those 'clothed with a little brief authority' used it unscrupulously to fill their own pockets, dragging men off to prison on false accusations, or on none, and causing convicted felons to accuse the innocent of participation in their crimes. release from prison depended solely upon the payment of a fine to the officer concerned, and was almost as easily available for the guilty as for the innocent. upon occasion the powers of the law could be used to assist the criminal and punish his victim. during the misrule of the last years of henry iii., one, wilkin of gloseburne, accused gilbert wood of killing his son; gilbert promptly turned the tables by bribing the gaoler of york, who arrested wilkin on a charge of theft, bound him naked to a post in the prison, and kept him without food until he paid _s._ about the same time, in suffolk, a man stole six geese belonging to constance de barnaucle; possibly he would have argued that they were 'barnacle geese,' and as this species notoriously grew on trees they were _feræ naturæ_, in which there could be no property. if so, he must have felt that his case was weak, as he ran away, pursued by the lady's servant. the thief was caught by the bailiffs of thingoe hundred, but either they were friends of his or they saw a chance of getting the geese themselves, for they let him go free, and when the pursuer came up they showed half-a-dozen other geese, which he naturally failed to identify; they then talked big about libel actions and false accusations and terrified _s._ out of the unlucky man's pockets. [illustration: '_... failed to identify the geese._'] besides accusations of actual misdeeds, charges of opposing a predominant or favouring a fallen faction could be used for purposes of extortion. towards the end of the reign of edward ii., when the despensers were in power, alan of teesdale, chamberlain to the younger despenser, with the assistance of geoffrey eston, the villainous gaoler of york, started a report that sir john de barton had spoken ill of hugh le despenser, whereat hugh was much moved and furiously threatened sir john, who for fear of his power had to give them lands to appease their lord. the same two scoundrels burnt down part of one of alan's own mills and then laid the blame first on sir john de barton, then on thomas vipont, and finally on the abbot of byland, all of whom, for fear of the despenser, paid heavy compensation. they further extorted lands from master thomas de leuesham by threatening to accuse him of having been a partisan of andrew de harclay, who, after winning the earldom of carlisle by his loyalty at boroughbridge in , had, the following year, been dramatically degraded and executed as a traitor. nearly a century earlier, robert passelewe, justice of the jews, had extorted £ from john le prestre, a wealthy jew, by threatening to commit him to corfe castle for having financed the bishop of carlisle and hubert de burgh, then in disgrace. from the same jew passelewe extorted, amongst other things, a cameo worth marks; he seems to have had an appreciation for jewels, as he appropriated a 'camehew' and an emerald belonging to a jew who was hanged, and made benedict crispin give him another cameo, which he afterwards gave to the queen. crispin was fleeced by several persons in high places and had to part with another of his cameos, 'on which was engraved a chariot with two angels,' to peter de rievaux, the treasurer. if the jews were plundered we may at least put it to the credit of our ancestors that they showed a fine impartiality in according similar treatment to christian clergy. the sheriff of yorkshire, in , wishing to persuade master henry de percy, rector of wharrom, to surrender his church, handed him over to geoffrey eston,[ ] the gaoler of york, of whom we have already said something, who bound him to a convicted criminal and kept him five days without food or drink; at the end of that time he paid £ to be released, but he kept his church. encouraged by this, the sub-sheriff followed his superior's example and brought the rector of whixley to geoffrey, who confined him 'in a horrible place in the prison' until he produced marks. most prisons, probably, had a 'horrible place,' usually an underground dungeon, such as 'the pit of the gaol' at exeter, or the 'fosse' at newgate, or the place in the king's bench prison called by the grim humour of the fifteenth century 'paradise,' from which alexander lokke, who had been detained there 'alle this holy tyme of cristemasse,' begged to be removed to some other prison. apart from these dungeons the comfort of the prisoners depended largely on their possession of money; they were not 'lodged at his majesty's expense,' but were dependent upon money supplied by friends or on the alms of the charitable, and their position when the gaoler was a tyrant was unenviable. in the reign of henry viii. the keeper of norwich gaol, andrew asketell, 'of his uncharitabill and covetous mind' oppressed the poor prisoners, charging them twice as much for ale as it cost outside--and ale, it must be remembered, was in those days really 'the people's food in liquid form'--and when kind people sent 'a potte ale' to the prisoners he made his servants pour the drink in the streets and break the vessels. but he did this once too often, when 'a litill boy haveng a veray power woman to his moder in prison brought to her to ye prison wyndow a crok with ale.' edward rede, alderman and j.p., seeing her drink thus snatched from her, kindly sent her 'a cruse with drynk.' the arrival of this widow's cruse so annoyed the keeper that he came up to the alderman and insulted him, calling him 'a bedlam man,' and as a result he saw prison life from a fresh point of view. some two centuries earlier newgate was controlled by edmund le lorimer, who ill-treated his prisoners shockingly, keeping them short of food, depriving them of their share in the common alms, and preventing them communicating with their friends. he robbed them, taking from roger martel a gold cross with four garnets and a 'pere crapaudyn' or toad-stone, the precious jewel which a toad bears in its head and which is an invaluable antidote to poison, and he inflicted such severe 'penaunce' to extort money that many died, including a knight, sir john de horn, and that roger de colney, being loaded with irons and deprived of food, snatched a knife from a companion and cut his throat. all those in authority were not brutes; it is even recorded of a suffolk bailiff that finding on his recovery from illness that his deputy had been guilty of extortion, he returned the money and dismissed the deputy. but the reports from yorkshire in were fairly typical; the bailiff of the earl of lincoln had done 'many acts of oppression, rapine, and injuries beyond belief'; 'many other things, beyond number and astonishing,' were related of the sub-sheriff, and 'innumerable devilish acts of oppression' were accredited to the steward of earl warenne. the earl himself was a man of violence, who had turned about a fifth part of the county of sussex into a game preserve, and maintained armed keepers to prevent the peasants from driving the deer out of their corn. the story is well known how, when king edward's commissioners demanded by what title he held his lands, he produced a rusty sword and said 'by this my ancestors won their lands and by this i will defend them.' like most well-known stories this is apocryphal, and in any case a distaff would have been more appropriate, as his lands had descended through an heiress, but that he would have been willing to protect his lands with the sword is likely enough. one of his descendants, the earl of surrey of the time of henry viii. seems to have inherited some of his lawlessness, as he was charged with 'a lewde and unsemely manner of walking in the night abowght the stretes and breaking wyth stonebowes (_i.e._ catapults) of certeyne wyndowes.' it does not appear that he wanted 'votes for peers' and, in fact, he admitted that he 'hadde verye evyll done therein,' and was sent to the fleet prison. life must certainly have been more exciting, if not merrier, in now peaceful sussex when earl john de warenne was alive. he was carrying on a sort of private war with his neighbour, robert aguillon, who was also on bad terms with his other neighbour, william de braose, while further west, at midhurst, was john de bohun, who displayed his contempt for the law by attacking luke de vienne on the high road and ducking him in a horse-pond when he was on his way to hold a court. the son and namesake of this william de braose showed his temper by insulting one of the justices of the king's court who had given judgment against him. edward i. was not the man to excuse such conduct; he had, indeed, banished the prince of wales from court for insolence towards a judge, and braose had to walk in penitential garb through westminster hall when the court was sitting and apologise to the justice. with such examples set by their lords it is not surprising that the smaller men adopted an attitude of swagger and arrogance, riding with armed followers through markets and fairs for the mere pleasure of frightening the people. as an example of apparently pointless insolence, the constable of shrewsbury gave his groom _d._ to go through the village of cressage calling out 'wekare, wekare,' to insult both men and women. the character of the insult is not obvious, but it was evidently clear to those concerned, as a woman dared to remonstrate; the groom struck at her and wounded a man who came to her assistance, but then had to fly and was shot--for which his lord obtained full compensation. [illustration: '_... ducking him in a horse-pond._'] whatever the meaning of 'wekare,' there can be no doubt of the insult conveyed by robert sutton to roger of portland, clerk of the sheriff of london, when he exclaimed in full court, 'tprhurt, tprhurt!' this monosyllable is a very trumpet blast of contempt and its significance surely did not require to be emphasised by robert's 'raising his thumb'--whether to his nose or not it is not stated, which is a pity, as it would have been interesting to find the 'long nose' flourishing in . city officers, and more particularly mayors and aldermen, were very touchy, seeing and punishing 'vile and abominable abuse' in the most harmless retort, and my sympathy is certainly with collard, the cobbler, who was sent to prison at norwich because, when the mayor ordered him to take off his beard he refused to do so and said, 'noo, i was ones shaven and i made an othe i wolde never have off my berde again, i was so evell shaven.' still there is no doubt that however arbitrary the authorities may have been they also had their trials, and, if officials often abused their powers, their was another side to the question. smaller men than william de braose could, upon occasion, tell the judges what they thought of them. in one henry de biskele came into the sussex county court and asked leave to say certain matters 'on the king's behalf,' and having thus obtained silence and the attention of the whole court, he broke out into violent abuse of one of the justices, calling him a liar and using other opprobrious terms, for which he was lucky to escape with a fine of _s._ some fifty years later a more violent act of contempt of court occurred at pevensey. john de molyns, the queen's steward, came to hold a court there, but being busy appointed a deputy to take his place in the morning; this official seems to have irritated the townsmen, and when he ordered them to withdraw outside the bar, contrary to their local custom, roger porter replied by challenging him to come outside and fight. during the luncheon interval the deputy reported the state of affairs, and in the afternoon the steward himself came to the court, preceded by the portreeve carrying his white wand of office, but the townsmen refused to come when summoned, roger and simon porter in particular declaring that they were not bound to attend. at last the steward rose in wrath and started to seize the two porters, who fled to their house and with drawn swords stood in the doorway. a pitched battle ensued between them and the steward's men, in which several were injured, but in the end victory rested with the law. [illustration: '_... with drawn swords stood in the doorway._'] even the king's court at westminster was not safe from disturbance. in john parles, acting as attorney for adam basset in a plea of debt against florence de aldham, was waiting in the great hall at westminster, where the court was in session. he was sitting on a table 'close to the sellers of jewels,' from which it would seem that the lower end of the hall was used for stalls, or at any rate for peddling jewellery, even while cases were proceeding. presently florence came up with two men and abused john parles, threatening to kill him if he did not abandon the suit; richard calware dragged him off the table and struck him a blow which drew blood and thomas newark whipped out a knife and would have killed him if he had not been restrained. john at once made his way to the bar and complained to the judges, who ordered the arrest of his assailants, but they struggled towards the door and were joined by thomas of thornhamton with his sword drawn. but the clerks of the court, apprentices, and attorneys barred the doors and disarmed them, and they were all handed over to the warden of the tower. in all these cases the disturbers of the peace met with prompt defeat, but sometimes they were more successful, though their success was usually temporary and vengeance overtook them sooner or later. no courts seem to have been so unpopular as those of the church; dealing with moral offences, they touched the lives of the people in a way which must have led to constant irritation, even if the archdeacons and their summoners had not been unfair and extortionate. that they were so was the pretty general opinion of mediæval englishmen, from chaucer to his contemporary john belgrave, who, when the archdeacon of leicester was going to hold a court, set up in his church a clearly written bill setting forth that the archdeacon and his officials might well rank with the judges who condemned susannah, giving unrighteous judgment, oppressing the innocent, and suffering evildoers. this so terrified the archdeacon and his officials, possibly made cowards by their consciences, that they dared not hold their courts. civil courts were also liable to be broken up, especially the open-air courts held by sheriffs. on one occasion, in the fourteenth century, when the sheriff of sussex was holding such a court, john ashburnham rode up, with a small boy bearing his tabard, and so threatened the sheriff that he incontinently fled. to hasten his going ashburnham whistled on his fingers--a street-boy's accomplishment to which i must admit i have never managed to attain in spite of repeated efforts--at which whistle his esquire and other men in ambush suddenly rose up. even the assize courts were liable to be interfered with, especially in the north, and at the end of the reign of edward ii. there were in lancashire several men of position who rode about with armed bands and turned up at the courts with fifty or sixty ruffians to persuade their adversaries not to proceed with their suits, or, if such peaceful picketing proved unavailing, to terrorise the justices. chief of these was sir walter bradshaw. he had been one of the sworn adherents of sir adam banaster in his rebellion, and having assisted in the attack on liverpool castle and the capture of halton, had fled the country after the defeat of his friends at preston. returning later, he carried on a private war with sir richard de holand, another ruffian of the same kidney, each of them riding about with small armies, oppressing each other's tenants and openly defying the courts. these quarrels between county families were undoubtedly more exciting when the process of cutting one another was conducted with swords instead of with averted eyes and upturned noses, but whether they were more conducive to the merriness of their rival retainers may be doubted. these retainers, if we may trust sir ralph evers, did not always play their parts with the politeness and courtesy which their masters displayed, and, in fact, on one occasion he remonstrated with sir roger hastings' servant, saying, 'ye false hurson kaytyffes, i shall lerne you curtesy and to knowe a gentilman.' it is possible that he was feeling irritated at the time, as he had been lying in wait to ambush sir roger, and it must have been annoying to find that he had only caught his servants. sir roger himself seems to have been rather quick-tempered; he had a grudge against one ralph jenner, and on his way to church on christmas day discovered that ralph was in the church; he at once decided that the season of peace and goodwill was a suitable occasion to make an end of his quarrel (and of his adversary), but the vicar flung himself on his knees before him, while lady hastings ran up to ralph jenner exclaiming, 'woo worthe man this day! the chirche wolbe suspended and thou slayn withoute thou flee away and gette thee oute of his sighte.' whereupon ralph, either out of consideration for the parishioners or himself, prudently fled. [illustration: '_he incontinently fled._'] it sometimes happened that these imperious gentry reaped the reward of their own lawlessness and goaded their oppressed tenants to active rebellion. as early as the twelfth century the sheriff of hants is found grimly entering in his accounts money spent on doing justice on the peasants who burned their lord. at faccombe in the same county, in , john punchardon, lord of the manor, was dragged from his bed one sunday night, carried out into the fields, and there done to death. in this case there was probably some personal feeling in the matter, as the murderers included five members of the family of cosyn, whose ancestors had formerly held the manor, but who had now come down to the position of labourers. a case in which the motive of rebellion was more clearly resentment to oppression occurred at preston in sussex, in , when the villeins of simon de pierpoint set fire to his manor-house, and with drawn knives and flourished axes compelled him to swear upon the gospels that he would demand no services from them without their consent, and would take no action against them for their violence. at the same time they destroyed their lord's tabard, so beat his charger that it could never be used again and slew his 'gentle falcon,' thus wreaking their wrath on the outward signs of his nobility. such revolts were much more common in towns; for instance, at lynne, in , when robert muhaut tried to exercise his authority in a new direction, a crowd of tradesmen, under the leadership of the prior, assaulted his house, dragged him out and made him stand on a stall in the market-place and swear on the host that he would not interfere with the town officers. at bristol, also about the same time, the burgesses quarrelled with the castellan, barricaded the streets and erected an embattled wall from behind which they shot into the castle, and at oxford the watchmen were on several occasions shot at with arrows:--i have known, in more recent times, a casual shot at a proctor with a lump of sugar have more disastrous effects--to the shooter. [illustration: '_... compellyd them for to devour the same writte._'] but if the lords of manors, town officials, and judges occasionally found their authority slighted and their persons endangered by the disrespect of those who should have been subservient to them, their trials were not to be compared with those of the inferior officers such as bailiffs. in the fourteenth century, when philip of berwick was elected as bailiff of hailsham, he had to fly for his life to escape from a certain john of buckholt, who terrorised the whole neighbourhood, chasing the vicar into his church, killing several persons, and so frightening the coroner that he dared not hold any inquests. with such men about as this john of buckholt, who was known as king among his people, the life of a bailiff was not a happy one, and in particular, the life of the process-server was exciting, but not necessarily merry. it can hardly have been cheering to the man who had to serve a writ in drayton basset to know that the offenders were boasting that 'whoo so ever wold be so bolde to serve any warrant there shuld runne upon a pycheforke.' it was also not an uncommon experience that thomas talbot and thomas gaiford had when they served a writ on agnes motte, who 'reysyd upp her neghburs with wepyns drawen for to slee and mordre the said bryngers of the writte and compellyd them for to devour the same writte and ther, sitting upon ther knees, in saving of ther lyves, eete the writte bothe wex and parchement,' in fact, from the number of similar instances recorded it would almost seem that writ-servers must have been accustomed to a diet of wax and parchment. there seems also to have been a custom of serving writs in church, not unattended with risk, as the sacredness of the place does not seem always to have subdued the temper of the recipient. when william nash served a writ on john archer in ilmingdon churchyard he retorted by threatening to make him eat it, and afterwards, as nash was kneeling in the church, he came up to him and said, 'pray, longenekked horesson, by goddes armes, thou shalt be hanged ere i ete holy bred.' john cheyney, also, when he was served with a writ in church, took the server by the shoulders and thrust him out of the church, saying that he would slit his nose, stove his eyes, crop his ears, and 'make hym a curtall.' [illustration: '_... thrust him out of the church._'] no, taking into consideration the injuries inflicted by the more powerful men in authority upon those subject to them and the pains suffered by those having the responsibilities of office without its powers, i do not think the mediæval populace was always merry and bright, and if any one, after reading this article, still thinks that england in the middle ages was a 'merrie' place, i can only say with robert sutton, 'tprhurt, tprhurt!' vi ivory and apes and peacocks there is a sentence in the biblical account of the wonders of solomon's reign that has always had a fascination for me. 'once in three years came the navy of tarshish bringing gold and silver, ivory and apes and peacocks.' and the fascination lies not in the crude magnificence of tusks and ingots, the burnished brilliance of peacocks, or the uncanny, too human, grotesqueness of apes, but in all the varied multitude of unnamed articles which must have constituted the cargo of those far-faring ships of tarshish--gaudy tissues interwoven with bettle-wings, strange shells, jewel-crusted swords, carvings in sandal-wood and in the wood of the mysterious almug tree. possibly the almug tree is not mysterious to the well-informed man, but i admit that i have always carefully avoided looking it up; i might say, as was said of the purple cow, 'i never saw an almug tree, i never want to see one,' because i am certain that it would prove a vast disappointment. the unlading of a ship is an enlarged and, it must be admitted, less personal version of the unpacking of a christmas hamper, a joy apportioned to childhood, not, in nine cases out of ten, because in our maturer years we lose the appreciation of disinterring the unexpected from swathings of paper, string, and straw, but because the opportunities are denied us. of course, it is given to few to unpack a ship, and there may be persons of little imagination to whom a bill of lading seems dull and uninspiring, but to me every such list is a potential hamper. when the bill of lading is of the fifteenth century there is added something of the feeling which we have when turning out a drawer in an old forgotten bureau of our great-grandmother's. the everyday objects of that time are now unfamiliar, and our ingenuity is taxed to guess the use of some of them, while on the other hand it is quite a shock to find that other things which we still use were known so long ago. [illustration: '_latten "agnus dei."_'] the hold of a ship, like poverty, makes strange bed-fellows acquaint. a hundred distaves, emblems of peaceful home-life, came into london port in side by side with ninety-three dozen swords, these latter for gerard van barle, who must have been either an armourer in business on a very large scale, or else an army contractor. six hundred oranges, at fifteen a penny, we find sandwiched between eight barrels of varnish and nine glass cups; a jar of preserved dates is thrust in between twelve yards of linen cloth and a barrel containing seven and a half dozen beaver hats. a ship of dieppe came into winchelsea harbour in with damask and satin and pipes of wine, razors and needles and mantles of leopard skins, five gross of playing-cards and eight gross of latten 'agnus dei.' these last, which i regret to say seem to have been considerably less valued than the 'devil's books' which accompanied them, were plaques stamped with the figure of the holy lamb, and it would seem that they were so common that the word became a synonym for a plaque, as in an inventory of the jewels of henry vii. occurs 'an agnus of the salutation of our lady.' in the same way the component parts of the rosary became so intimately associated in men's minds with prayers that when we read in a list of cargo of 'pater-nosters' or 'bedys' of amber, coral, tin, or 'tree' it is impossible to be sure whether they were rosaries or beads in the modern sense of ornaments. devotional objects naturally figured largely in the imports of mediæval days, images of painted wood or tin occurring with frequency in the london customs accounts of , and the alabaster carvings for which england, and in particular nottingham, was famous form quite the most interesting of our exports in the fifteenth century. as a whole it must be admitted that our exports at that time were very dull compared to our imports; cloth, hides, and corn are but uninspiring merchandise, and although the frequent mention of ale and beer might cheer the heart of mr. belloc or the late mr. calverley it leaves me cold. one item, however, is interesting in the fifteenth-century exports from bristol, and that is the constant occurrence in cargoes for ireland, and for nowhere else, of casks of 'corrupt wine.' this looks like 'another injustice to ireland.' with this untempting liquor went a good quantity of honey, possibly to counteract its acidity, and of 'battery-ware,' which was really such things as kettles, but may have been endeared to the irish from an imaginary connection with assault. if the exported cloth was uninspiring in its lack of variety the same charge cannot be brought against the imported stuffs. there is some room for imagination in the cargo of matthew clayson's boat, which brought kerchiefs of cyprus and syria (so at least i interpret _cirian_), oriental kerchiefs and glittering (_relusant_) kerchiefs, with lb. of pins wherewith to fasten them. there is also something satisfactory about baudrik powdered with cyprian gold, and even about chamelet and sarcenet. i own to a delight in the old drapery terms, and, whatever their merits as materials, i feel that our modern trade terms such as viyella and eoline (if these be their names) are feeble and finicking besides arras, bayes, bewpers, boulters, borratoes, buffins, bustyans, bombacyes, calimancoes, carrells, dornicks, frisadoes, fustians, grograines, mockadoes, minnikins, makarells, oliotts, pomettes, plumettes, perpetuanas, rashes, russells, sayes, stamells, tukes, tamettes, and woadmolles. but if these and similar words have a fascination it is partly a fascination of the unknown, and i should be grateful to any one who could tell me what it was that walter hake brought into london port in , for, besides two barrels with fourteen nests of mazer cups and other recognisable goods, he carried three thousand five hundred 'redwark,' ten hundred 'ruskyn,' as much 'popl,' and, most puzzling of all, eight thousand 'of good work' (_boni operis_). i admit the temptation to endow the work with plurality and to set this load of good works in opposition to a contemporary rabelaisian cargo of 'fartes of portingale.' [illustration: '_... playing innumerable pranks._'] so far the cargoes of our ships have not greatly resembled those of the ships of tarshish, but, if the peacocks are to seek, we can easily find the ivory, in the shape of combs, and as to the apes the _clement_ of rye in brought home four dozen baboons (_baboynes_). it must, however, be admitted that these baboons would not have found a home at the zoo--they were in fact little grotesque figures, and in that sense the word occurs often in mediæval inventories. edward iii. had not only a number of pieces of plate with 'babewyns' upon them, but one cup described as gilt and enamelled with 'diverse babwynrie.' at the same time the real monkey was a common enough object; he figures in the margin of scores of illuminated manuscripts, playing innumerable pranks, not infrequently in the dress of a priest, a monk, or a friar. monkeys were kept by many of the nobles, and when thomas becket went, as chancellor of england, on an embassy to the court of france an ape sat on every pack horse of his gorgeous cavalcade. the merchandise of venice in included 'apes and japes and marmusettes tayled,' and so far was the ape a common import that at many seaports monkeys figured in the customs lists, the due at norwich being _d._ each, no small sum. with the monkey in these lists is also found the bear, who at norwich paid _d._ for admission to the country. bears were even commoner sights than monkeys, for not only were there the performing bears in charge of itinerant showmen, but many of the poor brutes were kept for sport, to be baited by dogs. it was probably for purposes of sport that sir john bourchier, earl of bath, kept half-a-dozen bears, which after the reformation he stabled in the dismantled priory of the black friars at fisherton, near salisbury. there they lived happily until, according to harry sutton, their keeper, john davy and agnes his wife with other naughty and evil-disposed persons broke into the close where they were kept, and agnes, 'being thene of most wyckyd and damnable disposicion,' scattered poisoned bread on the ground and in the water where the bears drank. as a result three of the bears died, as did also a poor man's sow that drank of the pond; and a poor woman who washed her face in the water 'so swelled that she was like to have died,' which i take leave to think was an exaggeration on the part of harry sutton. there is always another side to every story, and according to john davy he had a lease of part of the friary lands, and his wife was quite peaceably walking there when sutton, to frighten her away, untied 'the grettyste and most terryble bere' and set him at her, whereat she being 'sore affrayed and abashed' ran away and in running fell over a sow, not the poor man's sow that died, but a sow of lead, and received a hurt from which she died. the two versions are singularly divergent, and if sutton could show three dead bears and a sow in support of his story, davy could show a dead wife in support of his. henry iii. was the proud possessor of a polar bear, which used to be taken for a swim in the thames to disport itself and to catch fish, no doubt to the great joy of the young londoners. this was a present from the king of norway, and gifts of strange beasts were often made to our kings, the favourites naturally being lions and leopards, in allusion to the royal arms, the black prince on one occasion sending his father a lion and a leopard. in passing it may be remarked that it is a curious trait of the heraldic lion that it cannot look a man in the face; when a lion looks at you it becomes a leopard. this, i admit, sounds rather like the schoolboy's description of the tortuous river of palestine, 'the jordan runs straight down the middle of the map, but when you look at it it wriggles,'--but it is none the less a fact. in early heraldry the lean and fearsome beast that does duty for a lion when seen in profile is called a leopard when its full face is shown; it is true that a later generation of heraldic writers converted the three golden leopards of england into 'lions passant guardant,' but leopards they were, and, for those of us who prefer the heraldry of the classic period to its debased and jargonised descendant, leopards they remain. at the same time, as the live lions could hardly be expected to look continuously over their left shoulders, the royal menagerie at the tower was usually stocked with real leopards as well as lions. for generations, and indeed centuries, the lions of the tower enjoyed much the same privileged position as the eponymous bears of berne, and were so emphatically the sight to which all country cousins, by a humane version of 'christianos ad leones,' had to be taken that their name became, and remains, synonymous with all that is double-asterisked by baedeker. [illustration: '_when a lion looks at you it becomes a leopard._'] mediæval englishmen seem to have a partiality for strange beasts, combined with a reluctance to pay exorbitant fees for seeing them. in edward iii. had to order the mayor and sheriffs of london to protect roger owery and john want, to whom he had committed the custody of a certain egyptian beast called an 'oure,' various persons, who apparently wished to see the beast without paying, having threatened to assault them and kill the 'oure.' what this creature was is not clear; possibly it was the aurochs or buffalo--borde's 'vengeable beast,' the bovy of bohemia. whatever it was its keepers, who had no doubt looked forward to making a good thing out of exhibiting it, seem to have had a doubtful bargain, and the same fate befell thomas charles, 'squier,' and william lynde just about a century later when they obtained from the king the keeping of his 'foul called an estrich.' they sent the ostrich round the country in charge of richard axsmith and john piers, 'for to disporte with the sight of hym the kynges true lieges,'--and incidentally, though they do not think that worth mentioning, to put money in their own pockets. 'how be hit that oother mysdoers in certain places wher lite reverence is doon or shewed to anything of the kinges, as the dede hathe proven, have withoute cause wrongfully doon grete trespasses and offenses as wel to the said foul as to richard axsmyth and john piers.' at royston a mob, egged on by the prior, assaulted the keepers and caused the ostrich 'to ben seyn of alle peuple' and the unfortunate 'fowle' was 'hurten so sore that he may never be hool, as hit on hym wel appereth.' when they came to norwich one of the sheriffs cast them into prison as 'false flemings,' and 'caused the foul to be seyn in the common strete of alle peuple that list to come seen hym for nought.' nor did they have any better luck at the next town, bury st. edmunds, where they were again imprisoned and the bird exhibited for nothing, the townsmen 'axing hem who made hem so hardy as to go on with the kinges foule about among his peuple without a commission.' this seems to have been the end of their tour in the eastern counties. [illustration: '_the unfortunate "fowle" was "hurten so sore."_'] the ostrich does not often occur under that name, but its egg was often made into a cup, under the name of a griffon's egg or 'grype's ey.' edward iii. had more than one 'oef de greffon,' and henry iv. had half-a-dozen 'gryppesheys,' but possibly by this time the term was only conventional and the true origin of the egg was known, as one of these 'gryppesheys' was mounted on 'two white ostriches.' the griffin, half eagle and half lion, was a very popular mediæval beast; that no specimen is ever recorded to have been taken round on show may have been due to the fact that this beast 'so much disdaineth vassalrey and subjection that he will never be surprised alive.' the appearance amongst the jewels of richard ii. of an almsdish supported by two griffons suggests an analogy with its modern relation the jubjub, of which it is said that 'in charity meetings it stands at the door, and collects though it does not subscribe.' if doubt is to be thrown on examples of the griffon's eggs, still more dubitable is the 'drinking vessel made of the horn of a griffon, mounted in copper gilt,' which belonged to edward iii. this may well rank with a relic preserved in the cathedral priory of rochester,--'the rod of moses which budded,'--in view of the fact that it was aaron's rod which budded and that a griffon has no horns. if our forefathers never had a chance of seeing a griffon and failed to appreciate an ostrich when they did see one, there is no question that they saw and appreciated the first elephant that landed in england. it was a present from king louis of france to henry iii. and landed at sandwich in , whence it proceeded leisurely to london, filling all beholders with astonishment. it only lived a couple of years, and when its successor came over i do not know, but i suspect that there was a very long interval before england was again visited by an elephant. before its lamented decease it sat for its portrait to matthew paris and another contemporary chronicler, and the resulting sketches are quite recognisable. the elephant was not a very favourite subject with mediæval artists, though the earl of arundel in had a piece of tapestry (probably oriental) 'powdered with lions, olyfauntes and imagery,' and if any one wants to know what it was like they have only to go to an old house in market street at rye, where they can see just such a piece of tapestry, 'olyfauntes' and all, reproduced as a wall-painting. talking of elephants, a learned man not many years back wrote an article with the fascinating title, 'how the elephant became a bishop'; as a matter of fact it dealt with the evolution of the chess 'bishop,' but what a title for a fairy tale! elephants, to one mediævally minded, infallibly suggest dragons, for it is notorious that there was bitter enmity between elephants and dragons. and the subject of dragons is a wide one. so far as i know the last, in western europe at least, was killed in the roman campagna in , its slayer himself dying from the poison in its breath, but it was less than half a century before that, in to be precise, that a young half-fledged dragon--it was nine feet long and its wings were only just sprouting--was seen in sussex, at faygate in st. leonards forest. of course in earlier times they were much more numerous; switzerland swarmed with them, in fact lucerne seems to have been almost as much the happy hunting-ground of the dragon and the cockatrice as it is now of the cook's tourist. the northern counties, especially durham and northumberland, were also much pestered by 'laidly worms'; two estates were held of the bishop of durham from early time by exhibiting to him annually the swords with which redoubtable ancestors of the tenants had slain the worm of sockburn and the fearsome brawn of brancepeth, a boar to which all ordinary boars were but as ordinary cattle to the dun cow, slain by guy of warwick with a sword still shown at warwick castle. perhaps the most satisfactory dragon on record was that slain at rhodes in by deodatus de gonzago. that wily and prudent knight constructed a pantomine dragon on the pattern of the real article and made two of his servants get inside and work it realistically; in this manner he accustomed his horse and his dogs to dragon-baiting, and his trouble was rewarded by the death of the monster and his own election to the mastership of the knights of st. john. another famous dragon was the tarask. it seems that when st. mary magdalene landed at marseilles she installed herself in a dragon's cave; the dragon was unceremoniously ejected and went off higher up the rhone; but he had no luck; the first person he met on landing was st. martha, who gave him a good dressing down and handed him over to the peasants, who slew him but immortalised his name in tarascon. there were a great many varieties of dragons, but i think the most curious that i have met was one of silver gilt belonging to henry iv. which was described as 'au guyse d'un boterflie'; anything less like a dragon than a butterfly it would be difficult to imagine. at the same time some of these terrible beasts seem to have been quite insignificant. the amphisbæna, though it developed in the bestiaries into a fearsome dragon with a head at each end, started as quite a small worm, so small indeed that a whole one could be carried on the person without inconvenience. so carried it prevented the wearer from ever feeling chilly; in which respect it would seem to have been the opposite of the salamander, whose flesh was so cold that it quenched fire. henry v. bought a parrot, two monkeys, and three salamanders from a fishmonger. i wonder what the salamanders were; if they were the squabby and unattractive lizard, black, with yellow spots, which now goes by that name i fear the king must have been disappointed. if he experimented upon their alleged ability to live in fire, or at least to extinguish it, i fear the disappointment would have been shared by the salamanders. [illustration: '_... constructed a pantomime dragon on the pattern of the real article._'] besides the monsters of the land and air there were, of course, mediæval varieties of the sea-serpent. matthew paris records that in a monster bigger than the biggest whale was thrown up on the coast of norfolk. as this was the year in which the first elephant came over i almost wondered if two had started and one had fallen overboard and been drowned, but quite by accident i came upon a legal case connected with this very sea monster, arising out of foreshore rights and rights of wreck, which showed that the creature, whatever it was, was very much alive when first seen, as no less than six boats were sunk in effecting its capture. unfortunately no description of the monster is given, but probably it was a great sperm whale. fifteen years earlier, in , according to the same chronicler, there was a great battle of whales off the mouth of the thames, and one of the wounded came up the river, just managed to squeeze through the arches of london bridge and got as far as mortlake before it was killed. a fresh-water monster, or at least one which started life in a river and developed in a well but afterwards took to the land, was the terrible lambton worm, which seems after all to have been more of a nuisance than a danger, as, so long as it got its trough full of milk regularly, it was content to lie about, coiled round lambton hill. terrible beasts were the basilisk--for which i have always felt an affection since i saw his portrait by carpaccio in the church of st. george of the sclavs (after much furious argument with a gondolier who knew no st. george but s. giorgio maggiore) at venice--the cockatrice, and that strange hybrid of the two, the basilcok, known chiefly for its mean and unrelenting enmity to the centichore or yale, the strange pig-antelope who now sits once more as he sat of yore on the bridge at hampton court. terrible beasts all; but none so morally destructive as that noble friend of man, the horse. everybody knows the famous derivation of hypocrite, 'from two greek words--hippos, a horse, and krites, a judge: a horse-dealer, therefore, a deceiver.' the archbishop of york would seem to have been of the same opinion when he inhibited the cellarer of newburg from dealing in horses, on the ground that it was not fitting for a man of religion, because in the negotiations between buyer and seller it is almost impossible to avoid sin. it would have been well if john hill, vicar of coliton in devon in , had considered this before he sold a horse to walter trouns, 'knowing the horse to have contracted divers diseases and to be incapable of working.' from the description the horse would seem to have been of the same breed as the 'hakeney' hired by william driffeld from thomas plevener, a london innkeeper, who 'promysed and warantized the said hakeney to be of helth and of habilitie and well and trewlay' to carry master william to walsingham, whither he was going, no doubt, on pilgrimage. in spite of the warranty, the hackney, before he had covered twenty miles, 'wold nor myght go no ferther' and had to be left at ware, where he died 'of dyverse infyrmytes.' richard chapman had a similar experience when he hired a horse from christopher thomas to carry him to york; at the end of the first day it 'failed hym and was morefounded.' probably the hirers out of the horses threw the blame on their clients, as did robert grene, 'corsour' (_i.e._ horse-dealer, not to be confused with corsair, a pirate), who, having sold a horse to john bonauntre, complained that 'the said john rode upon the said hors' with the result that it was 'perished and utterly destroyed,' though whether that was due to the delicacy of the horse, which was only intended for ornament, or to the 'unresonable and outrajus rydyng' of the purchaser is not clear. mules, as we might expect, occasionally gave as much trouble as horses. there was a welsh clergyman in the fifteenth century, john yevan by name, upon whom a brother clerk, john grigge, managed to plant a mule 'the whiche he wold not have had, but through the gret labour and desyre of the said sir john grigge he toke the same mule upon his warantie that he shuld bere hym from rome to london, orells not to paye therefore.' exactly what happened on that journey is not revealed, but the mule would seem to have proved several degree more aggravating than modestine in the cevennes, for john yevan 'was fayne and glad to make a cambicion (exchange) by the waye, to his gret hurte and hynderance,' and felt much injured at being called upon to account for the missing mule on his return. the good man's knowledge of legal jargon seems to have been oral rather than literary, as he invoked the magic of the law by demanding a 'wryte of sorserare,' in which it is not easy to recognise a writ of _certiorari_. [illustration: '_hakeney._'] one of the most deadly of vicarious insults was to crop the tails of your adversary's horses; it would seem to have been as bad as the biblical custom of cutting off the skirts of his messengers. john enot, archdeacon of buckingham in the fifteenth century, complained tearfully that one thomas coneloye (was he a lawless irish connelly?) prevented him from carrying out his duties in the punishment of sinners and had caused the tails of his horses to be cut. it was a similar insult to the hot-tempered thomas becket that caused that archbishop's furious denunciation of his enemies and led to his murder and so to his canonisation, from which it follows that we owe chaucer's _canterbury tales_ to the curtailment of the archbishop's horses. from insult to assault is a short journey, and horses have brought so many to the 'demnition bow-wows,' that i am reminded at this point of the adventure of the vicar and the dog and the door-key, which fell out in this wise. william russell, vicar of mere in somerset, some time during the reign of henry vi., left his church at five o'clock one good friday evening, having been 'bysyly occupyed all that day before in hyryng of confessions.' he locked up his church and turned homewards, but on his way met one of his parishioners, john totyn, an evil man, 'not dredyng god ne the censers of the chirche.' totyn had in his hand a seven-foot staff with 'a grete pyke of yren' at one end and with him was 'an horryble grete dogge called a lymer,' and he at once attacked the vicar and 'provoked and stered his saide dogge to renne upon hym, callyng hym by his name and saide hay dewgarde.' i am not clear whether the dog's name was dieugarde, which seems rather unlikely, or dugald, which is possible, but i rather incline to the idea that totyn really said 'good dog,' with a provincial accent--'hey! gude darg!' in fact. anyhow, 'the saide dogge, knowyng the condicions of his maister, ran upon (the vicar) and bote hym by the arme in iij places and pullyd hym downe to grounde twyes and so was likely then to have been murthored by the saide john totyn and his dogge,'--the good vicar at the recollection of the exciting incident becomes oblivious of grammar and changes the subject of his verbs--'but as god woold he smote the said dogge with the chirche dore key under his ere, and with that the said dogge departed.' next day worthy william russell trotted off to his patron, the abbot of glastonbury, and showed him his injuries--'his shurte beyng full of blode, his gowne to torne, his arme sore byten'; but he got cold comfort and scant sympathy. totyn was the abbot's servant and the abbot said, 'that that was doon it was doon in the defence of my man, and it shall coste me xl{_li_} or thou shalte do my man any wrong, for i lete the wete i wyll defende hym.' [illustration: '_... showed him his injuries._'] dogs of all kinds,-- 'mastiff, greyhound, mongrel grim, hound or spaniel, brach or lym, or bobtail tike or trundle tail,' figure often enough in our old records, and often enough got their owners into trouble for poaching, but they were not so frequently complained of for assault as might have been expected. i remember coming across one rather interesting case in which a man complained that a neighbour's dogs had chased a tame deer belonging to his daughter, and when she interfered to rescue it had bitten her hands. the keeping of tame deer was common enough; edward iii. had a tame hind brought from st. albans to woodstock on one occasion, and about a couple of centuries later a lincolnshire clergyman, john barnardiston, rector of great coates, for his own recreation and comfort and the amusement of his friends, 'norysched, kept and brought up a tame hynde calfe.' unfortunately he had annoyed sir christopher askew, who instigated william morecropp and other 'lyght and evyll disposed persons' to kill the hind. they discovered where it frequented day and night and carried it off to morecropp's house, where they assembled next day 'with force and aryms; that is to saye wyth staves, bylles, swordes and bokelers,'--an almost excessive armament for the purpose,--and slew the unfortunate hind and carried its body to sir christopher, who, when barnardiston complained, 'lyghtly and wantonly made a gret game and sport therat' and threatened that worse should befall him if he did not sit still. while sympathising with the rector for the loss of his pet, it is difficult to deny that the assembly of half-a-dozen ruffians fully armed with swords and bucklers to tackle one tame little fawn suggests the four-and-twenty tailors who set out to kill a snail, and is not without its ludicrous side. [illustration: '_... fully armed with swords and bucklers._'] printed by t. and a. constable, printers to his majesty at the edinburgh university press footnotes: [ ] june . [ ] the record of one of this man's acts of torture is worth preserving, though it is, for obvious reasons, best left in the original latin: 'cepit unum vermem qui vocatur clok [_i.e._ a sheep tick] et posuit infra virgam roberti de alverton et ligavit virgam cum parva corda et posuit ipsum robertum super unam cordam et ligavit cordam de una trabe ad aliam et fecit ipsum moveri super cordam predictam et membra sua frotari quousque finem fecit pro x marcis.' transcriber's notes: passages in italics are indicated by _italics_. superscripted characters are indicated by {superscript}. internet archive (https://archive.org) note: project gutenberg also has an html version of this file which includes the original illustrations. see -h.htm or -h.zip: (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/ / -h/ -h.htm) or (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/ / -h.zip) images of the original pages are available through internet archive. see https://archive.org/details/scenescharacters cuttuoft transcriber's note: text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_). text enclosed by curly brackets is superscripted (example: o{r} lady). scenes and characters of the middle ages [illustration: _king henry the eighth's army._] scenes & characters of the middle ages by the rev. edward l. cutts, b.a. late hon. sec. of the essex archæolocical society with one hundred and eighty-two illustrations third edition london: alexander moring limited the de la more press george street hanover square w contents. the monks of the middle ages. chap. page i. the origin of monachism ii. the benedictine orders iii. the augustinian order iv. the military orders v. the orders of friars vi. the convent vii. the monastery the hermits and recluses of the middle ages. i. the hermits ii. anchoresses, or female recluses iii. anchorages iv. consecrated widows the pilgrims of the middle ages. i. pilgrims ii. our lady of walsingham and st. thomas of canterbury the secular clergy of the middle ages. i. the parochial clergy ii. clerks in minor orders iii. the parish priest iv. clerical costume v. parsonage houses the minstrels of the middle ages. i. ii. sacred music iii. guilds of minstrels the knights of the middle ages. i. saxon arms and armour ii. arms and armour, from the norman conquest downwards iii. armour of the fourteenth century iv. the days of chivalry v. knights-errant vi. military engines vii. armour of the fifteenth century viii. the knight's education ix. on tournaments x. mediÆval bowmen xi. fifteenth century and later armour the merchants of the middle ages. i. beginnings of british commerce ii. the navy iii. the social position of the mediÆval merchants iv. mediÆval trade v. costume vi. mediÆval towns the monks of the middle ages. chapter i. the origin of monachism. we do not aim in these chapters at writing general history, or systematic treatises. our business is to give a series of sketches of mediæval life and mediæval characters, looked at especially from the artist's point of view. and first we have to do with the monks of the middle ages. one branch of this subject has already been treated in mrs. jameson's "legends of the monastic orders." this accomplished lady has very pleasingly narrated the traditionary histories of the founders and saints of the orders, which have furnished subjects for the greatest works of mediæval art; and she has placed monachism before her readers in its noblest and most poetical aspect. our humbler task is to give a view of the familiar daily life of ordinary monks in their monasteries, and of the way in which they enter into the general life without the cloister;--such a sketch as an art-student might wish to have who is about to study that picturesque mediæval period of english history for subjects for his pencil. the religious orders occupied so important a position in mediæval society, that they cannot be overlooked by the historical student; and the flowing black robe and severe intellectual features of the benedictine monk, or the coarse frock and sandalled feet of the mendicant friar, are too characteristic and too effective, in contrast with the gleaming armour and richly-coloured and embroidered robes of the sumptuous civil costumes of the period, to be neglected by the artist. such an art-student would desire first to have a general sketch of the whole history of monachism, as a necessary preliminary to the fuller study of any particular portion of it. he would wish for a sketch of the internal economy of the cloister; how the various buildings of a monastery were arranged; and what was the daily routine of the life of its inmates. he would seek to know under what circumstances these recluses mingled with the outer world. he would require accurate particulars of costumes and the like antiquarian details, that the accessories of his picture might be correct. and, if his monks are to be anything better than representations of monkish habits hung upon "lay figures," he must know what kind of men the middle age monks were intellectually and morally. these particulars we proceed to supply as fully as the space at our command will permit. monachism arose in egypt. as early as the second century we read of men and women who, attracted by the charms of a peaceful, contemplative life, far away from the fierce, sensual, persecuting heathen world, betook themselves to a life of solitary asceticism. the mountainous desert on the east of the nile valley was their favourite resort; there they lived in little hermitages, rudely piled up of stones, or hollowed out of the mountain side, or in the cells of the ancient egyptian sepulchres, feeding on pulse and herbs, and water from the neighbouring spring. one of the frescoes in the campo santo, at pisa, by pietro laurati, engraved in mrs. jameson's "legendary art," gives a curious illustration of this phase of the eremitical life. it gives us a panorama of the desert, with the nile in the foreground, and the rock caverns, and the little hermitages built among the date-palms, and the hermits at their ordinary occupations: here is one angling in the nile, and another dragging out a net; there is one sitting at the door of his cell shaping wooden spoons. here, again, we see them engaged in those mystical scenes in which an over-wrought imagination pictured to them the temptations of their senses in visible demon-shapes--beautiful to tempt or terrible to affright; or materialised the spiritual joys of their minds in angelic or divine visions: anthony driving out with his staff the beautiful demon from his cell, or rapt in ecstasy beneath the divine apparition.[ ] such pictures of the early hermits are not infrequent in mediæval art--one, from a fifteenth century ms. psalter in the british museum (domit. a. xvii. f. v), will be found in a subsequent chapter of this book. we can picture to ourselves how it must have startled the refined græco-egyptian world of alexandria when occasionally some man, long lost to society and forgotten by his friends, reappeared in the streets and squares of the city, with attenuated limbs and mortified countenance, with a dark hair-cloth tunic for his only clothing, with a reputation for exalted sanctity and spiritual wisdom, and vague rumours of supernatural revelations of the unseen world; like another john baptist sent to preach repentance to the luxurious citizens; or fetched, perhaps, by the alexandrian bishop to give to the church the weight of his testimony to the ancient truth of some doctrine which began to be questioned in the schools. such men, when they returned to the desert, were frequently accompanied by numbers of others, whom the fame of their sanctity and the persuasion of their preaching had induced to adopt the eremitical life. it is not to be wondered at that these new converts should frequently build, or select, their cells in the neighbourhood of that of the teacher whom they had followed into the desert, and should continue to look up to him as their spiritual guide. gradually, this arrangement became systematised; a number of separate cells, grouped round a common oratory, contained a community of recluses who agreed to certain rules and to the guidance of a chosen head; an enclosure wall was generally built around this group, and the establishment was called a _laura_. the transition from this arrangement of a group of anchorites occupying the anchorages of a laura under a spiritual head, to that of a community living together in one building under the rule of an abbot, was natural and easy. the authorship of this coenobite system is attributed to st. anthony, who occupied a ruined castle in the nile desert, with a community of disciples, in the former half of the fourth century. the coenobitical institution did not supersede the eremitical; both continued to flourish together in every country of christendom.[ ] the first written code of laws for the regulation of the lives of these communities was drawn up by pachomius, a disciple of anthony's. pachomius is said to have peopled the island of tabenne, in the nile, with coenobites, divided into monasteries, each of which had a superior, and a dean to every ten monks; pachomius himself being the general director of the whole group of monasteries, which are said to have contained eleven hundred monks. the monks of st. anthony are represented in ancient greek pictures with a black or brown robe, and often with a tau cross of blue upon the shoulder or breast. st. basil, afterwards bishop of cesaræa, who died a.d. , introduced monachism into asia minor, whence it spread over the east. he drew up a code of laws founded upon the rule of pachomius, which was the foundation of all succeeding monastic institutions, and which is still the rule followed by all the monasteries of the greek church. the rule of st. basil enjoins poverty, obedience, and chastity, and self-mortification. the habit both of monks and nuns was, and still is, universally in the greek church, a plain, coarse, black frock with a cowl, and a girdle of leather, or cord. the monks went barefooted and barelegged, and wore the eastern tonsure, in which the hair is shaved in a crescent off the fore part of the head, instead of the western tonsure, in which it is shaved in a circle off the crown. hilarion is reputed to have introduced the basilican institution into syria; st. augustine into africa; st. martin of tours into france; st. patrick into ireland, in the fifth century. the early history of the british church is enveloped in thick obscurity, but it seems to have derived its christianity (indirectly perhaps) from an eastern source, and its monastic system was probably derived from that established in france by st. martin, the abbot-bishop of tours. one remarkable feature in it is the constant union of the abbatical and episcopal offices; this conjunction, which was foreign to the usage of the church in general, seems to have obtained all but universally in the british, and subsequently in the english church. the british monasteries appear to have been very large; bede tells us that there were no less than two thousand one hundred monks in the monastic establishment of bangor in the sixth century, and there is reason to believe that the number is not overstated. they appear to have been schools of learning. the vows do not appear to have been perpetual; in the legends of the british saints we constantly find that the monks quitted the cloister without scruple. the legends lead us to imagine that a provost, steward, and deans, were the officers under the abbot; answering, perhaps, to the prior, cellarer, and deans of benedictine institutions. the abbot-bishop, at least, was sometimes a married man. chapter ii. the benedictine orders. in the year a.d., st. benedict, an italian of noble birth and great reputation, introduced into his new monastery on monte cassino--a hill between rome and naples--a new monastic rule. to the three vows of obedience, poverty, and chastity, which formed the foundation of most of the old rules, he added another, that of manual labour (for seven hours a day), not only for self-support, but also as a duty to god and man. another important feature of his rule was that its vows were perpetual. and his rule lays down a daily routine of monastic life in much greater detail than the preceding rules appear to have done. the rule of st. benedict speedily became popular, the majority of the existing monasteries embraced it; nearly all new monasteries for centuries afterwards adopted it; and we are told, in proof of the universality of its acceptation, that when charlemagne caused inquiries to be made about the beginning of the eighth century, no other monastic rule was found existing throughout his wide dominions. the monasteries of the british church, however, do not appear to have embraced the new rule. st. augustine, the apostle of the anglo-saxons, was prior of the benedictine monastery which gregory the great had founded upon the celian hill, and his forty missionaries were monks of the same house. it cannot be doubted that they would introduce their order into those parts of england over which their influence extended. but a large part of saxon england owed its christianity to missionaries of the native church sent forth from the great monastic institution at iona and afterwards at lindisfarne, and these would doubtless introduce their own monastic system. we find, in fact, that no uniform rule was observed by the saxon monasteries; some seem to have kept the rule of basil, some the rule of benedict, and others seem to have modified the ancient rules, so as to adapt them to their own circumstances and wishes. we are not surprised to learn that under such circumstances some of the monasteries were lax in their discipline; from bede's accounts we gather that some of them were only convents of secular clerks, bound by certain rules, and performing divine offices daily, but enjoying all the privileges of other clerks, and even sometimes being married. indeed, in the eighth century the primitive monastic discipline appears to have become very much relaxed, both in the east and west, though the popular admiration and veneration of the monks was not diminished. in the illuminations of anglo-saxon mss. of the ninth and tenth centuries, we find the habits of the saxon monks represented of different colours, viz., white, black, dark brown, and grey.[ ] in the early ms. nero c. iv., in the british museum, at f. , occurs a very clearly drawn group of monks in white habits; another group occurs at f. , rather more stiffly drawn, in which the margin of the hood and the sleeves is bordered with a narrow edge of ornamental work. about the middle of the ninth century, however, archbishop dunstan reduced all the saxon monasteries to the rule of st. benedict; not without opposition on the part of some of them, and not without rather peremptory treatment on his part; and thus the benedictine rule became universal in the west. the habit of the benedictines consisted of a white woollen cassock, and over that an ample black gown and a black hood. we give here an excellent representation of a benedictine monk, from a book which formerly belonged to st. alban's abbey, and now is preserved in the british museum (nero d. vii. f. ). the book is the official catalogue which each monastery kept of those who had been benefactors to the house, and who were thereby entitled to their grateful remembrance and their prayers. in many cases the record of a benefaction is accompanied by an illuminated portrait of the benefactor. in the present case, he is represented as holding a golden tankard in one hand and an embroidered cloth in the other, gifts which he made to the abbey, and for which he is thus immortalised in their _catalogus benefactorum_. other illustrations of benedictine monks, of early fourteenth century date, may be found in the add. ms. , , at f. ; again at f. , where a benedictine is preaching; and again at f. , where one is preaching to a group of nuns of the same order; and at f. , where one is sitting writing at a desk (as in the scriptorium, probably). yet again in the ms. royal d. vii., is a picture of st. benedict preaching to a group of his monks. a considerable number of pictures of benedictine monks, illustrating a mediæval legend of which they are the subject, occur in the lower margin of the ms. royal e. iv., which is of late thirteenth or early fourteenth century date. a drawing of abbot islip of westminster, who died a.d. , is given in the "vetusta monumenta," vol. iv. pl. xvi. in working and travelling they wore over the cossack a black sleeveless tunic of shorter and less ample dimensions. [illustration: _benedictine monk._] the female houses of the order had the same regulations as those of the monks; their costume too was the same, a white under garment, a black gown and black veil, with a white wimple around the face and neck. they had in england, at the dissolution of the monasteries, one hundred and twelve monasteries and seventy-four nunneries.[ ] for illustration of an abbess see the fifteenth century ms. royal f. ii. at f. . the benedictine rule was all but universal in the west for four centuries; but during this period its observance gradually became relaxed. we cannot be surprised if it was found that the seven hours of manual labour which the rule required occupied time which might better be devoted to the learned studies for which the benedictines were then, as they have always been, distinguished. we should have anticipated that the excessive abstinence, and many other of the mechanical observances of the rule, would soon be found to have little real utility when simply enforced by a rule, and not practised willingly for the sake of self-discipline. we are not therefore surprised, nor should we in these days attribute it as a fault, that the obligation to labour appears to have been very generally dispensed with, and some humane and sensible relaxations of the severe ascetic discipline and dietary of the primitive rule to have been very generally adopted. nor will any one who has any experience of human nature expect otherwise than that among so large a body of men--many of them educated from childhood[ ] to the monastic profession--there would be some who were wholly unsuited for it, and some whose vices brought disgrace upon it. the benedictine monasteries, then, at the time of which we are speaking, had become different from the poor retired communities of self-denying ascetics which they were originally. their general character was, and continued throughout the middle ages to be, that of wealthy and learned bodies; influential from their broad possessions, but still more influential from the fact that nearly all the literature, and art, and science of the period was to be found in their body. they were good landlords to their tenants, good cultivators of their demesnes; great patrons of architecture, and sculpture, and painting; educators of the people in their schools; healers of the sick in their hospitals; great almsgivers to the poor; freely hospitable to travellers; they continued regular and constant in their religious services; but in housing, clothing, and diet, they lived the life of temperate gentlemen rather than of self-mortifying ascetics. doubtless, as we have said, in some monasteries there were evil men, whose vices brought disgrace upon their calling; and there were some monasteries in which weak or wicked rulers had allowed the evil to prevail. the quiet, unostentatious, every-day virtues of such monastics as these were not such as to satisfy the enthusiastical seeker after monastical perfection. nor were they such as to command the admiration of the unthinking and illiterate, who are always more prone to reverence fanaticism than to appreciate the more sober virtues, who are ever inclined to sneer at religious men and religious bodies who have wealth, and are accustomed to attribute to a whole class the vices of its disreputable members. the popular disrepute into which the monastics had fallen through their increased wealth, and their departure from primitive monastical austerity, led, during the next two centuries, viz., from the beginning of the tenth to the end of the eleventh, to a series of endeavours to revive the primitive discipline. the history of all these attempts is very nearly alike. some young monk of enthusiastic disposition, disgusted with the laxity or the vices of his brother monks, flies from the monastery, and betakes himself to an eremitical life in a neighbouring forest or wild mountain valley. gradually a few men of like earnestness assemble round him. he is at length induced to permit himself to be placed at their head as their abbot, requires his followers to observe strictly the ancient rule, and gives them a few other directions of still stricter life. the new community gradually becomes famous for its virtues; the pope's sanction is obtained for it; its followers assume a distinctive dress and name; and take their place as a new religious order. this is in brief the history of the successive rise of the clugniacs, the carthusians, the cistercians, and the orders of camaldoli and vallombrosa and grandmont; they all sprang thus out of the benedictine order, retaining the rule of benedict as the groundwork of their several systems. their departures from the benedictine rule were comparatively few and trifling, and need not be enumerated in such a sketch as this: they were in fact only reformed benedictines, and in a general classification may be included with the parent order, to which these rivals imparted new tone and vigour. the following account of the foundation of clairvaux by st. bernard will illustrate these general remarks. it is true that the founding of clairvaux was not technically the founding of a new order, for it had been founded fifteen years before in citeaux; but st. bernard was rightly esteemed a second founder of the cistercians, and his going forth from the parent house to found the new establishment at clairvaux was under circumstances which make the narrative an excellent illustration of the subject. "twelve monks and their abbot," says his life in the "acta sanctorum," "representing our lord and his apostles, were assembled in the church. stephen placed a cross in bernard's hands, who solemnly, at the head of his small band, walked forth from citeaux.... bernard struck away to the northward. for a distance of nearly ninety miles he kept this course, passing up by the source of the seine, by chatillon, of school-day memories, till he arrived at la ferté, about equally distant between troyes and chaumont, in the diocese of langres, and situated on the river aube. about four miles beyond la ferté was a deep valley opening to the east. thick umbrageous forests gave it a character of gloom and wildness; but a gushing stream of limpid water which ran through it was sufficient to redeem every disadvantage. in june, a.d. , bernard took up his abode in the valley of wormwood, as it was called, and began to look for means of shelter and sustenance against the approaching winter. the rude fabric which he and his monks raised with their own hands was long preserved by the pious veneration of the cistercians. it consisted of a building covered by a single roof, under which chapel, dormitory, and refectory were all included. neither stone nor wood hid the bare earth, which served for floor. windows scarcely wider than a man's hand admitted a feeble light. in this room the monks took their frugal meals of herbs and water. immediately above the refectory was the sleeping apartment. it was reached by a ladder, and was, in truth, a sort of loft. here were the monks' beds, which were peculiar. they were made in the form of boxes or bins of wooden planks, long and wide enough for a man to lie down in. a small space, hewn out with an axe, allowed room for the sleeper to get in or out. the inside was strewn with chaff, or dried leaves, which, with the woodwork, seem to have been the only covering permitted.... the monks had thus got a house over their heads; but they had very little else. they had left citeaux in june. their journey had probably occupied them a fortnight, their clearing, preparations, and building, perhaps two months; and thus they would be near september when this portion of their labour was accomplished. autumn and winter were approaching, and they had no store laid by. their food during the summer had been a compound of leaves intermixed with coarse grain. beech-nuts and roots were to be their main support during the winter. and now to the privations of insufficient food was added the wearing out of their shoes and clothes. their necessities grew with the severity of the season, till at last even salt failed them; and presently bernard heard murmurs. he argued and exhorted; he spoke to them of the fear and love of god, and strove to rouse their drooping spirits by dwelling on the hopes of eternal life and divine recompense. their sufferings made them deaf and indifferent to their abbot's words. they would not remain in this valley of bitterness; they would return to citeaux. bernard, seeing they had lost their trust in god, reproved them no more; but himself sought in earnest prayer for release from their difficulties. presently a voice from heaven said, 'arise, bernard, thy prayer is granted thee.' upon which the monks said, 'what didst thou ask of the lord?' 'wait, and ye shall see, ye of little faith,' was the reply; and presently came a stranger who gave the abbot ten livres." william of st. thierry, the friend and biographer of st. bernard, describes the external aspect and the internal life of clairvaux. we extract it as a sketch of the highest type of monastic life, and as a corrective of the revelations of corrupter life among the monks which find illustration in these pages. "at the first glance as you entered clairvaux by descending the hill you could see it was a temple of god; and the still, silent valley bespoke, in the modest simplicity of its buildings, the unfeigned humility of christ's poor. moreover, in this valley full of men, where no one was permitted to be idle, where one and all were occupied with their allotted tasks, a silence deep as that of night prevailed. the sounds of labour, or the chants of the brethren in the choral service, were the only exceptions. the order of this silence, and the fame that went forth of it, struck such a reverence even into secular persons that they dreaded breaking it--i will not say by idle or wicked conversation, but even by pertinent remarks. the solitude, also, of the place--between dense forests in a narrow gorge of neighbouring hills--in a certain sense recalled the cave of our father st. benedict, so that while they strove to imitate his life, they also had some similarity to him in their habitation and loneliness.... although the monastery is situated in a valley, it has its foundations on the holy hills, whose gates the lord loveth more than all the dwellings of jacob. glorious things are spoken of it, because the glorious and wonderful god therein worketh great marvels. there the insane recover their reason, and although their outward man is worn away, inwardly they are born again. there the proud are humbled, the rich are made poor, and the poor have the gospel preached to them, and the darkness of sinners is changed into light. a large multitude of blessed poor from the ends of the earth have there assembled, yet have they one heart and one mind; justly, therefore, do all who dwell there rejoice with no empty joy. they have the certain hope of perennial joy, of their ascension heavenward already commenced. in clairvaux they have found jacob's ladder, with angels upon it; some descending, who so provide for their bodies that they faint not on the way; others ascending, who so rule their souls that their bodies hereafter may be glorified with them. "for my part, the more attentively i watch them day by day, the more do i believe that they are perfect followers of christ in all things. when they pray and speak to god in spirit and in truth, by their friendly and quiet speech to him, as well as by their humbleness of demeanour, they are plainly seen to be god's companions and friends. when, on the other hand, they openly praise god with psalmody, how pure and fervent are their minds, is shown by their posture of body in holy fear and reverence, while by their careful pronunciation and modulation of the psalms, is shown how sweet to their lips are the words of god--sweeter than honey to their mouths. as i watch them, therefore, singing without fatigue from before midnight to the dawn of day, with only a brief interval, they appear a little less than the angels, but much more than men.... "as regards their manual labour, so patiently and placidly, with such quiet countenances, in such sweet and holy order, do they perform all things, that although they exercise themselves at many works, they never seem moved or burdened in anything, whatever the labour may be. whence it is manifest that that holy spirit worketh in them who disposeth of all things with sweetness, in whom they are refreshed, so that they rest even in their toil. many of them, i hear, are bishops and earls, and many illustrious through their birth or knowledge; but now, by god's grace, all acceptation of persons being dead among them, the greater any one thought himself in the world, the more in this flock does he regard himself as less than the least. i see them in the garden with hoes, in the meadows with forks or rakes, in the fields with scythes, in the forest with axes. to judge from their outward appearance, their tools, their bad and disordered clothes, they appear a race of fools, without speech or sense. but a true thought in my mind tells me that their life in christ is hidden in the heavens. among them i see godfrey of peronne, raynald of picardy, william of st. omer, walter of lisle, all of whom i knew formerly in the old man, whereof i now see no trace, by god's favour. i knew them proud and puffed up; i see them walking humbly under the merciful hand of god." the first of these reformed orders was the clugniac, so called because it was founded, in the year , at clugny, in burgundy, by odo the abbot. the clugniacs formally abrogated the requirement of manual labour required in the benedictine rule, and professed to devote themselves more sedulously to the cultivation of the mind. the order was first introduced into england in the year a.d., at lewes, in sussex; but it never became popular in england, and never had more than twenty houses here, and they small ones, and nearly all of them founded before the reign of henry ii. until the fourteenth century they were all priories dependent on the parent house of clugny; though the prior of lewes was the high chamberlain, and often the vicar-general, of the abbot of clugny, and exercised a supervision over the english houses of the order. the english houses were all governed by foreigners, and contained more foreign than english monks, and sent large portions of their surplus revenues to clugny. hence they were often seized, during war between england and france, as alien priories. but in the fourteenth century many of them were made denizen, and bermondsey was made an abbey, and they were all discharged from subjection to the foreign abbeys. the clugniacs retained the benedictine habit. at cowfold church, sussex, still remains a monumental brass of thomas nelond, who was prior of lewes at his death, in a.d., in which he is represented in the habit of his order.[ ] [illustration: _carthusian monk._] in the year a.d., the carthusian order was founded by st. bruno, a monk of cologne, at chartreux, near grenoble. this was the most severe of all the reformed benedictine orders. to the strictest observance of the rule of benedict they added almost perpetual silence; flesh was forbidden even to the sick; their food was confined to one meal of pulse, bread, and water, daily. it is remarkable that this the strictest of all monastic rules has, even to the present day, been but slightly modified; and that the monks have never been accused of personally deviating from it. the order was numerous on the continent, but only nine houses of the order were ever established in england. the principal of these was the charterhouse (chartreux), in london, which, at the dissolution, was rescued by thomas sutton to serve one at least of the purposes of its original foundation--the training of youth in sound religious learning. there were few nunneries of the order--none in england. the carthusian habit consisted of a white cassock and hood, over that a white scapulary--a long piece of cloth which hangs down before and behind, and is joined at the sides by a band of the same colour, about six inches wide; unlike the other orders, they shaved the head entirely. the representation of a carthusian monk, on previous page, is reduced from one of hollar's well-known series of prints of monastic costumes. another illustration may be referred to in a fifteenth century book of hours (add.), at f. , where one occurs in a group of religious, which includes also a benedictine and a cistercian abbot, and others. [illustration: _cistercian monk._] in a.d., arose the cistercian order. it took the name from citeaux (latinised into cistercium), the house in which the new order was founded by robert de thierry. stephen harding, an englishman, the third abbot, brought the new order into some repute; but it is to the fame of st. bernard, who joined it in a.d., that the speedy and widespread popularity of the new order is to be attributed. the order was introduced into england at waverly, in surrey, in a.d. the cistercians professed to observe the rule of st. benedict with rigid exactness, only that some of the hours which were devoted by the benedictines to reading and study, the cistercians devoted to manual labour. they affected a severe simplicity; their houses were to be simple, with no lofty towers, no carvings or representation of saints, except the crucifix; the furniture and ornaments of their establishments were to be in keeping--chasubles of fustian, candlesticks of iron, napkins of coarse cloth, the cross of wood, and only the chalice might be of precious metal. the amount of manual labour prevented the cistercians from becoming a learned order, though they did produce a few men distinguished in literature; they were excellent farmers and horticulturists, and are said in early times to have almost monopolised the wool trade of the kingdom. they changed the colour of the benedictine habit, wearing a white gown and hood over a white cassock; when they went beyond the walls of the monastery they also wore a black cloak. st. bernard of clairvaux is the great saint of the order. they had seventy-five monasteries and twenty-six nunneries in england, including some of the largest and finest in the kingdom. the cut represents a group of cistercian monks, from a ms. (vitellius a. ) in the british museum. it shows some of them sitting with hands crossed and concealed in their sleeves--an attitude which was considered modest and respectful in the presence of superiors; some with the cowl over the head. it will be observed that some are and some are not bearded. [illustration: _group of cistercian monks._] the cistercian monk, whom we give in the opposite woodcut, is taken from hollar's plate. other reformed benedictine orders which arose in the eleventh century, viz., the order of camaldoli, in a.d., and that of vallombrosa, in a.d., did not extend to england. the order of the grandmontines had one or two alien priories here. the preceding orders differ among themselves, but the rule of benedict is the foundation of their discipline, and they are so far impressed with a common character, and actuated by a common spirit, that we may consider them all as forming the benedictine family. chapter iii. the augustinian orders. we come next to another great monastic family which is included under the generic name of augustinians. the augustinians claim the great st. augustine, bishop of hippo, as their founder, and relate that he established the monastic communities in africa, and gave them a rule. that he did patronise monachism in africa we gather from his writings, but it is not clear that he founded any distinct order; nor was any order called after his name until the middle of the ninth century. about that time all the various denominations of clergy who had not entered the ranks of monachism--priests, canons, clerks, &c.--were incorporated by a decree of pope leo iii. and the emperor lothaire into one great order, and were enjoined to observe the rule which was then known under the name of st. augustine, but which is said to have been really compiled by ivo de chartres from the writings of st. augustine. it was a much milder rule than the benedictine. the augustinians were divided into canons secular and canons regular. the canons secular of st. augustine were in fact the clergy of cathedral and collegiate churches, who lived in community on the monastic model; their habit was a long black cassock (the parochial clergy did not then universally wear black); over which, during divine service, they wore a surplice and a fur tippet, called an _almuce_, and a four-square black cap, called a _baret_; and at other times a black cloak and hood with a leather girdle. according to their rule they might wear their beards, but from the thirteenth century downwards we find them usually shaven. in the canon's yeoman's tale, from which the following extract is taken, chaucer gives us a pen-and-ink sketch of a canon, from which it would seem that even on a journey he wore the surplice and fur hood under the black cloak:-- "ere we had ridden fully five mile, at brighton under blee us gan atake [overtake] a man that clothed was in clothes blake, and underneath he wered a surplice. * * * * * and in my hearte wondren i began what that he was, till that i understood how that his cloak was sewed to his hood,[ ] for which when i had long avised me, i deemed him some chanon for to be. his hat hung at his back down by a lace." the hat which hung behind may have been like that of the abbot in a subsequent woodcut; but he wore his hood; and chaucer, with his usual humour and life-like portraiture, tells us how he had put a burdock leaf under his hood because of the heat:-- "a clote-leaf he had laid under his hood for sweat, and for to keep his head from heat." chaucer rightly classes the canons rather with priests than monks:-- "all be he monk or frere, priest or chanon, or any other wight." the canon whom we give in the wood-cut over-leaf, from one of hollar's plates, is in ordinary costume. an engraving of a semi-choir of canons in their furred tippets from the ms. domitian xvii, will be found in a subsequent chapter on the secular clergy. there are numerous existing monumental brasses in which the effigies of canons are represented in choir costume, viz., surplice and amice, and often with a cope over all; they are all bareheaded and shaven. we may mention specially that of william tannere, first master of cobham college (died a.d.), in cobham church, kent, in which the almuce, with its fringe of bell-shaped ornaments, over the surplice, is very distinctly shown; it is fastened at the throat with a jewel. the effigy of sir john stodeley, canon, in over winchendon church, bucks (died ), is in ordinary costume, an under garment reaching to the heels, over that a shorter black cassock, girded with a leather girdle, and over all a long cloak and hood. the canons regular of st. augustine were perhaps the least ascetic of the monastic orders. enyol de provins, a minstrel (and afterwards a monk) of the thirteenth century, says of them: "among them one is well shod, well clothed, and well fed. they go out when they like, mix with the world, and talk at table." they were little known till the tenth or eleventh century, and the general opinion is, that they were first introduced into england, at colchester, in the reign of henry i., where the ruins of their church, of norman style, built of roman bricks, still remain. their habit was like that of the secular canons--a long black cassock, cloak and hood, and leather girdle, and four-square cap; they are distinguished from the secular canons by not wearing the beard. according to tanner, they had one hundred and seventy-four houses in england--one hundred and fifty-eight for monks, and sixteen for nuns; but the editors of the last edition of the "monasticon" have recovered the names of additional small houses, which make up a total of two hundred and sixteen houses of the order. [illustration: _canon of st. augustine._] the augustinian order branches out into a number of denominations; indeed, it is considered as the parent rule of all the monastic orders and religious communities which are not included under the benedictine order; and retrospectively it is made to include all the distinguished recluses and clerics before the institution of st. benedict, from the fourth to the sixth century. the most important branch of the regular canons is the premonstratensian, founded by st. norbert, a german nobleman, who died in a.d.; his first house, in a barren spot in the valley of coucy, in picardy, called pré-montre, gave its name to the order. the rule was that of augustine, with a severe discipline superadded; the habit was a coarse black cassock, with a white woollen cloak and a white four-square cap. their abbots were not to use any episcopal insignia. the premonstratensian nuns were not to sing in choir or church, and to pray in silence. they had only thirty-six houses in england, of which welbeck was the chief; but the order was very popular on the continent, and at length numbered one thousand abbeys and five hundred nunneries. under this rule are also included the gilbertines, who were founded by a lincolnshire priest, gilbert of sempringham, in the year a.d. there were twenty-six houses of the order, most of them in lincolnshire and yorkshire; they were all priories dependent upon the house of sempringham, whose head, as prior-general, appointed the priors of the other houses, and ruled absolutely the whole order. all the houses of this order were double houses, that is, monks and nuns lived in the same enclosure, though with a rigid separation between their two divisions. the monks followed the augustinian rule; the nuns followed the rule of the cistercian nuns. the habit was a black cassock, a white cloak, and hood lined with lambskin. the "monasticon" gives very effective representations (after hollar) of the gilbertine monk and nun. the nuns of fontevraud was another female order of augustinians, of which little is known. it was founded at fontevraud in france, and three houses of the order were established in england in the time of henry ii.; they had monks and nuns within the same enclosure, and all subject to the rule of an abbess. the bonhommes were another small order of the augustinian rule, of little repute in england; they had only two houses here, which, however, were reckoned among the greater abbeys, viz., esserug in bucks, and edindon in wilts. the female order of our saviour, or, as they are usually called, the brigittines, were founded by st. bridget of sweden, in a.d. they were introduced into england by henry v., who built for them the once glorious nunnery of sion house. at the dissolution, the nuns fled to lisbon, where their successors still exist. some of the relics and vestments which they carried from sion house have been carefully preserved ever since, and are now in the possession of the earl of shrewsbury.[ ] their habit was like that of the benedictine nuns--a black tunic, white wimple and veil, but is distinguished by a black band on the veil across the forehead. other small offshoots of the great augustinian tree were those which observed the rule of st. austin according to the regulations of st. nicholas of arroasia, which had four houses here; and those which observed the order of st. victor, which had three houses. we may refer the reader to two ms. illuminations of groups of religious for further illustration of their costumes. one is in the beautiful fourteenth century ms. of froissart in the british museum (harl. , , at f. v). it represents a dying pope surrounded by a group of representative religious, cardinals, &c. among them are one in a brown beard, and with no appearance of tonsure (? a hermit); another in a white scapular and hood (? a carthusian); another in a black cloak and hood over a white frock (? a cistercian); another in a brown robe and hood, tonsured. again, in the ms. tiberius b iii. article , f. , the text speaks of "convens of monkys, chanons and chartreus, celestynes, freres and prestes, palmers, pylgreymys, hermytes, and reclus," and the illuminator has illustrated it with a row of religious--first a benedictine abbot; then a canon with red cassock and almuce over surplice; then a monk with white frock and white scapular banded at the sides, as in hollar's cut given above, is clearly the carthusian; then comes a man in brown, with a knotted girdle, holding a cross staff and a book, who is perhaps a friar; then one in white surplice over red cassock, who is the priest; then a hermit, in brown cloak over dark grey gown; and in the background are partly seen two pilgrims and a monk. other illustrations of monks are frequent in the illuminated mss. the hospitals of the middle ages deserve a more extended notice than we can afford them here. some were founded at places of pilgrimage and along the high roads, for the entertainment of poor pilgrims and travellers. thus at st. edmund's bury there was st. john's hospital, or god's house, without the south gate; and st. nicholas hospital, without the east gate; and st. peter's hospital, without the risley gate; and st. saviour's hospital, without the north gate--all founded and endowed by abbots of st. edmund. at reading there was the hospital of st. mary magdalene, for twelve leprous persons and chaplains; and the hospital of st. lawrence, for twenty-six poor people and for the entertainment of strangers and pilgrims--both founded by abbots of reading; one at the gate of fountains abbey, for poor persons and travellers; one at glastonbury, under the care of the almoner, for poor and infirm persons; &c., &c. indeed, they were scattered so profusely up and down the country that the last edition of the "monasticon" enumerates no less than three hundred and seventy of them. those for the poor had usually a little chamber for each person, a common hall in which they took their meals, a chapel in which they attended daily service. they usually were under the care and government of one or more clergymen; sometimes in large hospitals of a prior and bretheren, who were augustinian canons. the canons of some of these hospitals had special statutes in addition to the general rules, and were distinguished by some peculiarity of habit; for example, the canons of the hospital of st. john baptist at coventry wore a cross on the breast of their black cassock, and a similar one on the shoulder of their cloak. the poor people were also under a simple rule, and were regarded as part of the community. the accompanying woodcut enables us to place a group of them before the eye of the reader. it is from one of the initial letters of the deed (harl. , ) by which henry vii. founded a fraternity of thirteen poor men (thirteen was a favourite number for such hospitals) in westminster abbey, who were to be under the governance of the monks, and to repay the king's bounty by their prayers. the group represents the abbot and some of the monks, and behind them some of the bedesmen, each of whom has the royal badge--the rose and crown--on the shoulder of his habit, and holds in his hand his rosary, the symbol of his prayers. happily some of these ancient foundations have continued to the present day, and the brethren may be seen yet in coats of antique fashion, with a cross or other badge on the sleeve. examples of the architecture of the buildings may be seen in the bede houses in higham ferrers churchyard, built by archbishop chechele in ; st. thomas's hospital, northampton; wyston's hospital, leicester; ford's hospital, coventry; the alms houses at sherborne; the leicester hospital at warwick, &c. mr. turner, in the "domestic architecture," says that there exists a complete chronological series from the twelfth century downwards. [illustration: _bedesmen. temp. hen. vii._] hospitals were also established for the treatment of the sick, of which st. bartholomew's hospital is perhaps our most illustrious instance. it was founded to be an infirmary for the sick and infirm poor, a lying-in hospital for women--there were sisters on the hospital staff, and if the women happened to die in hospital their children were taken care of till seven years of age. the staff usually consisted of a community living under monastic vows and rule, viz., a prior and a number of brethren who were educated and trained to the treatment of sickness and disease, and one or more of whom were also priests; a college, in short, of clerical physicians and surgeons and hospital dressers, who devoted themselves to the service of the sick poor as an act of religion, and had always in mind our lord's words, "inasmuch as ye do it to one of the least of these my brethren, ye do it unto me." in the still existing church of st. bartholomew's hospital, in smithfield, is a monument of the founder "rahere, first canon and prior," which is, however, of much later date, probably of about a.d.; his recumbent effigy, and the kneeling figures of two of his canons beside him, afford good authorities for costume. they have been engraved in the "vetusta monumenta," vol. ii. pl. xxxvi. the building usually consisted of a great hall in which the sick lay, a chapel for their worship, apartments for the hospital staff, and other apartments for guests. we are not aware of any examples in england so perfect as some which exist in other countries, and we shall therefore borrow some foreign examples in illustration of the subject. the commonest form of these hospitals seems to have been a great hall divided by pillars into a centre and aisles, in which rows of beds were arranged; with a chapel in a separate building at one end of the hall, and other buildings irregularly disposed in a courtyard; as at the hôtel dieu of chartres, a building of a.d.,[ ] and the salle des morts at ourscamp.[ ] at tonerre we find a modification of the above plan. the hospital is still a vast hall, but is divided by timber partitions along the side walls into little separate cells. above these cells, against the side walls, and projecting partly over the cells, are two galleries, along which the attendants might walk and look down into the cells. at the east end of this hall two bays were screened off for the chapel, so that they who were able might go up into the chapel, and they who could not rise from their beds could still take part in the service.[ ] at tartoine, near laon la fère, is a hospital on a different plan: a hall, with cells on one side of it, is placed on one side of a square courtyard, and the chapel and lodgings for the brethren on another side of the court.[ ] chapter iv. the military orders. we have already sketched the history of the rise of monachism in the fourth century out of the groups of egyptian eremites, and the rapid spread of the institution, under the rule of basil, over christendom; the adoption in the west of the new rule of benedict in the sixth century; the rise of the reformed orders of benedictines in the tenth and eleventh centuries; and the institution in the eleventh and twelfth centuries of a new group of orders under the milder discipline of the augustinian rule. we come now to a class of monastics who are included under the augustinian rule, since that rule formed the basis of their discipline, but whose striking features of difference from all other religious orders entitle them to be reckoned as a distinct class, under the designation of the military orders. when the history of the mendicant orders which arose in the thirteenth century has been read, it will be seen that these military orders had anticipated the active religious spirit which formed the characteristic of the friars, as opposed to the contemplative religious spirit of the monks. but that which peculiarly characterises the military orders, is their adoption of the chivalrous crusading spirit of the age in which they arose: they were half friars, half crusaders. the order of the knights of the temple was founded at jerusalem in a.d., during the interval between the first and second crusades, and in the reign of baldwin i. hugh de payens, and eight other brave knights, in the presence of the king and his barons, and in the hands of the patriarch, bound themselves into a fraternity which embraced the fundamental monastic vows of obedience, poverty, and chastity; and, in addition, as the special object of the fraternity, they undertook the task of escorting the companies of pilgrims from the coast up to jerusalem, and thence on the usual tour to the holy places. for the open country was perpetually exposed to the incursions of irregular bands of saracen and turkish horsemen, and death or slavery was the fate which awaited any caravan of helpless pilgrims whom the infidel descried as they swept over the plains, or whom they could waylay in the mountain passes. the new knights undertook besides to wage a continual war in defence of the cross against the infidel. the canons of the temple at jerusalem gave the new fraternity a piece of ground adjoining the temple for the site of their home, and hence they took their name of knights of the temple; and they gradually acquired dependent houses, which were in fact strong castles, whose ruins may still be seen, in many a strong place in palestine. ten years after, when baldwin ii. sent envoys to europe to implore the aid of the christian powers in support of his kingdom against the saracens, hugh de payens was sent as one of the envoys. his order received the approval of the council of troyes, and of pope eugene iii., and the patronage of st. bernard, who became the great preacher of the second crusade; and when hugh de payens returned to palestine, he was at the head of three hundred knights of the noblest houses of europe, who had become members of the order. endowments, too, for their support flowed in abundantly; and gradually the order established dependent houses on its estates in nearly every country of europe. the order was introduced into england in the reign of king stephen; at first its chief house, "the temple,"[ ] was on the south side of holborn, london, near southampton buildings; afterwards it was removed to fleet street, where the establishment still remains, long since converted to other uses; but the original church, with its round nave, after the form of the church of the holy sepulchre at jerusalem,[ ] still continues a monument of the wealth and grandeur of the ancient knights. they had only five other houses in england, which were called preceptories, and were dependent upon the temple in london. the knights wore the usual armour of the period; but while other knights wore the flowing surcoat of the twelfth or thirteenth centuries, or the tight-fitting jupon of the fourteenth, or the tabard of the fifteenth, of any colour which pleased their taste, and often embroidered with their armorial bearings, the knights of the temple were distinguished by wearing this portion of their equipment of white, with a red cross over the breast; and over all a long flowing white mantle, with a red cross on the shoulder; they also wore the monastic tonsure. in the early fourteenth century ms. in the british museum, royal , , at f. , is a representation of eracles, prior at jerusalem, the prior of the hospital, and the master of the temple, sent to france to ask for succour. the illumination shows us the king of france sitting on his throne, and before him is standing a religious in mitre and crozier, who is no doubt eracles, and another in a peculiarly shaped black robe, with a cross patee on the left shoulder, who is either hugh de payens the templar, or raymond de puy the hospitaller, but which it is difficult to determine. again, in the fine fourteenth century ms., nero e. , at f. v, is a representation of the trial of the templars: there are three of them standing before the pope and the king of france, dressed in a grey tunic, and over that a black mantle with a red cross on the left breast, and a pointed hood over the shoulders. folio represents the master of the temple being burnt to death in presence of the king and nobles. again, in the fine ms. royal , c. viii., of the time of our richard ii., at f. and f. , are representations of the same scenes. folio is a group of templars habited in long black coat, fitting close up to the neck, like the ordinary civil robes of the time, with a pointed hood (like that with which we are familiar in the portraits of dante), with a cross patee on the right shoulder; the hair is tonsured. at f. is the burning of a group of templars (not tonsured), and at f. the burning of the master of the temple and another (tonsured). their banner was of a black and white striped cloth, called _beauseant_, which word they adopted as a war-cry. the rule allowed three horses and a servant to each knight. married knights were admitted, but there were no sisters of the order. the order was suppressed with circumstances of gross injustice and cruelty in the fourteenth century, and the bulk of their estates was given to the hospitallers. the knight here given, from hollar's plate, is a prior of the order, in armour of the thirteenth century. [illustration: _a knight templar._] the knights of st. john of jerusalem, or the knights hospitallers, originally were not a military order; they were founded about by the merchants of amalfi, in italy, for the purpose of affording hospitality to pilgrims in the holy land. their chief house, which was called the hospital, was situated at jerusalem, over against the church of the holy sepulchre; and they had independent hospitals in other places in the holy land, which were frequented by the pilgrims. their kindness to the sick and wounded soldiers of the first crusade made them popular, and several of the crusading princes endowed them with estates; while many of the crusaders, instead of returning home, laid down their arms, and joined the brotherhood of the hospital. during this period of their history their habit was a plain black robe, with a linen cross upon the left breast. at length their endowments having become greater than the needs of their hospitals required, and incited by the example of the templars, a little before established, raymond de puy, the then master of the hospital, offered to king baldwin ii. to reconstruct the order on the model of the templars. from this time the two military orders formed a powerful standing army for the defence of the kingdom of jerusalem. when palestine was finally lost to the christians, the knights of st. john passed into the isle of cyprus, afterwards to the isle of rhodes, and, finally, to the isle of malta,[ ] maintaining a constant warfare against the infidel, and doing good service in checking the westward progress of the mohammedan arms. in the latter part of their history, and down to a recent period, they conferred great benefits by checking the ravages of the corsairs of north africa on the commerce of the mediterranean and the coast towns of southern europe. they patrolled the sea in war-galleys, rowed by galley-slaves, each of which carried a force of armed soldiers--inferior brethren of the order, officered by its knights. they are not even now extinct. the order was first introduced into england in the reign of henry i., at clerkenwell; which continued the principal house of the order in england, and was styled the hospital. the hospitallers had also dependent houses, called commanderies, on many of their english estates, to the number of fifty-three in all. the houses of the military knights in england were only cells, erected on the estates with which they had been endowed, in order to cultivate those estates for the support of the order, and to form depôts for recruits; _i.e._ for novices, where they might be trained, not in learning like benedictines, or agriculture like cistercians, or preaching like dominicans, but in piety and in military exercises. a plan and elevation of the commandery of chabburn, northumberland, are engraved in turner's "domestic architecture," vol. iii. p. . the superior of the order in england sat in parliament, and was accounted the first lay baron. when on military duty the knights wore the ordinary armour of the period, with a red surcoat marked with a white cross on the breast, and a red mantle with a white cross on the shoulder. some of their churches in england possibly had circular naves, like the church of the temple in jerusalem; out of the four "round churches," which remain, one belonged to the knights of the hospital. the chapel at chabburn is a rectangular building. there were many sisters of the order, but only one house of them in england. one of two earlier representations of knights of the order may be noted here. in a ms. in the library at ghent, of the date of our edward iv., is a picture of john lonstrother, prior of the order; he wears a long sleeveless gown over armour. it is engraved in the "archælogia," xiii. . the ms. add. , in the british museum is said in a note at the beginning of the volume to have been the missal of phillippe de villiers de l'isle adam, the famous grand master of the order of st. john of jerusalem from to . in the frontispiece is a portrait of the grand master in a black robe lined with fur, and a cross patee on the breast. on the opposite page is another portrait of him in a robe of different fashion, with a cross rather differently shaped. the monument of the last english prior, sir thomas tresham, in his robes as prior of the order, still remains in rushton church, northants. a fine portrait of a knight of malta is in the national gallery. the hospitaller given on the preceding page, from hollar's plate, is a (not very good) representation of one in the armour of the early part of the fourteenth century, with the usual knight's _chapeau_, instead of the mail hood or the basinet, on his head. [illustration: _a knight hospitaller._] it will be gathered from the authorities of the costume of the knights of the temple and of the hospital here noted, that when we picture to ourselves the knights on duty in the holy land or elsewhere, it should be in the armour of their period with the uniform surcoat of their order; but when we desire to realise their appearance as they were to be ordinarily seen, in chapel or refectory, or about their estates, or forming part of any ordinary scene of english life, it must be in the long cassock-like gown, with the cross on the shoulder, and the tonsured head, described in the above authorities, which would make their appearance resemble that of other religious persons. other military orders, which never extended to england, were the order of teutonic knights, a fraternity similar to that of the templars, but consisting entirely of germans; and the order of our lady of mercy, a spanish knightly order in imitation of that of the trinitarians. one other order of religious--the trinitarians--we have reserved for this place, because while by their rule they are classed among the augustinian orders, the object of their foundation gives them an affinity with the military orders, and their mode of pursuing that object makes their organisation and life resemble that of friars. the moral interest of their work, and its picturesque scenes and associations, lead us to give a little larger space to them than we have been able to do to most of the other orders. it is difficult for us to realise that the mohammedan power seemed at one time not unlikely to subjugate all europe; and that after their career of conquest had been arrested, the mohammedan states of north africa continued for centuries to be a scourge to the commerce of europe, and a terror to the inhabitants of the coasts of the mediterranean. they scoured the great sea with their galleys, and captured ships; they made descents on the coasts, and plundered towns and villages; and carried off the captives into slavery, and retreated in safety with their booty, to their african harbours. it is only within quite recent times that the last of these strongholds was destroyed by an english fleet, and that the greek and italian feluccas have ceased to fear the algerine pirates. we have already briefly stated how the hospitallers, after their original service was ended by the expulsion of the christians from the holy land, settled first at cyprus, then at rhodes, and did good service as a bulwark against the mohammedan progress; and lastly, as knights of malta, acted as the police of the mediterranean, and did their best to oppose the piracies of the corsairs. but in spite of the vigilance and prowess of the knights, many a merchant ship was captured, many a fishing village was sacked, and many captives, men, women, and children of all ranks of society, were carried off into slavery; and their slavery was a cruel one, exaggerated by the scorn and hatred bred of antagonism in race and religion, and made ruthless by the recollection of ages of mutual injuries. the relations and friends of the unhappy captives, where they were people of wealth and influence, used every exertion to rescue those who were dear to them, and their captors were ordinarily willing to set them to ransom; but hopeless indeed was the lot of those--and they, of course, were the great majority--who had no friends rich enough to help them. the miserable fate of these helpless ones moved the compassion of some christ-like souls. john de matha, born, in , of noble parents in provence, with felix de valois, retired to a desert place, where, at the foot of a little hill, a fountain of cold water issued forth; a white hart was accustomed to resort to this fountain, and hence it had received the name of cervus frigidus, represented in french by (or representing the french?) cerfroy. there, about a.d. , these two good men--the clarkson and wilberforce of their time--arranged the institution of a new order for the redemption of captives. the new order received the approval of the pope innocent iii., and took its place among the recognised orders of the church. this papal approval of their institution constituted an authorisation from the head of the church to seek alms from all christendom in furtherance of their object. their rules directed that one-third of their income only should be reserved for their own maintenance, one-third should be given to the poor, and one-third for the special object of redeeming captives. the two philanthropists preached throughout france, collecting alms, and recruiting men who were willing to join them in their good work. in the first year they were able to send two brethren to africa, to negotiate the redemption of a hundred and eighty-six christian captives; next year, john himself went, and brought back a thankful company of a hundred and ten; and on a third voyage, a hundred and twenty more; and the order continued to flourish,[ ] and established a house of the order in africa, as its agent with the infidel. they were introduced into england by sir william lucy of charlecote, on his return from the crusade; who built and endowed for them thellesford priory in warwickshire; and subsequently they had eleven other houses in england. st. rhadegunda was their tutelary saint. their habit was white, with a greek cross of red and blue on the breast--the three colours being taken to signify the three persons of the holy trinity, viz., the white, the eternal father; the blue, which was the transverse limb of the cross, the son; and the red, the charity of the holy spirit. the order were called trinitarians, from their devotion to the blessed trinity, all their houses being so dedicated, and hence the significance of their badge; they were commonly called mathurins, after the name of their founder; and brethren of the order of the holy trinity for the redemption of captives, from their object. * * * * * before turning from the monks to the friars, we must devote a brief sentence to the alien priories. these were cells of foreign abbeys, founded upon estates which english proprietors had given to the foreign houses. after the expenses of the establishment had been defrayed, the surplus revenue, or a fixed sum in lieu of it, was remitted to the parent house abroad. there were over one hundred and twenty of them when edward i., on the breaking out of the war with france, seized upon them, in , as belonging to the enemy. edward ii. appears to have pursued the same course; and, again, edward iii., in . henry iv. only reserved to himself, in time of war, what these houses had been accustomed to pay to the foreign abbeys in time of peace. but at length they were all dissolved by act of parliament in the second year of henry v., and their possessions were devoted for the most part to religious and charitable uses. chapter v. the orders of friars. we have seen how for three centuries, from the beginning of the tenth to the end of the twelfth, a series of religious orders arose, each aiming at a more successful reproduction of the monastic ideal. the thirteenth century saw the rise of a new class of religious orders, actuated by a different principle from that of monachism. the principle of monachism, we have said, was seclusion from mankind, and abstraction from worldly affairs, for the sake of religious contemplation. to this end monasteries were founded in the wilds, far from the abodes of men; and he who least often suffered his feet or his thoughts to wander beyond the cloister was so far the best monk. the principle which inspired the friars was that of devotion to the performance of active religious duties among mankind. their houses were built in or near the great towns; and to the majority of the brethren the houses of the order were mere temporary resting-places, from which they issued to make their journeys through town and country, preaching in the parish churches, or from the steps of the market-crosses, and carrying their ministrations to every castle and every cottage. "i speke of many hundred years ago, for now can no man see non elves mo; for now the great charity and prayers of lymytours and other holy freres that serchen every land and every stream as thick as motis in the sunne-beam, blessing halls, chambers, kitchens, and bowers, cities and burghs, castles high and towers, thorps and barns, shippons and dairies, this maketh that there been no fairies. for there as wont to walken was an elf, there walketh now the lymytour himself in undermeles and in morwenings,[ ] and sayeth his matins and his holy things, as he goeth in his lymytacioun."--_wife of bath's tale._ they were, in fact, home missionaries; and the zeal and earnestness of their early efforts, falling upon times when such an agency was greatly needed, produced very striking results. "till the days of martin luther," says sir james stephen, "the church had never seen so great and effectual a reform as theirs.... nothing in the histories of wesley or of whitefield can be compared with the enthusiasm which everywhere welcomed them, or with the immediate visible result of their labours." in the character of st. francis, notwithstanding its superstition and exaggerated asceticism, there is something specially attractive: in his intense sympathy with the sorrows and sufferings of the poor, his tender and respectful love for them as members of christ, his heroic self-devotion to their service for christ's sake, in his vivid realisation of the truth that birds, beasts, and fishes are god's creatures, and our fellow-creatures. in the work of both francis and dominic there is much which is worth careful study at the present day. now, too, there is a mass of misery in our large towns huge and horrible enough to kindle the christ-like pity of another francis; in country as well as town there are ignorance and irreligion enough to call forth the zeal of another dominic. in our sisters of mercy we see among women a wonderful rekindling of the old spirit of self-sacrifice, in a shape adapted to our time; we need not despair of seeing the same spirit rekindled among men, freed from the old superstitions and avoiding the old blunders, and setting itself to combat the gigantic evils which threaten to overwhelm both religion and social order. both these reformers took great pains to fit their followers for the office of preachers and teachers, sending them in large numbers to the universities, and founding colleges there for the reception of their students. with an admirable largeness of view, they did not confine their studies to theology, but cultivated the whole range of science and art, and so successful were they, that in a short time the professional chairs of the universities of europe were almost monopolised by the learned members of the mendicant orders.[ ] the constitutions required that no one should be licensed as a general preacher until he had studied theology for three years; then a provincial or general chapter examined into his character and learning; and, if these were satisfactory, gave him his commission, either limiting his ministry to a certain district (whence he was called in english a _limitour_, like chaucer's friar hubert), or allowing him to exercise it where he listed (when he was called a _lister_). this authority to preach, and exercise other spiritual functions, necessarily brought the friars into collision with the parochial clergy;[ ] and while a learned and good friar would do much good in parishes which were cursed with an ignorant, or slothful, or wicked pastor, on the other hand, the inferior class of friars are accused of abusing their position by setting the people against their pastors whose pulpits they usurped, and interfering injuriously with the discipline of the parishes into which they intruded. for it was not very long before the primitive purity and zeal of the mendicant orders began to deteriorate. this was inevitable; zeal and goodness cannot be perpetuated by a system; all human societies of superior pretensions gradually deteriorate, even as the apostolic church itself did. but there were peculiar circumstances in the system of the mendicant orders which tended to induce rapid deterioration. the profession of mendicancy tended to encourage the use of all those little paltry arts of popularity-hunting which injure the usefulness of a minister of religion, and lower his moral tone: the fact that an increased number of friars was a source of additional wealth to a convent, since it gave an increased number of collectors of alms for it, tended to make the convents less scrupulous as to the fitness of the men whom they admitted. so that we can believe the truth of the accusations of the old satirists, that dissolute, good-for-nothing fellows sought the friar's frock and cowl, for the license which it gave to lead a vagabond life, and levy contributions on the charitable. such men could easily appropriate to themselves a portion of what was given them for the convent; and they had ample opportunity, away from the control of their ecclesiastical superiors, to spend their peculations in dissolute living.[ ] we may take, therefore, chaucer's friar john, of the sompnour's tale, as a type of a certain class of friars; but we must remember that at the same time there were many earnest, learned, and excellent men in the mendicant orders; even as mawworm and john wesley might flourish together in the same body. [illustration: _costumes of the four orders of friars._] the convents of friars were not independent bodies, like the benedictine and augustinian abbeys; each order was an organised body, governed by the general of the order, and under him, by provincial priors, priors of the convents, and their subordinate officials. there are usually reckoned four orders of friars--the dominicans, franciscans, carmelites, and augustines. "i found there freres, all the foure orders, techynge the peple to profit of themselves." _piers ploughman_, l. . the four orders are pictured together in the woodcut on the preceding page from the thirteenth century ms. harl. , . they were called _friars_ because, out of humility, their founders would not have them called _father_ and _dominus_, like the monks, but simply _brother_ (_frater, frère, friar_). the dominicans and franciscans arose simultaneously at the beginning of the thirteenth century. dominic, an augustinian canon, a spaniard of noble birth, was seized with a zeal for converting heretics, and having gradually associated a few ecclesiastics with himself, he at length conceived the idea of founding an order of men who should spend their lives in preaching. simultaneously, francis, the son of a rich italian merchant, was inspired with a design to establish a new order of men, who should spend their lives in preaching the gospel and doing works of charity among the people. these two men met in rome in the year a.d., and some attempt was made to induce them to unite their institutions in one; but francis was unwilling, and the pope sanctioned both. both adopted the augustinian rule, and both required not only that their followers personally should have no property, but also that they should not possess any property collectively as a body; their followers were to work for a livelihood, or to live on alms. the two orders retained something of the character of their founders: the dominicans that of the learned, energetic, dogmatic, and stern controversialist; they were defenders of the orthodox faith, not only by argument, but by the terrors of the inquisition, which was in their hands; even as their master is, rightly or wrongly, said to have sanctioned the cruelties which were used against the albigenses when his preaching had failed to convince them. the franciscans retained something of the character of the pious, ardent, fanciful enthusiast from whom they took their name. [illustration: _s. dominic and s. francis._] dominic gave to his order the name of preaching friars; more commonly they were styled dominicans, or, from the colour of their habits, black friars[ ]--their habit consisting of a white tunic, fastened with a white girdle, over that a white scapulary, and over all a black mantle and hood, and shoes; the lay brethren wore a black scapulary. the woodcut which we give on the preceding page of two friars, with their names, dominic and francis, inscribed over them, is taken from a representation in a ms. of the end of the thirteenth century (sloan ), of a legend of a vision of dominic related in the "legenda aurea," in which the virgin mary is deprecating the wrath of christ, about to destroy the world for its iniquity, and presenting to him dominic and francis, with a promise that they will convert the world from its wickedness. the next woodcut is from hollar's print in the "monasticon." an early fifteenth century illustration of a dominican friar, in black mantle and brown hood over a white tunic, may be found on the last page of the harleian ms., , . a fine picture of st. dominic, by mario zoppo ( - ), in the national gallery, shows the costume admirably; he stands preaching, with book and rosary in his left hand. the dominican nuns wore the same dress with a white veil. they had, according to the last edition of the "monasticon," fifty-eight houses in england. [illustration: _a dominican friar._] the franciscans were styled by their founder fratri minori--lesser brothers, friars minors; they were more usually called grey friars, from the colour of their habits, or cordeliers, from the knotted cord which formed their characteristic girdle. their habit was originally a grey tunic with long loose sleeves (but not quite so loose as those of the benedictines), a knotted cord for a girdle, and a black hood; the feet always bare, or only protected by sandals. in the fifteenth century the colour of the habit was altered to a dark brown. the woodcut is from hollar's print. a picture of st. francis, by felippino lippi ( - ), in the national gallery shows the costume very clearly. piers ploughman describes the irregular indulgences in habit worn by less strict members of the order:-- "in cutting of his cope is more cloth y-folden than was in frauncis' froc, when he them first made. and yet under that cope a coat hath he, furred with foyns or with fichews or fur of beaver, and that is cut to the knee, and quaintly y-buttoned lest any spiritual man espie that guile. fraunceys bad his brethren barefoot to wenden. now have they buckled shoon for blenying [blistering] of ther heels, and hosen in harde weather y-hamled [tied] by the ancle." a beautiful little picture of st. francis receiving the stigmata may be found in a book of offices of the end of the fourteenth century (harl. , , f. v.). another fifteenth-century picture of the same subject is in a book of hours (harl. , , f. ). some fine sixteenth-century authorities for franciscan costumes are in the ms. life of st. francis (harl. , , f. ). the principal picture represents st. bonaventura, a saint of the order, in a gorgeous cope over his brown frock and hood, seated writing in his cell; through the open door is seen a corridor with doors opening off it to other cells. in the corners of the page are other pictures of st. anthony of padua, and st. bernardine, and another saint, and st. clare, foundress of the female order of franciscans. a very good illumination of two franciscans in grey frocks and hoods, girded with rope and barefooted, will be found in the ms. add. , of date . the franciscan nuns, or minoresses, or poor clares, as they were sometimes called, from st. clare, the patron saint and first nun of the order, wore the same habit as the monks, only with a black veil instead of a hood. for another illustration of minoresses see ms. royal , , f. , v. the franciscans were first introduced into england, at canterbury, in the year a.d., and there were sixty-five houses of the order in england, besides four of minoresses. [illustration: _a franciscan friar._] while the dominicans retained their unity of organisation to the last, the franciscans divided into several branches, under the names of minorites, capuchins, minims, observants, recollets, &c. the carmelite friars had their origin, as their name indicates, in the east. according to their own traditions, ever since the days of elijah, whom they claim as their founder, the rocks of carmel have been inhabited by a succession of hermits, who have lived after the pattern of the great prophet. their institution as an order of friars, however, dates from the beginning of the thirteenth century, when albert, patriarch of jerusalem, gave them a rule, founded upon, but more severe than, that of st. basil; and gave them a habit of white and red stripes, which, according to tradition, was the fashion of the wonder-working mantle of their prophet-founder. the order immediately spread into the west, and pope honorius iii. sanctioned it, and changed the habit to a white frock over a dark brown tunic; and very soon after, the third general of the order, an englishman, simon stock, added the scapulary, of the same colour as the tunic, by which they are to be distinguished from the premonstratensian canons, whose habit is the same, except that it wants the scapulary. from the colour of the habit the popular english name for the carmelites was the white friars. sir john de vesci, an english crusader, in the early part of the thirteenth century, made the ascent of mount carmel, and found these religious living there, claiming to be the successors of elijah. the romantic incident seems to have interested him, and he brought back some of them to england, and thus introduced the order here, where it became more popular than elsewhere in europe, but it was never an influential order. they had ultimately fifty houses in england. [illustration: _a carmelite friar._] the austin friars were founded in the middle of the thirteenth century. there were still at that time some small communities which were not enrolled among any of the great recognised orders, and a great number of hermits and solitaries, who lived under no rule at all. pope innocent iv. decreed that all these hermits, solitaries, and separate communities, should be incorporated into a new order, under the rule of st. augustine, with some stricter clauses added, under the name of ermiti augustini, hermits of st. augustine, or, as they were popularly called, austin friars. their exterior habit was a black gown with broad sleeves, girded with a leather belt, and black cloth hood. there were forty-five houses of them in england. there were also some minor orders of friars, who do not need a detailed description. the crutched (crossed) friars, so called because they had a red cross on the back and breast of their blue habit, were introduced into england in the middle of the thirteenth century, and had ten houses here. the friars de poenitentiâ, or the friars of the sack, were introduced a little later, and had nine houses. and there were six other friaries of obscure orders. but all these minor mendicant orders--all except the four great orders, the franciscans, dominicans, augustinians, and carmelites--were suppressed by the council of lyons, a.d. . chaucer lived in the latter half of the fourteenth century, when, after a hundred and forty years' existence, the orders of friars, or at least many individuals of the orders, had lost much of their primitive holiness and zeal. his avowed purpose is to satirise their abuses; so that, while we quote him largely for the life-like pictures of ancient customs and manners which he gives us, we must make allowance for the exaggerations of a satirist, and especially we must not take the faulty or vicious individuals, whom it suits his purpose to depict, as fair samples of the whole class. we have a nineteenth-century satirist of the failings and foibles of the clergy, to whom future generations will turn for illustrations of the life of cathedral towns and country parishes. we know how wrongly they would suppose that dr. proudie was a fair sample of nineteenth-century bishops, or dr. grantley of archdeacons "of the period," or mr. smylie of the evangelical clergy; we know there is no real bishop, archdeacon, or incumbent among us of whom those characters, so cleverly and amusingly, and in one sense so truthfully, drawn, are anything but exaggerated likenesses. with this caution, we do not hesitate to borrow illustrations of our subject from chaucer and other contemporary writers. in his description of friar hubert, who was one of the canterbury pilgrims, he tells us how-- "full well beloved and familiar was he with frankelins over all in his countrie; and eke with worthy women of the town,[ ] for he had power of confession, as said himself, more than a curate, for of his order he was licenciate. full sweetely heard he confession, and pleasant was his absolution. he was an easy man to give penance there as he wist to have a good pittance, for unto a poor order for to give, is signe that a man is well y-shrive. * * * * * his tippet was aye farsed[ ] full of knives and pinnés for to give to fairé wives. and certainly he had a merry note, well could he sing and playen on a rote.[ ] * * * * * and over all there as profit should arise, courteous he was, and lowly of service. there was no man no where so virtuous, he was the beste beggar in all his house, and gave a certain ferme for the grant none of his brethren came in his haunt." as to his costume:-- "for there was he not like a cloisterer, with threadbare cope, as is a poor scholar, but he was like a master or a pope, of double worsted was his semi-cope,[ ] that round was as a bell out of the press." in the sompnour's tale the character, here merely sketched, is worked out in detail, and gives such a wonderfully life-like picture of a friar, and of his occupation, and his intercourse with the people, that we cannot do better than lay considerable extracts from it before our readers:-- "lordings there is in yorkshire, as i guess, a marsh country y-called holderness, in which there went a limitour[ ] about to preach, and eke to beg, it is no doubt. and so befel that on a day this frere had preached at a church in his mannére, and specially aboven every thing excited he the people in his preaching to trentals,[ ] and to give for goddé's sake, wherewith men mighten holy houses make, there as divine service is honoured, not there as it is wasted and devoured.[ ] 'trentals,' said he, 'deliver from penance ther friendés' soules, as well old as young, yea, when that they are speedily y-sung. not for to hold a priest jolly and gay, he singeth not but one mass[ ] of a day, deliver out,' quoth he, 'anon[ ] the souls. full hard it is, with flesh-hook or with owles to be y-clawed, or to burn or bake: now speed you heartily, for christé's sake.' and when this frere had said all his intent, with _qui cum patre_[ ] forth his way he went; when folk in church had given him what they lest he went his way, no longer would he rest." then he takes his way through the village with his brother friar (it seems to have been the rule for them to go in couples) and a servant after them to carry their sack, begging at every house. "with scrippe and tipped staff, y-tucked high, in every house he gan to pore and pry; and begged meal or cheese, or ellés corn. his fellow had a staff tipped with horn, a pair of tables all of ivory, and a pointel y-polished fetisly, and wrote always the namés, as he stood, of allé folk that gave them any good, as though that he woulde for them pray. 'give us a bushel of wheat, or malt, or rye, a goddé's kichel,[ ] or a trippe of cheese; or ellés what you list, we may not chese;[ ] a godde's halfpenny, or a mass penny, or give us of your bran, if ye have any, a dagon[ ] of your blanket, dearé dame, our sister dear (lo! here i write your name): bacon or beef, or such thing as you find.' a sturdy harlot[ ] went them aye behind, that was their hosté's man, and bare a sack, and what men gave them laid it on his back. and when that he was out at door, anon he planed away the names every one, that he before had written on his tables; he served them with triffles[ ] and with fables." at length he comes to a house in which, the goodwife being _devôte_, he has been accustomed to be hospitably received:-- "so along he went, from house to house, till he came to a house where he was wont to be refreshed more than in a hundred places. sick lay the husbandman whose that the place is; bedrid upon a couché low he lay: '_deus hic_,' quoth he, 'o thomas, friend, good day' said this frere, all courteously and soft. 'thomas,' quoth he, 'god yield[ ] it you, full oft have i upon this bench fared full well, here have i eaten many a merry meal.' and from the bench he drove away the cat, and laid adown his potent[ ] and his hat, and eke his scrip, and set himself adown: his fellow was y-walked into town forth with his knave, into that hostlery where as he shope him thilké night to lie 'o deré master,' quoth this sické man, 'how have ye fared since that march began? i saw you not this fourteen night and more.' 'god wot,' quoth he, 'laboured have i full sore; and specially for thy salvation have i sayd many a precious orison, and for our other friendes, god them bless. i have this day been at your church at messe, and said a sermon to my simple wit. * * * * * and there i saw our dame. ah! where is she?' 'yonder i trow that in the yard she be,' saidé this man, 'and she will come anon.' 'eh master, welcome be ye, by st. john!' saide this wife; 'how fare ye heartily?' this friar ariseth up full courteously, and her embraceth in his armés narwe,[ ] and kisseth her sweet, and chirketh as a sparrow with his lippes: 'dame,' quoth he, 'right well. as he that is your servant every deal.[ ] thanked be god that you gave soul and life, yet saw i not this day so fair a wife in all the churché, god so save me.' 'yea, god amendé defaults, sire,' quoth she: 'algates welcome be ye, by my fay.' '_graunt mercy_, dame; that have i found alway. but of your great goodness, by your leve, i wouldé pray you that ye not you grieve, i will with thomas speak a little throw; these curates be so negligent and slow to searchen tenderly a conscience. in shrift, in preaching, is my diligence, and study, on peter's words and on paul's, i walk and fishen christian menne's souls, to yield our lord jesu his proper rent; to spread his word is set all mine intent.' 'now, by your faith, dere sir,' quoth she, 'chide him well for seinté charitee. he is as angry as a pissemire,'" &c. whereupon the friar begins at once to scold the goodman:-- "'o thomas, _je vous die_, thomas, thomas, this maketh the fiend, this must be amended. ire is a thing that high god hath defended,[ ] and therefore will i speak a word or two.' 'now, master,' quoth the wife, 'ere that i go, what will ye dine? i will go thereabout.' 'now, dame,' quoth he, '_je vous dis sans doubte_, have i not of a capon but the liver, and of your white bread but a shiver, and after that a roasted piggé's head (but i ne would for me no beast were dead), then had i with you homely suffisance; i am a man of little sustenance, my spirit hath his fostering in the bible. my body is aye so ready and so penible to waken, that my stomach is destroyed. i pray you, dame, that ye be not annoyed, though i so friendly you my counsel shew. by god! i n'old[ ] have told it but a few.' 'now, sir,' quoth she, 'but one word ere i go. my child is dead within these weekés two, soon after that ye went out of this town.'[ ] 'his death saw i by revelation,' said this frere, 'at home in our dortour.[ ] i dare well say that ere that half an hour after his death, i saw him borne to blisse in mine vision, so god me wisse. so did our sexton and our fermerere,[ ] that have been trué friars fifty year; they may now, god be thanked of his loan, make their jubilee and walke alone.'"[ ] we do not care to continue the blasphemous lies with which he plays upon the mother's tenderness for her dead babe. at length, addressing the sick goodman, he continues:-- "'thomas, thomas, so might i ride or go, and by that lord that cleped is st. ive, n'ere[ ] thou our brother, shouldest thou not thrive, in our chapter pray we[ ] day and night to christ that he thee send hele and might[ ] thy body for to welden hastily.' 'god wot,' quoth he, 'i nothing thereof feel, so help me christ, as i in fewé years have spended upon divers manner freres full many a pound, yet fare i never the bet.' the frere answered, 'o thomas, dost thou so? what need have you diverse friars to seche? what needeth him that hath a perfect leech[ ] to seeken other leches in the town? your inconstancy is your confusion. hold ye then me, or elles our convent, to pray for you is insufficient? thomas, that jape is not worth a mite; your malady is for we have too lite.[ ] ah! give that convent half a quarter of oates; and give that convent four and twenty groats; and give that friar a penny and let him go; nay, nay, thomas, it may nothing be so; what is a farthing worth parted in twelve?" and so he takes up the cue the wife had given him, and reads him a long sermon on anger, quoting seneca, and giving, for instances, cambyses and cyrus, and at length urges him to confession. to this-- "'nay,' quoth the sick man, 'by saint simon, i have been shriven this day by my curate.' * * * * * 'give me then of thy gold to make our cloister,'" and again he proclaims the virtues and morals of his order. "'for if ye lack our predication,[ ] then goth this world all to destruction. for whoso from this world would us bereave, so god me save, thomas, by your leave, he would bereave out of this world the sun,'" &c. and so ends with the ever-recurring burden:-- "'now, thomas, help for sainte charitee.' this sicke man wax well nigh wood for ire,[ ] he woulde that the frere had been a fire, with his false dissimulation;" and proceeds to play a practical joke upon him, which will not bear even hinting at, but which sufficiently shows that superstition did not prevent men from taking great liberties, expressing the utmost contempt of these men. moreover,-- "his mennie which had hearden this affray, came leaping in and chased out the frere." thus ignominiously turned out of the goodman's house, the friar goes to the court-house of the lord of the village:-- "a sturdy pace down to the court he goth, whereat there woned[ ] a man of great honour, to whom this friar was alway confessour; this worthy man was lord of that village. this frere came, as he were in a rage, whereas this lord sat eating at his board. * * * * * this lord gan look, and saide, '_benedicite!_ what, frere john! what manner of world is this? i see well that something there is amiss.'" we need only complete the picture by adding the then actors in it:-- "the lady of the house aye stille sat, till she had herde what the friar said." and "now stood the lorde's squire at the board, that carved his meat, and hearde every word of all the things of which i have you said." and it needs little help of the imagination to complete this contemporary picture of an english fourteenth-century village, with its lord and its well-to-do farmer, and its villagers, its village inn, its parish church and priest, and the fortnightly visit of the itinerant friars. * * * * * we have now completed our sketch of the rise of the religious orders, and of their general character; we have only to conclude this portion of our task with a brief history of their suppression in england. henry viii. had resolved to break with the pope; the religious orders were great upholders of the papal supremacy; the friars especially were called "the pope's militia;" the king resolved, therefore, upon the destruction of the friars. the pretext was a reform of the religious orders. at the end of the year a royal commission undertook the visitation of all the religious houses, above one thousand three hundred in number, including their cells and hospitals. they performed their task with incredible celerity--"the king's command was exceeding urgent;" and in ten weeks they presented their report. the small houses they reported to be full of irregularity and vice; while "in the great solemne monasteries, thanks be to god, religion was right well observed and kept up." so the king's decree went forth, and parliament ratified it, that all the religious houses of less than £ annual value should be suppressed. this just caught all the friaries, and a few of the less powerful monasteries for the sake of impartiality. perhaps the monks were not greatly moved at the destruction which had come upon their rivals; but their turn very speedily came. they were not suppressed forcibly; but they were induced to surrender. the patronage of most of the abbacies was in the king's hands, or under his control. he induced some of the abbots by threats or cajolery, and the offer of place and pension, to surrender their monasteries into his hand; others he induced to surrender their abbatial offices only, into which he placed creatures of his own, who completed the surrender. some few intractable abbots--like those of reading, glastonbury, and st. john's, colchester, who would do neither one nor the other--were found guilty of high treason--no difficult matter when it had been made high treason by act of parliament to "publish in words" that the king was an "heretic, schismatic, or tyrant"--and they were disposed of by hanging, drawing, and quartering. the hospitallers of clerkenwell were still more difficult to deal with, and required a special act of parliament to suppress them. those who gave no trouble were rewarded with bishoprics, livings, and pensions; the rest were turned adrift on the wide world, to dig, or beg, or starve. we are not defending the principle of monasticism; it may be that, with the altered circumstances of the church and nation, the day of usefulness of the monasteries had passed. but we cannot restrain an expression of indignation at the shameless, reckless manner of the suppression. the commissioners suggested, and bishop latimer entreated in vain, that two or three monasteries should be left in every shire for religious, and learned, and charitable uses; they were all shared among the king and his courtiers. the magnificent churches were pulled down; the libraries, of inestimable value, were destroyed; the alms which the monks gave to the poor, the hospitals which they maintained for the old and impotent, the infirmaries for the sick, the schools for the people--all went in the wreck; and the tithes of parishes which were in the hands of the monasteries, were swallowed up indiscriminately--they were not men to strain at such gnats while they were swallowing camels--some three thousand parishes, including those of the most populous and important towns, were left impoverished to this day. no wonder that the fountains of religious endowment in england have been dried up ever since;--and the course of modern legislation is not calculated to set them again a-flowing. chapter vi. the convent. having thus given a sketch of the history of the various monastic orders in england, we proceed to give some account of the constitution of a convent, taking that of a benedictine monastery as a type, from which the other orders departed only in minor particulars. the _convent_ is the name especially appropriate to the body of individuals who composed a religious community. these were the body of cloister monks, lay and clerical; the professed brethren, who were also lay and clerical; the clerks; the novices; and the servants and artificers. the servants and artificers were of course taken from the lower ranks of society; all the rest were originally of the most various degrees of rank and social position. we constantly meet with instances of noble men and women, knights and ladies, minstrels and merchants, quitting their secular occupations at various periods of their life, and taking the religious habit; some of them continuing simply professed brethren, others rising to high offices in their order. scions of noble houses were not infrequently entered at an early age as novices, either devoted to the religious life by the piety of their parents, or, with more worldly motives, thus provided with a calling and a maintenance; and sometimes considerable interest was used to procure the admittance of novices into the great monasteries. again, the children of the poor were received into the monastic schools, and such as showed peculiar aptitude were sometimes at length admitted as monks,[ ] and were eligible, and were often chosen, to the highest ecclesiastical dignities. the whole convent was under the government of the _abbot_, who, however, was bound to govern according to the rule of the order. sometimes he was elected by the convent; sometimes the king or some patron had a share in the election. frequently there were estates attached to the office, distinct from those of the convent; sometimes the abbot had only an allowance out of the convent estates; but always he had great power over the property of the convent, and bad abbots are frequently accused of wasting the property of the house, and enriching their relatives and friends out of it. the abbots of some of the more important houses were mitred abbots, and were summoned to parliament. in the time of henry viii. twenty-four abbots and the prior of coventry had seats in the house of peers.[ ] the abbot did not live in common with his monks; he had a separate establishment of his own within the precincts of the house, sometimes over the entrance gate, called the abbot's lodgings.[ ] he ate in his own hall, slept in his own chamber, had a chapel, or oratory, for his private devotions, and accommodation for a retinue of chaplains and servants. his duty was to set to his monks an example of observance of the rule, to keep them to its observance, to punish breaches of it, to attend the services in church when not hindered by his other duties, to preach on holy days to the people, to attend chapter and preach on the rule, to act as confessor to the monks. but an abbot was also involved in many secular duties; there were manors of his own, and of the convent's, far and near, which required visiting; and these manors involved the abbot in all the numerous duties which the feudal system devolved upon a lord towards his tenants, and towards his feudal superior. the greater abbots were barons, and sometimes were thus involved in such duties as those of justices in eyre, military leaders of their vassals, peers of parliament. hospitality was one of the great monastic virtues. the usual regulation in convents was that the abbot should entertain all guests of gentle degree, while the convent entertained all others. this again found abundance of occupation for my lord abbot in performing all the offices of a courteous host, which seems to have been done in a way becoming his character as a lord of wealth and dignity; his table was bountifully spread, even if he chose to confine himself to pulse and water; a band of wandering minstrels was always welcome to the abbot's hall to entertain his gentle and fair guests; and his falconer could furnish a cast of hawks, and his forester a leash of hounds, and the lord abbot would not decline to ride by the river or into his manor parks to witness and to share in the sport. in the harl. ms. , , at fol. (?), is a picture of an abbot on horseback casting off a hawk from his fist. a pretty little illustration of this abbatial hospitality occurs in marie's "lay of ywonec."[ ] a baron and his family are travelling in obedience to the royal summons, to keep one of the high festivals at caerleon. in the course of their journey they stop for a night at a spacious abbey, where they are received with the greatest hospitality. "the good abbot, for the sake of detaining his guests during another day, exhibited to them the whole of the apartments, the dormitory, the refectory, and the chapter-house, in which last they beheld a splendid tomb covered with a superb pall fringed with gold, surrounded by twenty waxen tapers in golden candlesticks, while a vast silver censer, constantly burning, filled the air with fumes of incense." [illustration: _a benedictine abbot._] an abbot's ordinary habit was the same as that of his monks. in the processions which were made on certain great feasts he held his crosier, and, if he were a mitred abbot, he wore his mitre: this was also his parliamentary costume. we give on the opposite page a beautiful drawing of a benedictine abbot of st. alban's, thus habited, from the _catalogus benefactorum_ of that abbey. when the abbot celebrated high mass on certain great festivals he wore the full episcopal costume. thomas delamere, abbot of st. alban's, is so represented in his magnificent sepulchral brass in that abbey, executed in his lifetime, circa a.d. richard bewferest, abbot of the augustine canons of dorchester, oxfordshire, has a brass in that church, date circa a.d., representing him in episcopal costume, bareheaded, with his staff; and in the same church is an incised gravestone, representing abbot roger, circa a.d., in full episcopal vestments. abbesses bore the crosier in addition to the ordinal costume of their order; the sepulchral brass of elizabeth harvey, abbess of the benedictine abbey of elstow, bedfordshire, circa a.d., thus represents her, in the church of that place. our representation of a benedictine abbess on the previous page is from the fourteenth century ms. royal, b. vii. [illustration: _benedictine abbess and nun._] under the abbot were a number of officials (_obedientiarii_), the chief of whom were the prior, precentor, cellarer, sacrist, hospitaller, infirmarer, almoner, master of the novices, porter, kitchener, seneschal, &c. it was only in large monasteries that all these officers were to be found; in the smaller houses one monk would perform the duties of several offices. the officers seem to have been elected by the convent, subject to the approval of the abbot, by whom they might be deposed. some brief notes of the duties of these obedientiaries will serve to give a considerable insight into the economy of a convent. and first for the _prior_:-- in some orders there was only one abbey, and all the other houses were priories, as in the clugniac, the gilbertine, and in the military and the mendicant orders. in all the orders there were abbeys, which had had distant estates granted to them, on which either the donor had built a house, and made it subject to the abbey; or the abbey had built a house for the management of the estates, and the celebration of divine and charitable offices upon them. these priories varied in size, from a mere cell containing a prior and two monks, to an establishment as large as an abbey; and the dignity and power of the prior varied from that of a mere steward of the distant estate of the parent house, to that of an autocratic head, only nominally dependent on the parent house, and himself in everything but name an abbot. the majority of the female houses of the various orders (except those which were especially female orders, like the brigittines, &c.) were kept subject to some monastery, so that the superiors of these houses usually bore only the title of prioress, though they had the power of an abbess in the internal discipline of the house. one cannot forbear to quote at least a portion of chaucer's very beautiful description of his prioress, among the canterbury pilgrims:-- "that of her smiling ful simple was and coy." she sang the divine service sweetly; she spoke french correctly, though with an accent which savoured of the benedictine convent at stratford-le-bow, where she had been educated, rather than of paris; she behaved with lady-like delicacy at table; she was cheerful of mood, and amiable; with a pretty affectation of courtly breeding, and a care to exhibit a reverend stateliness becoming her office:-- "but for to speken of her conscience, she was so charitable and so piteous, she would wepe if that she saw a mouse caught in a trappe, if it were dead or bled; of smalé houndés had she that she fed with rosted flesh, and milk, and wastel bread; but sore wept she if one of them were dead, or if men smote it with a yerdé smerte; and all was conscience and tendre herte. ful semély her wimple y-pinched was; her nose tretis,[ ] her eyen grey as glass, her mouth full small, and thereto soft and red, and sickerly she had a fayre forehed-- it was almost a spanné broad i trow, and hardily she was not undergrow."[ ] her habit was becoming; her beads were of red coral gauded with green, to which was hung a jewel of gold, on which was-- "written a crowned a, and after, _amor vincit omnia_. another nun also with her had she, that was her chapelleine, and priestés three." but in abbeys the chief of the obedientiaries was styled prior; and we cannot, perhaps, give a better idea of his functions than by borrowing a naval analogy, and calling him the abbot's first lieutenant; for, like that officer in a ship, the prior at all times carried on the internal discipline of the convent, and in the abbot's absence he was his vicegerent; wielding all the abbot's powers, except those of making or deposing obedientiaries and consecrating novices. he had a suite of apartments of his own, called the prior's chamber, or the prior's lodging; he could leave the house for a day or two on the business of the house, and had horses and servants appropriated to his use; whenever he entered the monks present rose out of respect; some little license in diet was allowed him in refectory, and he might also have refreshment in his own apartments; sometimes he entertained guests of a certain condition in his prior's chamber. neither the prior, nor any of the obedientiaries, wore any distinctive dress or badge of office. in large convents he was assisted by a sub-prior. the _sub-prior_ was the prior's deputy, sharing his duties in his residence, and fulfilling them in his absences. the especial functions appropriated to him seem to have been to say grace at dinner and supper, to see that all the doors were locked at five in the evening, and keep the keys until five next morning; and, by sleeping near the dormitory door, and by making private search, to prevent wandering about at night. in large monasteries there were additional sub-priors. the _chantor_, or _precentor_, appears to come next in order and dignity, since we are told that he was censed after the abbot and prior. he was choir-master; taught music to the monks and novices; and arranged and ruled everything which related to the conduct of divine service. his place in church was in the middle of the choir on the right side; he held an instrument in his hand, as modern leaders use a bâton; and his side of the choir commenced the chant. he was besides librarian, and keeper of the archives, and keeper of the abbey seal. he was assisted by a _succentor_, who sat on the left side of the choir, and led that half of the choir in service. he assisted the chantor, and in his absence undertook his duties. the _cellarer_ was in fact the steward of the house; his modern representative is the bursar of a college. he had the care of everything relating to the provision of the food and vessels of the convent. he was exempt from the observance of some of the services in church; he had the use of horses and servants for the fulfilment of his duties, and sometimes he appears to have had separate apartments. the cellarer, as we have said, wore no distinctive dress or badge; but in the _catalogus benefactorum_ of st. alban's there occurs a portrait of one "adam cellarius," who for his distinguished merit had been buried among the abbots in the chapter-house, and had his name and effigy recorded in the _catalogus_; he is holding two keys in one hand and a purse in the other, the symbols of his office; and in his quaint features--so different from those of the dignified abbot whom we have given from the same book--the limner seems to have given us the type of a business-like and not ungenial cellarer. [illustration: _adam the cellarer._] the _sacrist_, or _sacristan_ (whence our word sexton), had the care and charge of the fabric, and furniture, and ornaments of the church, and generally of all the material appliances of divine service. he, or some one in his stead, slept in a chamber built for him in the church, in order to protect it during the night. there is such a chamber in st. alban's abbey church, engraved in the _builder_ for august, . there was often a sub-sacrist to assist the sacrist in his duties. the duty of the _hospitaller_ was, as his name implies, to perform the duties of hospitality on behalf of the convent. the monasteries received all travellers to food and lodging for a day and a night as of right, and for a longer period if the prior saw reason to grant it.[ ] a special hall was provided for the entertainment of these guests, and chambers for their accommodation. the hospitaller performed the part of host on behalf of the convent, saw to the accommodation of the guests who belonged to the convent, introduced into the refectory strange priests or others who desired and had leave to dine there, and ushered guests of degree to the abbot to be entertained by him. he showed the church and house at suitable times to guests whose curiosity prompted the desire. every abbey had an infirmary, which was usually a detached building with its own kitchen and chapel, besides suitable apartments for the sick, and for aged monks, who sometimes took up their permanent residence in the infirmary, and were excused irksome duties, and allowed indulgences in food and social intercourse. not only the sick monks, but other sick folk were received into the infirmary; it is a very common incident in mediæval romances to find a wounded knight carried to a neighbouring monastery to be healed. the officer who had charge of everything relating to this department was styled the _infirmarer_. he slept in the infirmary, was excused from some of the "hours;" in the great houses had two brethren to assist him besides the necessary servants, and often a clerk learned in pharmacy as physician. the _almoner_ had charge of the distribution of the alms of the house. sometimes money was left by benefactors to be distributed to the poor annually at their obits; the distribution of this was confided to the almoner. one of his men attended in the abbot's chamber when he had guests, to receive what alms they chose to give to the poor. moneys belonging to the convent were also devoted to this purpose; besides food and drink, the surplus of the convent meals. he had assistants allowed him to go and visit the sick and infirm folk of the neighbourhood. and at christmas he provided cloth and shoes for widows, orphans, poor clerks, and others whom he thought to need it most. the _master of the novices_ was a grave and learned monk, who superintended the education of the youths in the schools of the abbey, and taught the rule to those who were candidates for the monastic profession. the _porter_ was an officer of some importance; he was chosen for his age and gravity; he had an apartment in the gate lodge, an assistant, and a lad to run on his messages. but sometimes the porter seems to have been a layman. and, in small houses and in nunneries, his office involved other duties, which we have seen in great abbeys distributed among a number of officials. thus, in marie's "lay le fraine," we read of the porter of an abbey of nuns:-- "the porter of the abbey arose, and did his office in the close; rung the bells, and tapers light, laid forth books and all ready dight. the church door he undid," &c.; and in the sequel it appears that he had a daughter, and therefore in all probability was a layman. the _kitchener_, or _cook_, was usually a monk, and, as his name implies, he ruled in the kitchen, went to market, provided the meals of the house, &c. [illustration: _alan middleton._] the _seneschal_ in great abbeys was often a layman of rank, who did the secular business which the tenure of large estates, and consequently of secular offices, devolved upon abbots and convents; such as holding manorial courts, and the like. but there was, fosbroke tells us, another officer with the same name, but of inferior dignity, who did the convent business of the prior and cellarer which was to be done out of the house; and, when at home, carried a rod and acted as marshal of the guest-hall. he had horses and servants allowed for the duties of his office; and at the benedictine abbey of winchcombe he had a robe of clerk's cloth once a year, with lamb's fur for a supertunic, and for a hood of budge fur; he had the same commons in hall as the cellarer, and £ every year at michaelmas. probably an officer of this kind was alan middleton, who is recorded in the _catalogus_ of st. alban's as "collector of rents of the obedientiaries of that monastery, and especially of those of the bursar." _prudenter in omnibus se agebat_, and so, deserving well of the house, they put a portrait of him among their benefactors, clothed in a blue robe, of "clerk's cloth" perhaps, furred at the wrists and throat with "lamb's fur" or "budge fur;" a small tonsure shows that he had taken some minor order, the penner and inkhorn at his girdle denote the nature of his office; and he is just opening the door of one of the abbey tenants to perform his unwelcome function. they were grateful men, these benedictines of st. alban's; they have immortalised another of their inferior officers, _walterus de hamuntesham, fidelis minister hujus ecclesiæ_, because on one occasion he received a beating at the hands of the rabble of st. alban's--_inter villanos sci albani_--while standing up for the rights and liberties of the church. [illustration: _walter of hamuntesham attacked by a mob._] next in dignity after the obedientiaries come the _cloister monks_; of these some had received holy orders at the hands of the bishop, some not. their number was limited. a cloister monk in a rich abbey seems to have been something like in dignity to the fellow of a modern college, and a good deal of interest was sometimes employed to obtain the admission of a youth as a novice, with a view to his ultimately arriving at this dignified degree. next in order come the _professed brethren_. these seem to be monks who had not been elected to the dignity of cloister monks; some of them were admitted late in life. those monks who had been brought up in the house were called _nutriti_, those who came later in life _conversi_; the lay brothers were also sometimes called _conversi_. there were again the _novices_, who were not all necessarily young, for a _conversus_ passed through a noviciate; and even a monk of another order, or of another house of their own order, and even a monk from a cell of their own house, was reckoned among the novices. there were also the _chaplains_ of the abbot and other high officials; and frequently there were other clerics living in the monastery, who served the chantries in the abbey church, and the churches and chapels which belonged to the monastery and were in its neighbourhood. again, there were the _artificers and servants_ of the monastery: millers, bakers, tailors, shoemakers, smiths, and similar artificers, were often a part of a monastic establishment. and there were numerous men-servants, grooms, and the like: these were all under certain vows, and were kept under discipline. in the cistercian abbey of waverley there were in a.d. seventy monks and one hundred and twenty _conversi_, besides priests, clerks, servants, &c. in the great benedictine abbey of st. edmund's bury, in the time of edward i., there were eighty monks; fifteen chaplains attendant on the abbot and chief officers; about one hundred and eleven servants in the various offices, chiefly residing within the walls of the monastery; forty priests, officiating in the several chapels, chantries, and monastic appendages in the town; and an indefinite number of professed brethren. the following notes will give an idea of the occupations of the servants. in the time of william rufus the servants at evesham numbered--five in the church, two in the infirmary, two in the cellar, five in the kitchen, seven in the bakehouse, four brewers, four menders, two in the bath, two shoemakers, two in the orchard, three gardeners, one at the cloister gate, two at the great gate, five at the vineyard, four who served the monks when they went out, four fishermen, four in the abbot's chamber, three in the hall. at salley abbey, at the end of the fourteenth century, there were about thirty-five servants, among whom are mentioned the shoemaker and barber, the prior's chamberlain, the abbot's cook, the convent cook and baker's mate, the baker, brewers, tailor, cowherd, waggoners, pages of the kitchen, poultry-keeper, labourers, a keeper of animals and birds, bailiffs, foresters, shepherds, smiths: there are others mentioned by name, without a note of their office. but it was only a few of the larger houses which had such numerous establishments as these; the majority of the monasteries contained from five to twenty cloister monks. some of the monasteries were famous as places of education, and we must add to their establishment a number of children of good family, and the learned clerks or ladies who acted as tutors; thus the abbey of st. mary, winchester, in , contained twenty-six nuns, five priests, thirteen lay sisters, thirty-two officers and servants, and twenty-six children, daughters of lords and knights, who were brought up in the house. lastly, there were a number of persons of all ranks and conditions who were admitted to "fraternity." among the hospitallers (and probably it was the same with the other orders) they took oath to love the house and brethren, to defend the house from ill-doers, to enter that house if they did enter any, and to make an annual present to the house. in return, they were enrolled in the register of the house, they received the prayers of the brethren, and at death were buried in the cemetery. chaucer's dominican friar (p. ), writes the names of those who gave him donations in his "tables." in the following extract from piers ploughman's creed, an austin friar promises more definitely to have his donors enrolled in the fraternity of his house:-- "and gyf thou hast any good, and will thyself helpen, help us herblich therewith. and here i undertake, thou shalt ben brother of oure hous, and a book habben, at the next chapetre, clerliche enseled. and then our provincial hath power to assoylen alle sustren and brethren that beth of our ordre." _piers ploughman's creed_, p. . in the book of st. alban's, which we have before quoted, there is a list of many persons, knights and merchants, ladies and children, vicars and rectors, received _ad fraternitatem hujus monasterii_. in many cases portraits of them are given: they are in the ordinary costume of their time and class, without any badge of their monastic fraternisation. chaucer gives several sketches which enable us to fill out our realisation of the monks, as they appeared outside the cloister associating with their fellow-men. he includes one among the merry company of his canterbury pilgrims; and first in the monk's prologue, makes the host address the monk thus:-- "'my lord, the monk,' quod he ... 'by my trothe i can not tell youre name. whether shall i call you my lord dan john, or dan thomas, or elles dan albon? of what house be ye by your father kin? i vow to god thou hast a full fair skin; it is a gentle pasture ther thou goest, thou art not like a penaunt[ ] or a ghost. upon my faith thou art some officer, some worthy sextern or some celerer. for by my father's soul, as to my dome, thou art a maister when thou art at home; no poure cloisterer, ne non novice, but a governor both ware and wise.'" chaucer himself describes the same monk in his prologue thus:-- "a monk there was, a fayre for the maisterie, an out-rider that lovered venerie,[ ] a manly man to be an abbot able. ful many a dainty horse had he in stable; and when he rode men might his bridle hear gingling in a whistling wind as clear, and eke as loud as doth the chapel bell, whereas this lord was keeper of the cell. the rule of saint maur and of saint benet, because that it was old and somedeal strait, this ilke monk let olde thinges pace, and held after the newe world the trace. he gave not of the text a pulled hen, that saith, that hunters been not holy men; ne that a monk, when he is regneless,[ ] is like a fish that is waterless; that is to say, a monk out of his cloister: this ilke text he held not worth an oyster. and i say his pinion was good. why should he study, and make himselven wood, upon a book in cloister alway to pore, or swinkin with his handis, and labour, as austin bid? how shall the world be served? therefore he was a prickasoure aright: greyhounds he had as swift as fowls of flight; of pricking and of hunting for the hare was all his lust, for no cost would he spare. i saw his sleeves purfled at the hand with gris, and that the finest of the land. and for to fasten his hood under his chin he had of gold y-wrought a curious pin: a love-knot in the greater end there was. * * * * * his bootis supple, his horse in great estate; now certainly he was a fair prelate." again, in the "shipman's tale" we learn that such an officer had considerable freedom, so that he was able to pay very frequent visits to his friends. the whole passage is worth giving:-- "a marchant whilom dwelled at st. denise, that riche was, for which men held him wise. * * * * * this noble marchant held a worthy house, for which he had all day so great repair for his largesse, and for his wife was fair. what wonder is? but hearken to my tale. amonges all these guestes great and small there was a monk, a fair man and a bold, i trow a thirty winters he was old, that ever anon was drawing to that place. this youngé monk that was so fair of face, acquainted was so with this goodé man, sithen that their firste knowledge began, that in his house as familiar was he as it possible is any friend to be. and for as mochel as this goodé man, and eke this monk, of which that i began, were bothé two y-born in one village, the monk him claimeth as for cosinage; and he again him said not onés nay, but was as glad thereof, as fowl of day; for to his heart it was a great plesaunce; thus ben they knit with eterne alliance, and eche of them gan other for to ensure of brotherhood, while that life may endure." notwithstanding his vow of poverty, he was also able to make presents to his friends, for the tale continues:-- "free was dan john, and namely of despence as in that house, and full of diligence to don plesaunce, and also great costage; he not forgat to give the leaste page in all that house, but, after their degree, he gave the lord, and sithen his mennie, when that he came, some manner honest thing; for which they were as glad of his coming as fowl is fain when that the sun upriseth." chaucer does not forget to let us know how it was that this monk came to have such liberty and such command of means:-- "this noble monk, of which i you devise, hath of his abbot, as him list, licence (because he was a man of high prudence, and eke an officer), out for to ride to see their granges and their barnés wide." chapter vii. the monastery. we proceed next to give some account of the buildings which compose the fabric of a monastery. and first as to the site. the orders of the benedictine family preferred sites as secluded and remote from towns and villages as possible. the augustinian orders did not cultivate seclusion so strictly; their houses are not unfrequently near towns and villages, and sometimes a portion of their conventual church--the nave, generally--formed the parish church. the friaries, colleges of secular canons, and hospitals, were generally in or near the towns. there is a popular idea that the monks chose out the most beautiful and fertile spots in the kingdom for their abodes. a little reflection would show that the choice of the site of a new monastery must be confined within the limits of the lands which the founder was pleased to bestow upon the convent. sometimes the founder gave a good manor, and gave money besides, to help to build the house upon it; sometimes what was given was a tract of unreclaimed land, upon which the first handful of monks squatted like settlers in a new country. even the settled land, in those days, was only half cultivated; and on good land, unreclaimed or only half reclaimed, the skill and energy of a company of first-rate farmers would soon produce great results; barren commons would be dotted over with sheep, and rushy valleys would become rich pastures covered with cattle, and great clearings in the forest would grow green with rye and barley. the revenues of the monastic estates would rapidly augment; little of them would be required for the coarse dress and frugal fare of the monks; they did not, like the lay landowners, spend them on gilded armour and jewelled robes, and troops of armed retainers, and tournaments, and journeys to court; and so they had enough for plentiful charity and unrestricted hospitality, and the surplus they spent upon those magnificent buildings whose very ruins are among the architectural glories of the land. the cistercians had an especial rule that their houses should be built on the lowest possible sites, in token of humility; but it was the general custom in the middle ages to choose low and sheltered sites for houses which were not especially intended as strongholds, and therefore it is that we find nearly all monasteries in sheltered spots. to the monks the neighbourhood of a stream was of especial importance: when headed up it supplied a pond for their fish, and water-power for their corn-mill. if, therefore, there were within the limits of their domain a quiet valley with a rivulet running through it, that was the site which the monks would select for their house. and here, beside the rivulet, in the midst of the green pasture land of the valley dotted with sheep and kine, shut in from the world by the hills, whose tops were fringed with the forest which stretched for miles around, the stately buildings of the monastery would rise year after year; the cloister court, and the great church, and the abbot's lodge, and the numerous offices, all surrounded by a stone wall with a stately gate-tower, like a goodly walled town, and a suburban hamlet of labourers' and servants' cottages sheltering beneath its walls. there was a certain plan for the arrangement of the principal buildings of a monastery, which, with minor variations, was followed by nearly all the monastic orders, except the carthusians. these latter differed from the other orders in this, that each monk had his separate cell, in which he lived, and ate, and slept apart from the rest, the whole community meeting only in church and chapter.[ ] our limits will not permit us to enter into exceptional arrangements. the nucleus of a monastery was the cloister court. it was a quadrangular space of green sward, around which were arranged the cloister buildings, viz., the church, the chapter-house, the refectory, and the dormitory.[ ] the court was called the paradise--the blessed garden in which the inmates passed their lives of holy peace. a porter was often placed at the cloister-gate, and the monks might not quit its seclusion, nor strangers enter to disturb its quiet, save under exceptional circumstances. the cloister-court had generally, though it is doubtful whether it was always the case, a covered ambulatory round its four sides. the ambulatories of the twelfth and thirteenth centuries have usually an open arcade on the side facing the court, which supports the groined roof. in the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries, instead of an open arcade, we usually find a series of large traceried windows, tolerably close together; in many cases they were glazed, sometimes with painted glass, and formed doubtless a grand series of scriptural or historical paintings. the blank wall opposite was also sometimes painted. this covered ambulatory was not merely a promenade for the monks; it was the place in which the convent assembled regularly every day, at certain hours, for study and meditation; and in some instances (_e.g._, at durham) a portion of it was fitted up with little wooden closets for studies for the elder monks, with book-cupboards in the wall opposite for books. the monks were sometimes buried in the cloister, either under the turf in the open square, or beneath the pavement of the ambulatory. there was sometimes a fountain at the corner of the cloister, or on its south side near the entrance to the refectory, at which the monks washed before meals. the church was always the principal building of a monastery. many of them remain entire, though despoiled of their shrines, and tombs, and altars, and costly furniture, and many more remain in ruins, and they fill us with astonishment at their magnitude and splendour. our existing cathedrals were, in fact, abbey churches; nine or ten of them were the churches of benedictine monasteries, the remainder of secular augustines. but these, the reader may imagine, had the wealth of bishops and the offerings of dioceses lavished upon them, and may not be therefore fair examples of ordinary abbey churches. but some of them originally were ordinary abbey churches, and were subsequently made episcopal sees, such as beverley, gloucester, christ church oxford, and peterborough, which were originally benedictine abbey churches; bristol was the church of a house of regular canons; ripon was the church of a college of secular canons. the benedictine churches of westminster and st. alban's, and the collegiate church of southwell, are equal in magnitude and splendour to any of the cathedrals; and the ruins of fountains, and tintern, and netley, show that the cistercians equalled any of the other orders in the magnitude and beauty of their churches. it is indeed hard to conceive that communities of a score or two of monks should have built such edifices as westminster and southwell as private chapels attached to their monasteries. and this, though it is one aspect of the fact, is not the true one. they did not build them for private chapels to say their daily prayers in; they built them for temples in which they believed that the eternal and almighty condescended to dwell; to whose contemplation and worship they devoted their lives. they did not think of the church as an appendage to their monastery, but of their monastery as an appendage to the church. the cloister, under the shadow and protection of the church, was the court of the temple, in which its priests and levites dwelt. the church of a monastery was almost always a cross church, with a nave and aisles; a central tower (in cistercian churches the tower was only to rise one story above the roof); transepts, which usually have three chapels on the north side of each transept, or an aisle divided into three chapels by parclose screens; a choir with or without aisles; a retro-choir or presbytery; and often a lady chapel, east of the presbytery, or in some instances parallel with the choir. the entrance for the monks was usually on the south side opposite to the eastern alley of the cloisters; there was also in cistercian churches, and in some others, a newel stair in the south transept, by means of which the monks could descend from their dormitory (which was in the upper story of the east side of the cloister court) into the church for the night services, without going into the open air. the principal entrance for the laity was on the north side, and was usually provided with a porch. the great western entrance was chiefly used for processions; the great entrance gate in the enclosure wall of the abbey being usually opposite to it or nearly so. in several instances stones have been found, set in the pavements of the naves of conventual churches, to mark the places where the different members of the convent were to stand before they issued forth in procession, amidst the tolling of the great bell, with cross and banner, and chanted psalms, to meet the abbot at the abbey-gate, on his return from an absence, or any person to whom it was fitting that the convent should show such honour. [illustration: _a semi-choir of franciscan friars._] the internal arrangements of an abbey-church were very nearly like those of our cathedrals. the convent occupied the stalls in the choir; the place of the abbot was in the first stall on the right-hand (south) side to one entering from the west--it is still appropriated to the dean in cathedrals; in the corresponding stall on the other side sat the prior; the precentor sat in the middle stall on the right or south side; the succentor in the middle stall on the north side. the beautiful little picture of a semi-choir of franciscan friars on the opposite page is from a fourteenth-century psalter in the british museum (domitian, a. ). it is from a large picture, which gives a beautiful representation of the interior of the choir of the church. the picture is worth careful examination for the costume of the friars--grey frock and cowl, with knotted cord girdle and sandalled feet; some wearing the hood drawn over the head, some leaving it thrown back on the neck and shoulders; one with his hands folded under his sleeves like the cistercians at p. . the precentor may be easily distinguished in the middle stall beating time, with an air of leadership. there is much character in all the faces and attitudes--_e.g._, in the withered old face on the left, with his cowl pulled over his ears to keep off the draughts, or the one on the precentor's left, a rather burly friar, evidently singing bass.[ ] on the next page is an engraving from the same ms. of a similar semi-choir of minoresses, which also is only a portion of a large church interior. [illustration: _a semi-choir of minoresses._] when there was a shrine of a noted saint[ ] it was placed in the presbytery, behind the high-altar; and here, and in the choir aisles, were frequently placed the monuments of the abbots, and of founders and distinguished benefactors of the house; sometimes heads of the house and founders were buried in the chapter-house. it would require a more elaborate description than our plan will admit to endeavour to bring before the mind's-eye of the reader one of these abbey churches before its spoliation;--when the sculptures were unmutilated and the paintings fresh, and the windows filled with their stained glass, and the choir hung with hangings, and banners and tapestries waved from the arches of the triforium, and the altar shone gloriously with jewelled plate, and the monuments[ ] of abbots and nobles were still perfect, and the wax tapers burned night and day[ ] in the hearses, throwing a flickering light on the solemn effigies below, and glancing upon the tarnished armour and the dusty banners[ ] which hung over the tombs, while the cowled monks sat in their stalls and prayed. or when, on some high festival, the convent walked round the lofty aisles in procession, two and two, clad in rich copes over their coarse frocks, preceded by cross and banner, with swinging censers pouring forth clouds of incense, while one of those angelic boy's voices which we still sometimes hear in cathedrals chanted the solemn litany--the pure sweet ringing voice floating along the vaulted aisles, until it was lost in the swell of the chorus of the whole procession--_ora! ora! ora! pro nobis!_ * * * * * the cloister was usually situated on the south side of the nave of the church, so that the nave formed its north side, and the south transept a part of its eastern side; but sometimes, from reasons of local convenience, the cloister was on the north side of the nave, and then the relative positions of the other buildings were similarly transposed. the chapter-house was always on the east side of the court. in establishments of secular canons it seems to have been always multi-sided[ ] with a central pillar to support its groining, and a lofty, conical, lead-covered roof. in these instances it is placed in the open space eastward of the cloister, and is usually approached by a passage from the east side of the cloister court. in the houses of all the other orders[ ] the chapter-house is rectangular, even where the church is a cathedral. usually, then, the chapter-house is a rectangular building on the east side of the cloister, and its longest axis is east and west; at durham it has an eastern apse.[ ] it was a large and handsome room, with a good deal of architectural ornament;[ ] often the western end of it is divided off as a vestibule or ante-room; and generally it is so large as to be divided into two or three aisles by rows of pillars. internally, rows of stalls or benches were arranged round the walls for the convent; there was a higher seat at the east end for the abbot or prior, and a desk in the middle from which certain things were read. every day after the service called terce, the convent walked in procession from the choir to the chapter-house, and took their proper places. when the abbot had taken his place, the monks descended one step and bowed; he returned their salutation, and all took their seats. a sentence of the rule of the order was read by one of the novices from the desk, and the abbot, or in his absence the prior, delivered an explanatory or hortatory sermon upon it; then from another portion of the book was read the names of brethren, and benefactors, and persons who had been received into fraternity, whose decease had happened on that day of the year; and the convent prayed a _requiescant in pace_ for their souls, and the souls of all the faithful departed this life. then members of the convent who had been guilty of slight breaches of discipline confessed them, kneeling upon a low stool in the middle, and on a bow from the abbot, intimating his remission of the breach, they resumed their seats. if any had a complaint to make against any brother, it was here made and adjudged.[ ] convent business was also transacted. the woodcut gives an example of the kind. henry vii. had made grants to westminster abbey, on condition that the convent should perform certain religious services on his behalf;[ ] and in order that the services should not fall into disuse, he directed that yearly, at a certain period, the chief-justice, or the king's attorney, or the recorder of london, should attend in chapter, and the abstract of the grant and agreement between the king and the convent should be read. the grant which was thus to be read still exists in the british museum; it is written in a volume superbly bound, with the royal seals attached in silver cases; it is from the illuminated letter at the head of one of the deeds in this book[ ] that our woodcut is taken. it rudely represents the chapter-house, with the chief-justice and a group of lawyers on one side, the abbot and convent on the other, and a monk reading the grant from the desk in the middle. [illustration: _monks and lawyers in chapter-house._] lydgate's "life of st. edmund" (harl. , ) was written a.d. , by command of his abbot--he was a monk of st. edmund's bury--on the occasion of king henry vi. being received-- "of their chapter a brother for to be;" that is, to the fraternity of the house. an illumination on f. seems to represent the king sitting in the abbot's place in the chapter-house, with royal officers behind him, monks in their places on each side of the chapter-house, the lectern in the middle, and a group of clerks at the west end. it is probably intended as a picture of the scene of the king's being received to fraternity. adjoining the south transept is usually a narrow apartment; the description of durham, drawn up soon after the dissolution, says that it was the "locutory." another conjecture is that it may have been the vestry. at netley it has a door at the west, with a trefoil light over it, a two-light window at the east, two niches, like monumental niches, in its north and south walls, and a piscina at the east end of its south wall. again, between this and the chapter-house is often found a small apartment, which some have conjectured to be the penitential cell. in other cases it seems to be merely a passage from the cloister-court to the space beyond; in which space the abbot's lodging is often situated, so that it may have been the abbot's entrance to the church and chapter. in cistercian houses there is usually another long building south of the chapter-house, its axis running north and south. this was perhaps in its lower story the frater-house, a room to which the monks retired after refection to converse, and to take their allowance of wine, or other indulgences in diet which were allowed to them; and some quotations in fosbroke would lead us to imagine that the monks dined here on feast days. it would answer to the great chamber of mediæval houses, and in some respects to the combination-room[ ] of modern colleges. the upper story of this building was probably the dormitory. this was a long room, with a vaulted or open timber roof, in which the pallets were arranged in rows on each side against the wall. the prior or sub-prior usually slept in the dormitory, with a light burning near him, in order to maintain order. the monks slept in the same habits[ ] which they wore in the day-time. about the middle of the south side of the court, in cistercian houses, there is a long room, whose longer axis lies north and south, with a smaller room on each side of it, which was probably the refectory. in other houses, the refectory forms the south side of the cloister court, lying parallel with the nave of the church. very commonly it has a row of pillars down the centre, to support the groined roof. it was arranged, like all mediæval halls, with a dais at the upper end and a screen at the lower. in place of the oriel window of mediæval halls, there was a pulpit, which was often in the embrasure of a quasi-oriel window, in which one of the brethren read some edifying book during meals. the remaining apartments of the cloister-court it is more difficult to appropriate. in some of the great cistercian houses whose ground-plan can be traced--as fountains, salley, netley, &c.--possibly the long apartment which is found on the west side of the cloister was the hall of the hospitium, with chambers over it. another conjecture is, that it was the house of the lay brethren. in the uncertainty which at present exists on these points of monastic arrangement, we cannot speak with any degree of certainty; but we throw together some data on the subject in the subjoined note.[ ] the scriptorium is said to have been usually over the chapter-house. it was therefore a large apartment, capable of containing many persons, and, in fact, many persons did work together in it in a very business-like manner at the transcription of books. for example, william, abbot of herschau, in the eleventh century, as stated by his biographer: "knowing, what he had learned by laudable experience, that sacred reading is the necessary food of the mind, made twelve of his monks very excellent writers, to whom he committed the office of transcribing the holy scriptures, and the treatises of the fathers. besides these, there were an indefinite number of other scribes, who wrought with equal diligence on the transcription of other books. over them was a monk well versed in all kinds of knowledge, whose business it was to appoint some good work as a task for each, and to correct the mistakes of those who wrote negligently."[ ] the general chapter of the cistercian order, held in a.d. , directs that the same silence should be maintained in the scriptorium as in the cloister. sometimes perhaps little separate studies of wainscot were made round this large apartment, in which the writers sat at their desks. sometimes this literary work was carried on in the cloister, which, being glazed, would be a not uncomfortable place in temperate weather, and a very comfortable place in summer, with its coolness and quiet, and the peep through its windows on the green court and the fountain in the centre, and the grey walls of the monastic buildings beyond; the slow footfall of a brother going to and fro, and the cawing of the rooks in the minster tower, would add to the dreamy charm of such a library.[ ] odo, abbot of st. martin's, at tournay, about , "used to exult in the number of writers the lord had given him; for if you had gone into the cloister you might in general have seen a dozen young monks sitting on chairs in perfect silence, writing at tables carefully and artificially constructed. all jerome's commentaries on the prophets, all the works of st. gregory, and everything that he could find of st. augustine, ambrose, isodore, bede, and the lord anselm, then abbot of bec, and afterwards archbishop of canterbury, he caused to be transcribed. so that you would scarcely have found such a monastery in that part of the country, and everybody was begging for our copies to correct their own." sometimes little studies of wainscot were erected in the cloisters for the monks to study or transcribe in. at gloucester cathedral, at beaulieu, and at melrose, for example, there are traces of the way in which the windows of the cloisters were enclosed and turned into such studies.[ ] [illustration: _monk in scriptorium._] there are numerous illuminations representing monks and ecclesiastics writing; they sit in chairs of various kinds, some faldstools, some armed chairs, some armed backed; and they have desks and bookstands before them of various shapes, commonly a stand with sloping desk like a bible lectern, not unfrequently a kind of dumb-waiter besides on which are several books. we see also in these illuminations the forms of the pens, knives, inkstands, &c., which were used. we will only mention two of unusual interest. one is in a late fourteenth-century psalter, harl. , , at p. , v., where st. jude sits writing his epistle in a canopied chair, with a shelf across the front of the chair to serve as a desk; a string with a weight at the end holds his parchment down, and there is a bench beside, on which lies a book. a chair with a similar shelf is at f. of the ms. egerton, , . our woodcut on the preceding page is from a ms. in the library of soissons. we also find representations of ecclesiastics writing in a small cell which may represent the enclosed scriptoria--_e.g._ st. bonaventine writing, in the ms. harl. , ; st. john painting, in the late fifteenth-century ms. add. , , f. . the abbot's lodging sometimes formed a portion of one of the monastic courts, as at st. mary, bridlington, where it formed the western side of the cloister-court; but more usually it was a detached house, precisely similar to the contemporary unfortified houses of laymen of similar rank and wealth. no particular site relative to the monastic buildings was appropriated to it; it was erected wherever was most convenient within the abbey enclosure. the principal rooms of an abbot's house are the hall, the great chamber, the kitchen, buttery, cellars, &c., the chambers, and the chapel. we must remember that the abbots of the greater houses were powerful noblemen; the abbots of the smaller houses were equal in rank and wealth to country gentlemen. they had a very constant succession of noble and gentle guests, whose entertainment was such as their rank and habits required. this involved a suitable habitation and establishment; and all this must be borne in mind when we endeavour to picture to ourselves an abbot's lodging. to give an idea of the magnitude of some of the abbots' houses, we may record that the hall of the abbot of fountains was divided by two rows of pillars into a centre and aisles, and that it was feet long by feet wide.[ ] half a dozen noble guests, with their retinues of knights and squires, and men-at-arms and lacqueys, and all the abbot's men to boot, would be lost in such a hall. on the great feast-days it might, perhaps, be comfortably filled. but even such a hall would hardly contain the companies who were sometimes entertained, on such great days for instance as an abbot's installation-day, when it is on record that an abbot of one of the greater houses would give a feast to three or four thousand people. of the lodgings of the superiors of smaller houses, we may take that of the prior of st. mary's, bridlington, as an example. it is very accurately described by king henry's commissioners; it formed the west side of the cloister-court; it contained a hall with an undercroft, eighteen paces long from the screen to the dais,[ ] and ten paces wide; on its north side a great chamber, twenty paces long and nineteen wide; at the west end of the great chamber the prior's sleeping-chamber, and over that a garret; on the east side of the same chamber a little chamber and a closet; at the south end of the hall the buttery and pantry, and a chamber called the auditor's chamber; at the same end of the hall a fair parlour, called the low summer parlour; and over it another fair chamber; and adjoining that three little chambers for servants; at the south end of the hall the prior's kitchen, with three houses covered with lead, and adjoining it a chamber called the south cellarer's chamber.[ ] [illustration: _a present of fish._] there were several other buildings of a monastery, which were sometimes detached, and placed as convenience dictated. the infirmary especially seems to have been more commonly detached; in many cases it had its own kitchen, and refectory, and chapel, and chambers, which sometimes were arranged round a court, and formed a complete little separate establishment. the hospitium, or guest-house, was sometimes detached; but more usually it seems to have formed a portion of an outer court, westward of the cloister-court, which court was entered from the great gates, or from one of the outer gates of the abbey. in cistercian houses, as we have said, the guest-house, with its hall below and its chambers above, perhaps occupied the west side of the cloister-court, and would therefore form the eastern range of buildings of this outer court. at st. mary's, bridlington, where the prior's lodging occupied this position, the "lodgings and stables for strangers" were on the north side of this outer court. the guest-houses were often of great extent and magnificence. the guesten-hall of st. augustine's, canterbury, still remains, and is a very noble building, feet long by broad, of norman date, raised on an undercroft. the guesten-hall of worcester also remains, a very noble building on an undercroft, with a fine carved timber roof, and portions of the painting which decorated the wall behind the dais still visible.[ ] besides the hall, the guest-house contained often a great-chamber (answering to our modern drawing-room) and sleeping-chambers, and a chapel, in which service was performed for guests--for in those days it was the custom always to hear prayers before dinner and supper. thus, at durham, we are told that "a famous house of hospitality was kept within the abbey garth, called the guest-hall, and was situate in the west side, towards the water. the sub-prior of the house was the master thereof, as one appointed to give entertainment to all estates, noble, gentle, or what other degree soever, came thither as strangers. their entertainment was not inferior to that of any place in england, both for the goodness of their diet, the clean and neat furniture of their lodgings, and generally all things necessary for travellers; and, with this entertainment, no man was required to depart while he continued honest and of good behaviour. this hall was a stately place, not unlike the body of a church, supported on each side by very fine pillars, and in the midst of the hall a long range for the fire. the chambers and lodgings belonging to it were kept very clean and richly furnished." at st. albans, the guest-house was an enormous range of rooms, with stabling for three hundred horses. there is a passage in the correspondence of coldingham priory (published by the surties society, , p. ) which gives us a graphic sketch of the arrival of guests at a monastery:--"on st. alban's-day, june [year not given--it was towards the end of edward iii.], two monks, with a company of certain secular persons, came riding into the gateway of the monastery about nine o'clock in the morning. this day happened to be sunday, but they were hospitably and reverently received, had lodgings assigned them, a special mass service performed for them, and after a refection and washing their feet, it being supposed that they were about to pursue their journey to london the next morning, they were left at an early hour to take repose. while the bell was summoning the rest of the brotherhood to vespers, the monk who had been in attendance upon them (the hospitaller) having gone with the rest to sing his chant in the choir, the secular persons appear to have asked the two monks to take a walk with them to look at the castle of durham," &c.[ ] there could hardly have been any place in the middle ages which could have presented such a constant succession of picturesque scenes as the hospitium of a monastery. and what a contrast must often have existed between the hospitium and the cloister. here a crowd of people of every degree--nobles and ladies, knights and dames, traders with their wares, minstrels with their songs and juggling tricks, monks and clerks, palmers, friars, beggars--bustling about the court or crowding the long tables of the hall; and, a few paces off, the dark-frocked monks, with faces buried in their cowls, pacing the ambulatory in silent meditation, or sitting at their meagre refection, enlivened only by the monotonous sound of the novice's voice reading a homily from the pulpit! many of the remaining buildings of the monastery were arranged around this outer court. ingulphus tells us that the second court of the saxon monastery of croyland (about a.d.) had the gate on the north, and the almonry near it--a very usual position for it; the shops of the tailors and shoe-makers, the hall of the novices, and the abbot's lodgings on the east; the guest-hall and its chambers on the south; and the stable-house, and granary, and bake-house on the west. the gate-house was usually a large and handsome tower, with the porter's lodge on one side of the arched entrance; and often a strong room on the other, which served as the prison of the manor-court of the convent; and often a handsome room over the entrance, in which the manorial court was held. in the middle of the court was often a stone cross, round which markets and fairs were often held. in the "vision of piers ploughman" an interesting description is given of a dominican convent of the fourteenth century. we will not trouble the reader with the very archaic original, but will give him a paraphrase of it. the writer says that, on approaching, he was so bewildered by their magnitude and beauty, that for a long time he could distinguish nothing certainly but stately buildings of stone, pillars carved and painted, and great windows well wrought. in the quadrangle he notices the cross standing in the centre, surrounded with tabernacle-work: he enters the minster (church), and describes the arches carved and gilded, the wide windows full of shields of arms and merchants' marks on stained glass, the high tombs under canopies, with armed effigies in alabaster, and lovely ladies lying by their sides in many gay garments. he passes into the cloister and sees it pillared and painted, and covered with lead and paved with tiles, and conduits of white metal pouring their water into latten (bronze) lavatories beautifully wrought. the chapter-house he says was wrought like a great church, carved and painted like a parliament-house. then he went into the fratry, and found it a hall fit for a knight and his household, with broad boards (tables) and clean benches, and windows wrought as in a church. then he wandered all about-- "and seigh halles ful heigh, and houses ful noble, chambres with chymneys, and chapeles gaye, and kychenes for an high kynge in castels to holden, and their dortoure ydight with dores ful stronge, fermerye, and fraitur, with fele more houses, and all strong stone wall, sterne opon heithe, with gay garites and grete, and ich whole yglazed, and other houses ynowe to herberwe the queene." the churches of the friars differed from those of monks. they were frequently composed either of a nave only or a nave and two (often very narrow) aisles, without transepts, or chapels, or towers; they were adapted especially for preaching to large congregations--_e.g._ the austin friars' church in the city of london, lately restored; st. andrew's hall, norwich. in viollet le duc's "dictionary of architecture" is given a bird's-eye view of the monastery of the augustine friars of st. marie des vaux verts, near brussels, which is a complete example of one of these houses.[ ] every monastery had a number of dependent establishments of greater or less size: cells on its distant estates; granges on its manors; chapels in places where the abbey tenants were at a distance from a church; and often hermitages under its protection. a ground-plan and view of one of these cells, the priory of st. jean-les-bons-hommes, of the end of the twelfth century, still remaining in a tolerably perfect state, is given by viollet le duc (dict arch., i. , ). it is a miniature monastery, with a little cloistered court, surrounded by the usual buildings: an oratory on the north side; on the east a sacristy, and chapter-house, and long range of buildings, with dormitory over; on the south side the refectory and kitchen; and another exterior court, with stables and offices. the preceptory of hospitallers at chibburn, northumberland, which remains almost as the knights left it, is another example of these small rural houses. it is engraved in turner's "domestic architecture," vol. ii. p. . it also consists of a small court, with a chapel about forty-five feet long, on the west side; and other buildings, which we cannot appropriate, on the remaining sides. of the monastic cells we have already spoken in describing the office of prior. the one or two brethren who were placed in a cell to manage the distant estates of the monastery would probably be chosen rather for their qualities as prudent stewards than for their piety. the command of money which their office gave them, and their distance from the supervision of their ecclesiastical superiors, brought them under temptation, and it is probably in these cells, and among the brethren who superintended the granges, and the officials who could leave the monastery at pleasure on the plea of convent business, that we are to look for the irregularities of which the middle-age satirists speak. the monk among chaucer's "canterbury pilgrims" was prior of a cell, for we read that-- "when he rode, men might his bridel here gingeling in a whistling sound, as clere and eke as loud _as doth the chapelle belle, ther as this lord was keeper of the celle_." the monk on whose intrigue "the shipman's tale" is founded, was probably the cellarer of his convent:-- "this noble monk of which i you devise, had of his abbot, as him list, licence; because he was a man of high prudence, and eke an officer, out for to ride to seen his granges and his bernes wide." [illustration: _an abbot travelling._] the abbot, too, sometimes gave license to the monks to go and see their friends, or to pass two or three days at one or other of the manors of the house for recreation; and sometimes he took a monk with him on his own journeys. in a ms. romance, in the british museum (add. , , f. ), is a representation of a monk with his hood on, journeying on horseback. we give here, from the st. alban's book (nero, d. vii.), a woodcut of an abbot on horseback, with a hat over his hood--"an abbot on an ambling pad;" he is giving his benediction in return to the salute of some passing traveller. hermitages or anchorages sometimes depended on a monastery, and were not necessarily occupied by brethren of the monastery, but by any one desirous to embrace this mode of life whom the convent might choose. the hermit, however, probably, usually wore the habit of the order. the monastery often supplied the hermit with his food. in a picture in the ms. romance, before quoted (add. , , f. ), is a representation of a knight-errant on horseback, conversing by the way with a clerk, who is carrying bread and wine to a hermitage. the woodcut with which we conclude, from the harleian ms., , , represents the characteristic costume of three orders of religious with whom we have been concerned--a bishop, an abbot, and a clerk. [illustration: _bishop, abbot, and clerk._] the hermits and recluses of the middle ages. chapter i. the hermits. we have already related, in a former chapter (p. ), that the ascetics who abandoned the stirring world of the Ægypto-greek cities, and resorted to the theban desert to lead a life of self-mortification and contemplation, frequently associated themselves into communities, and thus gave rise to the coenobitical orders of christendom. but there were others who still preferred the solitary life; and they had their imitators in every age and country of the christian world. we have not the same fulness of information respecting these solitaries that we have respecting the great orders of monks and friars; but the scattered notices which remain of them, when brought together, form a very curious chapter in the history of human nature, well worthy of being written out in full. the business of the present paper, however, is not to write the whole chapter, but only to select that page of it which relates to the english solitaries, and to give as distinct a picture as we can of the part which the hermits and recluses played on the picturesque stage of the england of the middle ages. we have to remember, at the outset, that it was not all who bore the name of eremite who lived a solitary life. we have already had occasion to mention that innocent iv., in the middle of the thirteenth century, found a number of small religious communities and solitaries, who were not in any of the recognised religious orders, and observed no authorised rule; and that he enrolled them all into a new order, with the rule of st. augustine, under the name of eremiti augustini. the new order took root, and flourished, and gave rise to a considerable number of large communities, very similar in every respect to the communities of friars of the three orders previously existing. the members of these new communities did not affect seclusion, but went about among the people, as the dominicans, and franciscans, and carmelites did. the popular tongue seems to have divided the formal title of the new order, and to have applied the name of _augustine_, or, popularly, _austin friars_, to these new communities of friars; while it reserved the distinctive name of _eremites_, or hermits, for the religious, who, whether they lived absolutely alone, or in little aggregations of solitaries, still professed the old eremitical principle of seclusion from the world. these hermits may again be subdivided into hermits proper, and recluses. the difference between them was this: that the hermit, though he professed a general seclusion from the world, yet, in fact, held communication with his fellow-men as freely as he pleased, and might go in and out of his hermitage as inclination prompted, or need required; the recluse was understood to maintain a more strict abstinence from unnecessary intercourse with others, and had entered into a formal obligation not to go outside the doors of his hermitage. in the imperfect notices which we have of them, it is often impossible to determine whether a particular individual was a hermit or a recluse; but we incline to the opinion that of the male solitaries few had taken the vows of reclusion; while the female solitaries appear to have been all recluses. so that, practically, the distinction almost amounts to this--that the male solitaries were hermits, and the females recluses. very much of what we have to say of the mediæval solitaries, of their abodes, and of their domestic economy, applies both to those who had, and to those who had not, made the further vow of reclusion. we shall, therefore, treat first of those points which are common to them, and then devote a further paper to those things which are peculiar to the recluses. * * * * * the popular idea of a hermit is that of a man who was either a half-crazed enthusiast, or a misanthrope--a kind of christian timon--who abandoned the abodes of men, and scooped out for himself a cave in the rocks, or built himself a rude hut in the forest; and lived there a half-savage life, clad in sackcloth or skins,[ ] eating roots and wild fruits, and drinking of the neighbouring spring; visited occasionally by superstitious people, who gazed and listened in fear at the mystic ravings, or wild denunciations, of the gaunt and haggard prophet. this ideal has probably been derived from the traditional histories, once so popular,[ ] of the early hermit-saints; and there may have been, perhaps, always an individual or two of whom this traditional picture was a more or less exaggerated representation. but the ordinary english hermit of the middle ages was a totally different type of man. he was a sober-minded and civilised person, who dressed in a robe very much like the robes of the other religious orders; lived in a comfortable little house of stone or timber; often had estates, or a pension, for his maintenance, besides what charitable people were pleased to leave him in their wills, or to offer in their lifetime; he lived on bread and meat, and beer and wine, and had a chaplain to say daily prayers for him, and a servant or two to wait upon him; his hermitage was not always up in the lonely hills, or deep-buried in the shady forests--very often it was by the great high roads, and sometimes in the heart of great towns and cities. this summary description is so utterly opposed to all the popular notions, that we shall take pains to fortify our assertions with sufficient proofs; indeed, the whole subject is so little known that we shall illustrate it freely from all the sources at our command. and first, as it is one of our especial objects to furnish authorities for the pictorial representation of these old hermits, we shall inquire what kind of dress they did actually wear in place of the skins, or the sackcloth, with which the popular imagination has clothed them. we should be inclined to assume _a priori_ that the hermits would wear the habit prescribed by papal authority for the eremiti augustini, which, according to stevens, consisted of "a white garment, and a white scapular over it, when they are in the house; but in the choir, and when they go abroad, they put on, over all, a sort of cowl and a large hood, both black, the hood round before, and hanging down to the waist in a point, being girt with a black leather thong." and in the rude woodcuts which adorn caxton's "vitas patrum," or "lives of the hermits," we do find some of the religious men in a habit which looks like a gown, with the arms coming through slits, which may be intended to represent a scapular, and with hoods and cowls of the fashion described; while others, in the same book, are in a loose gown, in shape more like that of a benedictine. again, in albert durer's "st. christopher," as engraved by mrs. jameson, in her "sacred and legendary art," p. , the hermit is represented in a frock and scapular, with a cowl and hood. but in the majority of the representations of hermits which we meet with in mediæval paintings and illuminated manuscripts, the costume consists of a frock, sometimes girded, sometimes not, and over it an ample gown, like a cloak, with a hood; and in the cases where the colour of the robe is indicated, it is almost always indicated by a light brown tint.[ ] it is not unlikely that there were varieties of costume among the hermits. perhaps those who were attached to the monasteries of monks and friars, and who seem to have been usually admitted to the fraternity of the house,[ ] may have worn the costume of the order to which they were attached; while priest-hermits serving chantries may have worn the usual costume of a secular priest. bishop poore, who died , in his "ancren riewle," speaks of the fashion of the dress to be worn, at least by female recluses, as indifferent. bilney, speaking especially of the recluses in his day, just before the reformation, says, "their apparell is indifferent, so it be dissonant from the laity." in the woodcuts, from various sources, which illustrate this paper, the reader will see for himself how the hermits are represented by the mediæval artists, who had them constantly under their observation, and who at least tried their best to represent faithfully what they saw. the best and clearest illustration which we have been able to find of the usual costume in which the hermits are represented, we here give to the reader. it is from the figure of st. damasus, one of the group in the fine picture of "st. jerome," by cosimo roselli (who lived from to ), now in the national gallery. the hermit-saint wears a light-brown frock, and scapular, with no girdle, and, over all, a cloak and hood of the same colour, and his naked feet are protected by wooden clogs. [illustration: _st. damasus, hermit._] other illustrations of hermits may be found in the early fourteenth century ms. romances additional , f. , and , f. . in the latter case there are two hermits in one hermitage; also in royal g. vi. illustrations of st. anthony, which give authorities for hermit costume, and indications of what hermitages were, abound in the later mss.; for example, in king rené's "book of hours" (egerton , ), at f. , the hermit-saint is habited in a grey frock and black cloak with a t-cross on the breast; he holds bell and book and staff in his hands. in egerton , , of the middle of the fifteenth century. in add. , , of the latter part of the fifteenth century, at f. , is st. anthony in brown frock and narrow scapulary, with a grey cloak and hood and a red skull cap; he holds a staff and book; his hermitage, in the background, is a building like a little chapel with a bell-cot on the gable, within a grassy enclosure fenced with a low wattled fence. add. , , of date a.d., f. , represents st. anthony in a blue-grey gown and hood, holding bell, rosary, and staff, entering his hermitage, a little building with a bell-cot on the gable. a man could not take upon himself the character of a hermit at his own pleasure. it was a regular order of religion, into which a man could not enter without the consent of the bishop of the diocese, and into which he was admitted by a formal religious service. and just as bishops do not ordain men to holy orders until they have obtained a "title," a place in which to exercise their ministry, so bishops did not admit men to the order of hermits until they had obtained a hermitage in which to exercise their vocation. the form of the vow made by a hermit is here given, from the institution books of norwich, lib. xiv. fo. a ("east anglian," no. , p. ). "i, john fferys, nott maridd, promyt and avowe to god, o{r} lady sent mary, and to all the seynts in heven, in the p'sence of you reverend fadre in god, richard bishop of norwich, the wowe of chastite, after the rule of sent paule the heremite. in the name of the fadre, sone, and holy gost. john fferere. xiij. meii, anno dni. mlvciiij. in capella de thorpe." we summarize the service for habiting and blessing a hermit[ ] from the pontifical of bishop lacy of exeter, of the fourteenth century.[ ] it begins with several psalms; then several short prayers for the incepting hermit, mentioning him by name.[ ] then follow two prayers for the benediction of his vestments, apparently for different parts of his habit; the first mentioning "hec indumenta humilitatem cordis et mundi contemptum significancia,"--these garments signifying humility of heart, and contempt of the world; the second blesses "hanc vestem pro conservande castitatis signo,"--this vestment the sign of chastity. the priest then delivers the vestments to the hermit kneeling before him, with these words, "brother, behold we give to thee the eremitical habit (_habitum heremiticum_), with which we admonish thee to live henceforth chastely, soberly, and holily; in holy watchings, in fastings, in labours, in prayers, in works of mercy, that thou mayest have eternal life, and live for ever and ever." and he receives them saying, "behold, i receive them in the name of the lord; and promise myself so to do according to my power, the grace of god, and of the saints, helping me." then he puts off his secular habit, the priest saying to him, "the lord put off from thee the old man with his deeds;" and while he puts on his hermit's habit, the priest says, "the lord put on thee the new man, which, after god, is created in righteousness and true holiness." then follow a collect and certain psalms, and finally the priest sprinkles him with holy water, and blesses him. men of all ranks took upon them the hermit life, and we find the popular writers of the time sometimes distinguishing among them; one is a "hermit-priest,"[ ] another is a "gentle hermit," not in the sense of the "gentle hermit of the dale," but meaning that he was a man of gentle birth. the hermit in whose hermitage sir launcelot passed long time is described as a "gentle hermit, which sometime was a noble knight and a great lord of possessions, and for great goodness he hath taken him unto wilful poverty, and hath forsaken his possessions, and his name is sir baldwin of britain, and he is a full noble surgeon, and a right good leech." this was the type of hermit who was venerated by the popular superstition of the day: a great and rich man who had taken to wilful poverty, or a man who lived wild in the woods--a st. julian, or a st. anthony. a poor man who turned hermit, and lived a prosaic, pious, useful life, showing travellers the way through a forest, or over a bog, or across a ferry, and humbly taking their alms in return, presented nothing dramatic and striking to the popular mind; very likely, too, many men adopted the hermit life for the sake of the idleness and the alms,[ ] and deserved the small repute they had. it is _àpropos_ of sir launcelot's hermit above-mentioned that the romancer complains "for in those days it was not with the guise of hermits as it now is in these days. for there were no hermits in those days, but that they have been men of worship and prowess, and those hermits held great households, and refreshed people that were in distress." we find the author of "piers ploughman" making the same complaint. we have, as in other cases, a little modernised his language:-- "but eremites that inhabit them by the highways, and in boroughs among brewers, and beg in churches, all that holy eremites hated and despised, (as riches, and reverences, and rich men's alms), these lollers,[ ] latche drawers,[ ] lewd eremites, covet on the contrary. nor live holy as eremites, that lived wild in woods, with bears and lions. some had livelihood from their lineage[ ] and of no life else; and some lived by their learning, and the labour of their hands. some had foreigners for friends, that their food sent; and birds brought to some bread, whereby they lived. all these holy eremites were of high kin, forsook land and lordship, and likings of the body. but these eremites that edify by the highways whilome were workmen--webbers, and tailors, and carter's knaves, and clerks without grace. they held a hungry house. and had much want, long labour, and light winnings. and at last espied that lazy fellows in friar's clothing had fat cheeks. forthwith left they their labour, these lewd knaves, and clothed them in copes as they were clerks, or one of some order [of monks or friars], or else prophets [eremites]." this curious extract from "piers ploughman" leads us to notice the localities in which hermitages were situated. sometimes, no doubt, they were in lonely and retired places among the hills, or hidden in the depths of the forests which then covered so large a portion of the land. on the next page is a very interesting little picture of hermit life, from a ms. book of hours, executed for richard ii. (british museum, domitian, a. xvii., folio v.) the artist probably intended to represent the old hermits of the egyptian desert, piers ploughman's-- "holy eremites, that lived wild in woods with bears and lions;" but, after the custom of mediæval art, he has introduced the scenery, costume, and architecture of his own time. erase the bears, which stand for the whole tribe of outlandish beasts, and we have a very pretty bit of english mountain scenery. the stags are characteristic enough of the scenery of mediæval england. the hermitage on the right seems to be of the ruder sort, made in part of wattled work. on the left we have the more usual hermitage of stone, with its little chapel bell in a bell-cot on the gable. the venerable old hermit, coming out of the doorway, is a charming illustration of the typical hermit, with his venerable beard, and his form bowed by age, leaning with one hand on his cross-staff, and carrying his rosary in the other. the hermit in the illustration hereafter given from the "history of launcelot," on page , leans on a similar staff; it would seem as if such a staff was a usual part of the hermit's equipment.[ ] the hermit in albert dürer's "st. christopher." already mentioned, also leans on a staff, but of rather different shape. here is a companion-picture, in pen and ink, from the "morte d'arthur:"--"then he departed from the cross [a stone cross which parted two ways in waste land, under which he had been sleeping], on foot, into a wild forest. and so by prime he came unto an high mountain, and there he found an hermitage, and an hermit therein, which was going to mass. and then sir launcelot kneeled down upon both his knees, and cried out, 'lord, mercy!' for his wicked works that he had done. so when mass was done, sir launcelot called the hermit to him, and prayed him for charity to hear his confession. 'with a good will,' said the good man." [illustration: _hermits and hermitages._] but many of the hermitages were erected along the great highways of the country, and especially at bridges and fords,[ ] apparently with the express view of their being serviceable to travellers. one of the hermit-saints set up as a pattern for their imitation was st. julian, who, with his wife, devoted his property and life to showing hospitality to travellers; and the hermit who is always associated in the legends and pictures with st. christopher, is represented as holding out his torch or lantern to light the giant ferryman, as he transports his passengers across the dangerous ford by which the hermitage was built. when hostelries, where the traveller could command entertainment for hire, were to be found only in the great towns, the religious houses were the chief resting-places of the traveller; not only the conventual establishments, but the country clergy also were expected to be given to hospitality.[ ] but both monasteries and country parsonages often lay at a distance of miles of miry and intricate by-road off the highway. we must picture this state of the country and of society to ourselves, before we can appreciate the intentions of those who founded these hospitable establishments; we must try to imagine ourselves travellers, getting belated in a dreary part of the road, where it ran over a bleak wold, or dived through a dark forest, or approached an unknown ford, before we can appreciate the gratitude of those who suddenly caught the light from the hermit's window, or heard the faint tinkle of his chapel bell ringing for vespers. such incidents occur frequently in the romances. here is an example:--"sir launcelot rode all that day and all that night in a forest; and at the last, he was ware of an hermitage and a chapel that stood between two cliffs; and then he heard a little bell ring to mass, and thither he rode, and alighted, and tied his horse to the gate, and heard mass." again: "sir gawayne rode till he came to an hermitage, and there he found the good man saying his even-song of our lady. and there sir gawayne asked harbour for charity, and the good man granted it him gladly." we shall, perhaps, most outrage the popular idea of a hermit, when we assert that hermits sometimes lived in towns. the extract from "piers ploughman's vision," already quoted, tells us of-- "eremites that inhabit them in boroughs among brewers." the difficulty of distinguishing between hermits proper and recluses becomes very perplexing in this part of our subject. there is abundant proof, which we shall have occasion to give later, that recluses, both male and female, usually lived in towns and villages, and these recluses are sometimes called hermits, as well as by their more usual and peculiar name of anchorites and anchoresses. but we are inclined to the opinion, that not all the male solitaries who lived in towns were recluses. the author of "piers ploughman's vision" speaks of the eremites who inhabited in boroughs as if they were of the same class as those who lived by the highways, and who ought to have lived in the wildernesses, like st. anthony. the theory under which it was made possible for a solitary, an eremite, a man of the desert, to live in a town, was, that a churchyard formed a solitary place--a desert--within the town. the curious history which we are going to relate, seems to refer to hermits, not to recluses. the mayor of sudbury, under date january , , petitioned the bishop of norwich, setting forth that the bishop had refused to admit "richard appleby, of sudbury, conversant with john levynton, of the same town, heremyte, to the order of hermits, unless he was sure to be inhabited in a solitary place where virtues might be increased, and vice exiled;" and that therefore "we have granted hym, be the assent of all the sayd parish and cherch reves, to be inhabited with the sayd john levynton in his solitary place and hermytage, whych y{t} is made at the cost of the parysh, in the cherchyard of st. gregory cherche, to dwellen togedyr as (long as) yey liven, or whiche of them longest liveth;" and thereupon the mayor prays the bishop to admit richard appleby to the order. this curious incident of two solitaries living together has a parallel in the romance of "king arthur." when the bold sir bedivere had lost his lord king arthur, he rode away, and, after some adventures, came to a chapel and an hermitage between two hills, "and he prayed the hermit that he might abide there still with him, to live with fasting and prayers. so sir bedivere abode there still with the hermit; and there sir bedivere put upon him poor clothes, and served the hermit full lowly in fasting and in prayers." and afterwards (as we have already related) sir launcelot "rode all that day and all that night in a forest. and at the last he was ware of an hermitage and a chapel that stood between two cliffs, and then he heard a little bell ring to mass; and thither he rode, and alighted, and tied his horse to the gate and heard mass." he had stumbled upon the hermitage in which sir bedivere was living. and when sir bedivere had made himself known, and had "told him his tale all whole," "sir launcelot's heart almost burst for sorrow, and sir launcelot threw abroad his armour, and said,--'alas! who may trust this world?' and then he kneeled down on his knees, and prayed the hermit for to shrive him and assoil him. and then he besought the hermit that he might be his brother. and he put an habit upon sir launcelot, and there he served god day and night with prayers and fastings." and afterwards sir bors came in the same way. and within half a year there was come sir galahad, sir galiodin, sir bleoberis, sir villiers, sir clarus, and sir gahalatine. "so these seven noble knights abode there still: and when they saw that sir launcelot had taken him unto such perfection, they had no list to depart, but took such an habit as he had. thus they endured in great penance six years, and then sir launcelot took the habit of priesthood, and twelve months he sung the mass; and there was none of these other knights but that they read in books, and helped for to sing mass, and ring bells, and did lowly all manner of service. and so their horses went where they would, for they took no regard in worldly riches." and after a little time sir launcelot died at the hermitage: "then was there weeping and wringing of hands, and the greatest dole they made that ever made man. and on the morrow the bishop-hermit sung his mass of requiem." the accompanying wood-cut, from one of the small compartments at the bottom of cosimo roselli's picture of st. jerome, from which we have already taken the figure of st. damasus, may serve to illustrate this incident. it represents a number of hermits mourning over one of their brethren, while a priest in the robes proper to his office, stands at the head of the bier and says prayers, and his deacon stands at the foot, holding a processional cross. the contrast between the robes of the priest and those of the hermits is lost in the woodcut; in the original the priest's cope and amys are coloured red, while those of the hermits are tinted with light brown. [illustration: _funeral service of a hermit._] if the reader has wondered how the one hermitage could accommodate these seven additional habitants, the romancer does not forget to satisfy his curiosity: a few pages farther we read--"so at the season of the night they went all to their beds, for they all lay in one chamber." it was not very unusual for hermitages to be built for more than one occupant; but probably, in all such cases, each hermit had his own cell, adjoining their common chapel. this was the original arrangement of the hermits of the thebais in their laura. the great difference between a hermitage with more than one hermit, and a small cell of one of the other religious orders, was that in such a cell one monk or friar would have been the prior, and the others subject to him; but each hermit was independent of any authority on the part of the other; he was subject only to the obligation of his rule, and the visitation of his bishop. the life[ ] of the famous hermit, richard of hampole, which has lately been published for the first time by the early english text society, will enable us to realise in some detail the character and life of a mediæval hermit of the highest type. saint richard was born[ ] in the village of thornton, in yorkshire. at a suitable age he was sent to school by the care of his parents, and afterwards was sent by richard neville, archdeacon of durham, to oxford, where he gave himself specially to theological study. at the age of nineteen, considering the uncertainty of life and the awfulness of judgment, especially to those who waste life in pleasure or spend it in acquiring wealth, and fearing lest he should fall into such courses, he left oxford and returned to his father's house. one day he asked of his sister two of her gowns (tunicas), one white, the other grey, and a cloak and hood of his father's. he cut up the two gowns, and fashioned out of them and of the hooded cloak an imitation of a hermit's habit, and next day he went off into a neighbouring wood bent upon living a hermit life. soon after, on the vigil of the assumption of the blessed virgin, he went to a certain church, and knelt down to pray in the place which the wife of a certain worthy knight, john de dalton, was accustomed to occupy. when the lady came to church, her servants would have turned out the intruder, but she would not permit it. when vespers were over and he rose from his knees, the sons of sir john, who were students at oxford, recognised him as the son of william rolle, whom they had known at oxford. next day richard again went to the same church, and without any bidding put on a surplice and sang mattins and the office of the mass with the rest. and when the gospel was to be read at mass, he sought the blessing of the priest, and then entered the pulpit and preached a sermon to the people of such wonderful edification that many were touched with compunction even to tears, and all said they had never heard before a sermon of such power and efficacy. after mass sir john dalton invited him to dinner. when he entered into the manor he took his place in a ruined building, and would not enter the hall, according to the evangelical precept, "when thou art bidden to a wedding sit down in the lowest room, and when he that hath bidden thee shall see it he will say to thee, friend, go up higher;" which was fulfilled in him, for the knight made him sit at table with his own sons. but he kept such silence at dinner that he did not speak one word; and when he had eaten sufficiently he rose before they took away the table and would have departed, but the knight told him this was contrary to custom, and made him sit down again. after dinner the knight had some private conversation with him, and being satisfied that he was not a madman, but really seemed to have the vocation to a hermit's life, he clothed him at his own cost in a hermit's habit, and retained him a long time in his own house, giving him a solitary chamber (_locum mansionis solitariæ_)[ ] and providing him with all necessaries. our hermit then gave himself up to ascetic discipline and a contemplative life. he wrote books; he counselled those who came to him. he did both at the same time; for one afternoon the lady of the house came to him with many other persons and found him writing very rapidly, and begged him to stop writing and speak some words of edification to them; and he began at once and continued to address them for two hours with admirable exhortations to cultivate virtue and to put away worldly vanities, and to increase the love of their hearts for god; but at the same time he went on writing as fast as before. he used to be so absorbed in prayer that his friends took off his torn cloak, and when it had been mended put it on him again, without his knowing it. soon we hear of his having temptations like those which assailed st. anthony, the devil tempting him in the form of a beautiful woman. he was specially desirous to help recluses and those who required spiritual consolation, and who were vexed by evil spirits. at length lady dalton died, and (whether as a result of this is not stated) the hermit left his cell and began to move from place to place. one time he came near the cell of dame margaret, the recluse of anderby in richmondshire, and was told that she was dumb and suffering from some strange disease, and went to her. and he sat down at the window of the house of the recluse,[ ] and when they had eaten, the recluse felt a desire to sleep; and being oppressed with sleep her head fell towards the window at which st. richard was reclined. and when she had slept a little, leaning somewhat on richard, suddenly she was seized with a convulsion, and awoke with her power of speech restored. he wrote many works of ascetic and mystical divinity which were greatly esteemed. the early english text society has published some specimens in the work from which these notices are gathered, which show that his reputation as a devotional writer was not undeserved. at length he settled at hampole, where was a cistercian nunnery. here he died, and in the church of the nunnery he was buried. we are indebted for the officium and legenda from which we have gathered this outline of his life to the pious care of the nuns of hampole, to whom the fame of richard's sanctity was a source of great profit and honour. that he had a line of successors in his anchorage is indicated by the fact hereafter stated (p. ), that in a.d., lord scrope left by will a bequest to elizabeth, late servant to the anchoret of hampole. [illustration: _sir launcelot and a hermit._] there are indications that these hermitages were sometimes mere bothies of branches; there is a representation of one, from which we here give a woodcut, in an illuminated ms. romance of sir launcelot, of early fourteenth-century date (british museum, add. , , folio v., date ): we have already noticed another of wattled work.[ ] there are also caves[ ] here and there in the country which are said by tradition to have been hermitages: one is described in the _archæological journal_, vol. iv., p. . it is a small cave, not easy of access, in the side of a hill called carcliff tor, near rowsley, a little miserable village not far from haddon hall. in a recess, on the right side as you enter the cave, is a crucifix about four feet high, sculptured in bold relief in the red grit rock out of which the cave is hollowed; and close to it, on the right, is a rude niche, perhaps to hold a lamp. st. robert's chapel, at knaresborough, yorkshire, is a very excellent example of a hermitage.[ ] it is hewn out of the rock, at the bottom of a cliff, in the corner of a sequestered dell. the exterior, a view of which is given below, presents us with a simply arched doorway at the bottom of the rough cliff, with an arched window on the left, and a little square opening between, which looks like the little square window of a recluse. internally we find the cell sculptured into the fashion of a little chapel, with a groined ceiling, the groining shafts and ribs well enough designed, but rather rudely executed. there is a semi-octagonal apsidal recess at the east end, in which the altar stands; a piscina and a credence and stone seat in the north wall; a row of sculptured heads in the south wall, and a grave-stone in the middle of the floor. this chapel appears to have been also the hermit's living room. the view of the exterior, and of the interior and ground-plan, are from carter's "ancient architecture," pl. lxvii. another hermitage, whose chapel is very similar to this, is at warkworth. it is half-way up the cliff, on one side of a deep, romantic valley, through which runs the river coquet, overhung with woods. the chapel is hewn out of the rock, feet long by - / wide, with a little entrance-porch on the south, also hewn in the rock; and, on the farther side, a long, narrow apartment, with a small altar at the east end, and a window looking upon the chapel altar. this long apartment was probably the hermit's living room; but when the earls of northumberland endowed the hermitage for a chantry priest, the priest seems to have lived in a small house, with a garden attached, at the foot of the cliff. the chapel is groined, and has gothic windows, very like that of knaresborough. a minute description of this hermitage, and of the legend connected with it, is given in a poem called "the history of warkworth" ( to, ), and in a letter in grose's "antiquities," vol. iii., is a ground-plan of the chapel and its appurtenances. a view of the exterior, showing its picturesque situation, will be found in herne's "antiquities of great britain," pl. . [illustration: _exterior view of st. robert's chapel, knaresborough._] [illustration: _interior view of st. robert's chapel._] there is a little cell, or oratory, called the hermitage, cut out of the face of a rock near dale abbey, derbyshire. on the south side are the door and three windows; at the east end, an altar standing upon a raised platform, both cut out of the rock; there are little niches in the walls, and a stone seat all round.[ ] there is another hermitage of three cells at wetheral, near carlisle, called wetheral safeguard, or st. constantine's cells--wetheral priory was dedicated to st. constantine, and this hermitage seems to have belonged to the priory. it is not far from wetheral priory, in the face of a rock standing feet perpendicularly out of the river eden, which washes its base; the hill rising several hundred feet higher still above this rocky escarpment. the hermitage is at a height of feet from the river, and can only be approached from above by a narrow and difficult path down the face of the precipice. it consists of three square cells, close together, about feet square and feet high; each with a short passage leading to it, which increases its total length to about feet. these passages communicate with a little platform of rock in front of the cells. at a lower level than this platform, by about feet, there is a narrow gallery built up of masonry; the door to the hermitage is at one end of it, so that access to the cells can only be obtained by means of a ladder from this gallery to the platform of rock feet above it. in the front of the gallery are three windows, opposite to the three cells, to give them light, and one chimney. an engraving will be found in hutchinson's "history of cumberland," vol. i. p. , which shows the picturesque scene--the rocky hill-side, with the river washing round its base, and the three windows of the hermitage, half-way up, peeping through the foliage; there is also a careful plan of the cells in the letterpress. [illustration: _ground-plan of st. robert's chapel._] a chapel, and a range of rooms--which communicate with one another, and form a tolerably commodious house of two floors, are excavated out of a rocky hill-side, called blackstone rock, which forms the bank of the severn, near bewdley, worcestershire. a view of the exterior of the rock, and a plan and section of the chambers, are given both in stukeley's "itinerarium curiosum," pls. and , and in nash's "history of worcestershire," vol. ii. p. . [illustration] at lenton, near nottingham, there is a chapel and a range of cells excavated out of the face of a semicircular sweep of rock, which crops out on the bank of the river leen. the river winds round the other semicircle, leaving a space of greensward between the rock and the river, upon which the cells open. now, the whole place is enclosed, and used as a public garden and bowling-green, its original features being, however, preserved with a praiseworthy appreciation of their interest. in former days this hermitage was just within the verge of the park of the royal castle of nottingham; it was doubtless screened by the trees of the park; and its inmates might pace to and fro on their secluded grass-plot, fenced in by the rock and the river from every intruding foot, and yet in full view of the walls and towers of the castle, with the royal banner waving from its keep, and catch a glimpse of the populous borough, and see the parties of knights and ladies prance over the level meadows which stretched out to the neighbouring trent like a green carpet, embroidered in spring and autumn by the purple crocus, which grows wild there in myriads. stukeley, in his "itinerarium curiosum," pl. , gives a view and ground-plan of these curious cells. carter also figures them in his "ancient architecture," pl. , and gives details of a norman shaft and arch in the chapel. but nearly all the hermitages which we read of in the romances, or see depicted in the illuminations and paintings, or find noticed in ancient historical documents, are substantial buildings of stone or timber. here is one from folio of the "history of launcelot" (add. , ): the hermit stands at the door of his house, giving his parting benediction to sir launcelot, who, with his attendant physician, is taking his leave after a night's sojourn at the hermitage. in the paintings of the campo santo, at pisa (engraved in mrs. jameson's "sacred and legendary art"), which represent the hermits of the egyptian desert, some of the hermitages are caves, some are little houses of stone. in caxton's "vitas patrum" the hermitages are little houses; one has a stepped gable; another is like a gateway, with a room over it.[ ] they were founded and built, and often endowed, by the same men who founded chantries, and built churches, and endowed monasteries; and from the same motives of piety, charity, or superstition. and the founders seem often to have retained the patronage of the hermitages, as of valuable benefices, in their own hands.[ ] a hermitage was, in fact, a miniature monastery, inhabited by one religious, who was abbot, and prior, and convent, all in one: sometimes also by a chaplain,[ ] where the hermit was not a priest, and by several lay brethren, _i.e._ servants. it had a chapel of its own, in which divine service was performed daily. it had also the apartments necessary for the accommodation of the hermit, and his chaplain--when one lived in the hermitage--and his servants, and the necessary accommodation for travellers besides; and it had often, perhaps generally, its court-yard and garden. the chapel of the hermitage seems not to have been appropriated solely to the performance of divine offices, but to have been made useful for other more secular purposes also. indeed, the churches and chapels in the middle ages seem often to have been used for great occasions of a semi-religious character, when a large apartment was requisite, _e.g._ for holding councils, for judicial proceedings, and the like. godric of finchale, a hermit who lived about the time of henry ii.,[ ] had two chapels adjoining his cell; one he called by the name of st. john baptist, the other after the blessed virgin. he had a kind of common room, "communis domus," in which he cooked his food and saw visitors; but he lived chiefly, day and night, in the chapel of st. john, removing his bed to the chapel of st. mary at times of more solemn devotion. in an illumination on folio of the "history of launcelot," already quoted (british mus., add. , ), is a picture of king arthur taking counsel with a hermit in his hermitage. the building in which they are seated has a nave and aisles, a rose-window in its gable, and a bell-turret, and seems intended to represent the chapel of the hermitage. again, at folio of the same ms. is a picture of a hermit talking to a man, with the title,--"ensi y come une hermites prole en une chapele de son hermitage,"--"how a hermit conversed in the chapel of his hermitage." it may, perhaps, have been in the chapel that the hermit received those who sought his counsel on spiritual or on secular affairs. in addition to the references which have already been given to illustrations of the subject in the illuminations of mss., we call the special attention of the student to a series of pictures illustrating a mediæval story of which a hermit is the hero, in the late thirteenth century ms. royal e iv.; it begins at folio v., and runs on for many pages, and is full of interesting passages. we also add a few lines from lydgate's unpublished "life of st edmund," as a typical picture of a hermit, drawn in the second quarter of the fifteenth century:-- "--holy ffremund though he were yonge of age, and ther he bilte a litel hermitage be side a ryver with al his besy peyne, he and his fellawis that were in nombre tweyne. "a litel chapel he dide ther edifie, day be day to make in his praiere, in the reverence only off marie and in the worshipe of her sone deere, and the space fully off sevene yeere hooly ffremund, lik as it is founde, leved be frut and rootes off the grounde. "off frutes wilde, his story doth us telle, was his repast penance for t' endure, to stanch his thurst drank water off the welle and eet acorns to sustene his nature, kernelles off notis [nuts] when he myhte hem recure. to god alway doying reverence, what ever he sent took it in patience." and in concluding this chapter let us call to mind spenser's description of a typical hermit and hermitage, while the originals still lingered in the living memory of the people:-- "at length they chaunst to meet upon the way an aged sire, in long blacke weedes yclad, his feet all bare, his head all hoarie gray, and by his belt his booke he hanging had; sober he seemde, and very sagely sad, and to the ground his eyes were lowly bent, simple in shew, and voide of malice bad; and all the way he prayed as he went, and often knockt his brest as one that did repent. "he faire the knight saluted, louting low, who faire him quited, as that courteous was; and after asked him if he did know of strange adventures which abroad did pas. 'ah! my dear sonne,' quoth he, 'how should, alas! silly[ ] old man, that lives in hidden cell, bidding his beades all day for his trespas, tidings of war and worldly trouble tell? with holy father sits not with such things to mell.'[ ] * * * * * quoth then that aged man, 'the way to win is wisely to advise. now day is spent, therefore with me ye may take up your in for this same night.' the knight was well content; so with that godly father to his home he went. "a little lowly hermitage it was, down in a dale, hard by a forest's side, far from resort of people that did pass in traveill to and froe; a little wyde there was an holy chappell edifyde, wherein the hermite dewly wont to say his holy things, each morne and eventyde; hereby a chrystall streame did gently play, which from a sacred fountaine welled forth alway. "arrived there, the little house they fill; ne look for entertainment where none was; rest is their feast, and all things at their will: the noblest mind the best contentment has. with fair discourse the evening so they pas; for that old man of pleasing words had store, and well could file his tongue as smooth as glas; he told of saintes and popes, and evermore he strowd an ave-mary after and before."[ ] _faery queen_, i. , , , , . chapter ii. anchoresses, or female recluses. and now we proceed to speak more particularly of the recluses. the old legend tells us that john the hermit, the contemporary of st. anthony, would hold communication with no man except through the window of his cell.[ ] but the recluses of more modern days were not content to quote john the egyptian as their founder. as the carmelite friars claimed elijah, so the recluses, at least the female recluses, looked up to judith as the foundress of their mode of life, and patroness of their order. mabillon tells us that the first who made any formal rule for recluses was one grimlac, who lived about a.d. the principal regulations of his rule are, that the candidate for reclusion, if a monk, should signify his intention a year beforehand, and during the interval should continue to live among his brethren. if not already a monk, the period of probation was doubled. the leave of the bishop of the diocese was to be first obtained, and if the candidate were a monk, the leave of his abbot and convent also. when he had entered his cell, the bishop was to put his seal upon the door, which was never again to be opened,[ ] unless for the help of the recluse in time of sickness or on the approach of death. successive councils published canons to regulate this kind of life. that of millo, in , repeats in substance the rule of grimlac. that of frankfort, in , refers to the recluses. the synod of richard de la wich, bishop of chichester, a.d. , makes some canons concerning them: "also we ordain to recluses that they shall not receive or keep any person in their houses concerning whom any sinister suspicion might arise. also that they have narrow and proper windows; and we permit them to have secret communication with those persons only whose gravity and honesty do not admit of suspicion."[ ] towards the end of the twelfth century a rule for anchorites was written by bishop richard poore[ ] of chichester, and afterwards of salisbury, who died a.d. , which throws abundant light upon their mode of life; for it is not merely a brief code of the regulations obligatory upon them, but it is a book of paternal counsels, which enters at great length, and in minute detail, into the circumstances of the recluse life, and will be of great use to us in the subsequent part of this chapter. there were doubtless different degrees of austerity among the recluses; but, on the whole, we must banish from our minds the popular[ ] idea that they inhabited a living grave, and lived a life of the extremest mortification. doubtless there were instances in which religious enthusiasm led the recluse into frightful and inhuman self-torture, like that of thaysis, in the "golden legend:" "she went to the place whiche th' abbot had assygned to her, and there was a monasterye of vyrgyns; and there he closed her in a celle, and sealed the door with led. and the celle was lytyll and strayte, and but one lytell wyndowe open, by whyche was mynistred to her poor lyvinge; for the abbot commanded that they shold gyve to her a lytell brede and water."[ ] thaysis submitted to it at the command of abbot pafnucius, as penance for a sinful life, in the early days of egyptian austerity; and now and then throughout the subsequent ages the self-hatred of an earnest, impassioned nature, suddenly roused to a feeling of exceeding sinfulness; the remorse of a wild, strong spirit, conscious of great crimes; or the enthusiasm of a weak mind and morbid conscience, might urge men and women to such self-revenges, to such penances, as these. bishop poore gives us episodically a pathetic example, which our readers will thank us for repeating here. "nothing is ever so hard that love doth not make tender, and soft, and sweet. love maketh all things easy. what do men and women endure for false love, and would endure more! and what is more to be wondered at is, that love which is faithful and true, and sweeter than any other love, doth not overmaster us as doth sinful love! yet i know a man who weareth at the same time both a heavy cuirass[ ] and haircloth, bound with iron round the middle too, and his arms with broad and thick bands, so that to bear the sweat of it is severe suffering. he fasteth, he watcheth, he laboureth, and, christ knoweth, he complaineth, and saith that it doth not oppress him; and often asks me to teach him something wherewith he might give his body pain. god knoweth that he, the most sorrowful of men, weepeth to me, and saith that god hath quite forgotten him, because he sendeth him no great sickness; whatever is bitter seems sweet to him for our lord's sake. god knoweth love doth this, because, as he often saith to me, he could never love god the less for any evil thing that he might do to him, even were he to cast him into hell with those that perish. and if any believe any such thing of him, he is more confounded than a thief taken with his theft. i know also a woman of like mind that suffereth little less. and what remaineth but to thank god for the strength that he giveth them; and let us humbly acknowledge our own weakness, and love their merit, and thus it becomes our own. for as st. gregory says, love is of so great power that it maketh the merit of others our own, without labour." but though powerful motives and great force of character might enable an individual here and there to persevere with such austerities, when the severities of the recluse life had to be reduced to rule and system, and when a succession of occupants had to be found for the vacant anchorholds, ordinary human nature revolted from these unnatural austerities, and the common sense of mankind easily granted a tacit dispensation from them; and the recluse life was speedily toned down in practice to a life which a religiously-minded person, especially one who had been wounded and worsted in the battle of life, might gladly embrace and easily endure. usually, even where the cell consisted of a single room, it was large enough for the comfortable abode of a single inmate, and it was not destitute of such furnishing as comfort required. but it was not unusual for the cell to be in fact a house of several apartments, with a garden attached: and it would seem that the technical "cell" within which the recluse was immured, included house and garden, and everything within the boundary wall.[ ] it is true that many of the recluses lived entirely, and perhaps all partly, upon the alms of pious and charitable people. an alms-box was hung up to receive contributions, as appears from "piers ploughman,"-- "in ancres there a box hangeth." and in the extracts hereafter given from the "ancren riewle," we shall find several allusions to the giving of alms to recluses as a usual custom. but it was the bishop's duty, before giving license for the building of a reclusorium, to satisfy himself that there would be, either from alms or from an endowment, a sufficient maintenance for the recluse. practically, they do not seem often to have been in want; they were restricted as to the times when they might eat flesh-meat, but otherwise their abstemiousness depended upon their own religious feeling on the subject; and the only check upon excess was in their own moderation. they occupied themselves, besides their frequent devotions, in reading, writing, illuminating, and needlework; and though the recluses attached to some monasteries seem to have been under an obligation of silence, yet in the usual case the recluse held a perpetual levee at the open window, and gossiping and scandal appear to have been among her besetting sins. it will be our business to verify and further to illustrate this general sketch of the recluse life. [illustration: _sir percival at the reclusorium._] and, first, let us speak more in detail of their habitations. the reclusorium, or anchorhold, seems sometimes to have been, like the hermitage, a house of timber or stone, or a grotto in a solitary place. in sir t. mallory's "prince arthur" we are introduced to one of these, which afforded all the appliances for lodging and entertaining even male guests. we read:--"sir percival returned again unto the recluse, where he deemed to have tidings of that knight which sir launcelot followed. and so he kneeled at her window, and anon the recluse opened it, and asked sir percival what he would. 'madam,' said he, 'i am a knight of king arthur's court, and my name is sir percival de galis.' so when the recluse heard his name, she made passing great joy of him, for greatly she loved him before all other knights of the world; and so of right she ought to do, for she was his aunt. and then she commanded that the gates should be opened to him, and then sir percival had all the cheer that she might make him, and all that was in her power was at his commandment." but it does not seem that she entertained him in person; for the story continues that "on the morrow sir percival went unto the recluse," _i.e._, to her little audience-window, to propound his question, "if she knew that knight with the white shield." opposite is a woodcut of a picture in the ms. "history of sir launcelot" (royal , e. iii. folio v.), entitled, "ensi q percheva retourna à la rencluse qui estait en son hermitage."[ ] in the case of these large remote anchorholds, the recluse must have had a chaplain to come and say mass for her every day in the chapel of her hermitage.[ ] but in the vast majority of cases, anchorholds were attached to a church either of a religious house, or of a town, or of a village; and in these situations they appear to have been much more numerous than is at all suspected by those who have not inquired into this little-known portion of our mediæval antiquities. very many of our village churches had a recluse living within or beside them, and it will, perhaps, especially surprise the majority of our readers to learn that these recluses were specially numerous in the mediæval towns.[ ] the proofs of this fact are abundant; here are some. henry, lord scrope, of masham, by will, dated rd june, , bequeathed to every anchoret[ ] and recluse dwelling in london or its suburbs _s._ _d._; also to every anchoret and recluse dwelling in york and its suburbs _s._ _d._ from other sources we learn more about these york anchorets and recluses. the will of adam wigan, rector of st. saviour, york (april , , a.d.)[ ], leaves _s._ _d._ to dan john, who dwelt in the chapel of st. martin, within the parish of st. saviour. the female recluses of york were three in number in the year , as we learn from the will of margaret, relict of nicholas blackburne:[ ] "lego tribus reclusis ebor.," ij_s._ where their cells were situated we learn from the will of richard rupell (a.d. [ ]), who bequeaths to the recluse in the cemetery of the church of st. margaret, york, five marks; and to the recluse in the cemetery of st. helen, in fishergate, five marks; and to the recluse in the cemetery of all saints, in north street, york, five marks. they are also all three mentioned in the will of adam wigan, who leaves to the anchorite enclosed in fishergate _s._; to her enclosed near the church of st. margaret _s._; to her enclosed in north street, near the church of all saints, _s._ the will of lady margaret stapelton, a.d.,[ ] mentions anchorites in watergate and fishergate, in the suburbs of york, and in another place the anchorite of the nunnery of st. clement, york. at lincoln, also, we are able to trace a similar succession of anchoresses. in a.d., william de belay, of lincoln, left to an anchoress named isabella, who dwelt in the church of the holy trinity, in wigford, within the city of lincoln, _s._ _d._ in , john de sutton left her _s._; in , john de ramsay left her _d._ besides these she had numerous other legacies from citizens. in , an anchoress named matilda supplied the place of isabella, who we may suppose had long since gone to her reward. in that year john tilney--one of the tilneys of boston--left "domine matilde incluse infra ecclesiam sanctæ trinitatis ad gressus in civitate lincoln, vj_s._ viij_d._" in , master john watson, a chaplain in master robert flemyng's chantry, left xij_d._ to the "ankers" at the greese foot. this church of the holy trinity "ad gressus" seems to have been for a long period the abode of a female recluse.[ ] the will of roger eston, rector of richmond, yorkshire, a.d. , also mentions the recluses in the city of york and its suburbs. the will of adam wilson also mentions lady agnes, enclosed at (_apud_) the parish church of thorganby, and anchorites (female) at beston and pontefract. sir hugh willoughby, of wollaton, in bequeathed _s._ _d._ to the anchoress of nottingham.[ ] the will of lady joan wombewell, a.d. ,[ ] also mentions the anchoress of beyston. the will of john brompton, of beverley, a.d. ,[ ] bequeaths _s._ _d._ to the recluse by the church of st. giles, and _s._ _d._ to anchorite at the friary of st. nicholas of beverley. roger eston also leaves a bequest to the anchorite of his parish of richmond, respecting whom the editor gives a note whose substance is given elsewhere. in a will of the fifteenth century[ ] we have a bequest "to the ancher in the wall beside bishopsgate, london."[ ] in the will of st. richard, bishop of chichester,[ ] we have bequests to friar humphrey, the recluse of pageham, to the recluse of hogton, to the recluse of stopeham, to the recluse of herringham; and in the will of walter de suffield, bishop of norwich, bequests to "anchers" and recluses in his diocese, and especially to his niece ela, _in reclusorio_ at massingham.[ ] among the other notices which we have of solitaries living in towns, lydgate mentions one in the town of wakefield. morant says there was one in holy trinity churchyard, colchester. the episcopal registers of lichfield show that there was an anchorage for several female recluses in the churchyard of st. george's chapel, shrewsbury. the will of henry, lord scrope, already quoted, leaves _s._ and the pair of beads which the testator was accustomed to use to the anchorite of westminster: it was his predecessor, doubtless, who is mentioned in the time of richard ii.: when the young king was going to meet wat tyler in smithfield, he went to westminster abbey, "then to the church, and so to the high altar, where he devoutedly prayed and offered; after which he spake with the anchore, to whom he confessed himself."[ ] lord scrope's will goes on to bequeath _s._ to robert, the recluse of beverley; _s._ _d._ each to the anchorets of stafford, of kurkebeck, of wath, of peasholme, near york, of kirby, thorganby, near colingworth, of leek, near upsale, of gainsburgh, of kneesall, near south well, of dartford, of stamford, living in the parish church there; to thomas, the chaplain dwelling continually in the church of st. nicholas, gloucester; to elizabeth, late servant to the anchoret of hamphole; and to the recluse in the house of the dominicans at newcastle; and also _s._ _d._ to every other anchorite and anchoritess that could be easily found within three months of his decease. we have already had occasion to mention that there were several female recluses, in addition to the male solitaries, in the churchyards of the then great city of norwich. the particulars which that laborious antiquary, blomfield, has collected together respecting several of them will throw a little additional light upon our subject, and fill up still further the outlines of the picture which we are engaged in painting. there was a hermitage in the churchyard of st. julian, norwich, which was inhabited by a succession of anchoresses, some of whose names blomfield records:--dame agnes, in ; dame elizabeth scot, in ; lady elizabeth, in ; dame agnes edrigge, in . the lady julian, who was the anchoress in , is said to have had two servants to attend her in her old age. "she was esteemed of great holiness. mr. francis peck had a vellum ms. containing an account of her visions." blomfield says that the foundations of the anchorage might still be seen in his time, on the east side of st. julian's churchyard. there was also an anchorage in st. ethelred's churchyard, which was rebuilt in , and an anchor continually dwelt there till the reformation, when it was pulled down, and the grange, or tithe-barn, at brakendale was built with its timber; so that it must have been a timber house of some magnitude. also in st. edward's churchyard, joining to the church on the north side, was a cell, whose ruins were still visible in blomfield's time, and most persons who died in norwich left small sums towards its maintenance. in lady joan was anchoress here, to whom walter ledman left _s._, and _d._ to each of her servants. in , dame anneys kite was the recluse here; in , margaret norman, widow, was buried here, and gave a legacy to the lady anchoress by the church. st. john the evangelist's church, in southgate, was, about a.d. , annexed to the parish of st. peter per montergate, and the grey friars bought the site; they pulled down the whole building, except a small part left for an anchorage, in which they placed an anchor, to whom they assigned part of the churchyard for his garden. also there used anciently to be a recluse dwelling in a little cell joining to the north side of the tower of st. john the baptist's church, timber hill, but it was down before the dissolution. also there was an anchor, or hermit, who had an anchorage in or adjoining to all saints' church. also in henry iii.'s time a recluse dwelt in the churchyard of st. john the baptist, and the holy sepulchre, in ber street. in the monastery of the carmelites, or white friars, at norwich, there were two anchorages--one for a man, who was admitted brother of the house, and another for a woman, who was admitted sister thereof. the latter was under the chapel of the holy cross, which was still standing in blomfield's time, though converted into dwelling-houses. the former stood by st. martin's bridge, on the east side of the street, and had a small garden to it, which ran down to the river. in , december nd, the lady emma, recluse, or anchoress, and religious sister of the carmelite order, was buried in their church. in , thomas scroope was anchorite in this house. in , brother john castleacre, a priest, was anchorite. in there were legacies given to the anchor of the white friars. this thomas scroope was originally a benedictine monk; in he became anchorite here (being received a brother of the carmelite order), and led an anchorite's life for many years, seldom going out of his cell but when he preached; about pope eugenius made him bishop of down, which see he afterwards resigned, and came again to his convent, and became suffragan to the bishop of norwich. he died, and was buried at lowestoft, being near a hundred years old. the document which we are about to quote from whittaker's "history of whalley" (pp. and ), illustrates many points in the history of their anchorholds. the anchorage therein mentioned was built in a parish churchyard, it depended upon a monastery, and was endowed with an allowance in money and kind from the monastery; it was founded for two recluses; they had a chaplain and servants; and the patronage was retained by the founder. the document will also give us some very curious and minute details of the domestic economy of the recluse life; and, lastly, it will give us an historical proof that the assertions of the contemporary satirists, of the laxity[ ] with which the vows were sometimes kept, were not without foundation. "in , henry, duke of lancaster, granted in trust to the abbot and convent of whalley rather large endowments to support two recluses (women) in a certain place within the churchyard of the parish church of whalley, and two women servants to attend them, there to pray for the soul of the duke, &c.; to find them seventeen ordinary loaves, and seven inferior loaves, eight gallons of better beer, and _d._ per week; and yearly ten large stock-fish, one bushel of oatmeal, one of rye, two gallons of oil for lamps, one pound of tallow for candles, six loads of turf, and one load of faggots; also to repair their habitations; and to find a chaplain to say mass in the chapel of these recluses daily; their successors to be nominated by the duke and his heirs. on july , th henry vi., the king nominated isole de heton, widow, to be an _anachorita_ for life, _in loco ad hoc ordinato juxta ecclesiam parochialem de whalley_. isole, however, grew tired of the solitary life, and quitted it; for afterwards a representation was made to the king that 'divers that had been anchores and recluses in the seyd place aforetyme, have broken oute of the seyd place wherein they were reclusyd, and departyd therefrom wythout any reconsilyation;' and that isole de heton had broken out two years before, and was not willing to return; and that divers of the women that had been servants there had been with child. so henry vi. dissolved the hermitage, and appointed instead two chaplains to say mass daily, &c." whittaker thinks that the hermitage occupied the site of some cottages on the west side of the churchyard, which opened into the churchyard until he had the doors walled up. there was a similar hermitage for several female recluses in the churchyard of st. romauld, shrewsbury, as we learn from a document among the bishop of lichfield's registers,[ ] in which he directs the dean of st. chadd, or his procurator, to enclose isolda de hungerford an anchorite in the houses of the churchyard of st. romauld, where the other anchorites dwell. also in the same registry there is a precept, dated feb. , , from walter de langton, bishop, to emma sprenghose, admitting her an anchorite in the houses of the churchyard of st. george's chapel, salop, and he appoints the archdeacon to enclose her. another license from roger, bishop of lichfield, dated , to robert de worthin, permitting him, on the nomination of queen isabella, to serve god in the reclusorium built adjoining (_juxta_) the chapel of st. john baptist in the city of coventry, has been published _in extenso_ by dugdale, and we transcribe it for the benefit of the curious.[ ] thomas hearne has printed an episcopal commission, dated , for enclosing john cherde, a monk of ford abbey. burnett's "history of bristol" mentions a commission opened by bishop william of wykham, in august, , for enclosing lucy de newchurch, an anchoritess in the hermitage of st. brendon in bristol. richard francis, an ankret, is spoken of as _inter quatuor parietes pro christi inclusus_ in langtoft's "chronicle," ij. . chapter iii. anchorages. just as in a monastery, though it might be large or small in magnitude, simple or gorgeous in style, with more or fewer offices and appendages, according to the number and wealth of the establishment, yet there was always a certain suite of conventual buildings, church, chapter refectory, dormitory, &c., arranged in a certain order, which formed the cloister; and this cloister was the nucleus of all the rest of the buildings of the establishment; so, in a reclusorium, or anchorhold, there was always a "cell" of a certain construction, to which all things else, parlours or chapels, apartments for servants and guests, yards and gardens, were accidental appendages. bader's rule for recluses in bavaria[ ] describes the dimensions and plan of the cell minutely; the _domus inclusi_ was to be feet long by as many broad, and was to have three windows--one towards the choir (of the church to which it was attached), through which he might receive the holy sacrament; another on the opposite side, through which he might receive his victuals; and a third to give light, which last ought always to be closed with glass or horn. the reader will have already gathered from the preceding extracts that the reclusorium was sometimes a house of timber or stone within the churchyard, and most usually adjoining the church itself. at the west end of laindon church, essex, there is a unique erection of timber, of which we here give a representation. it has been modernised in appearance by the insertion of windows and doors; and there are no architectural details of a character to reveal with certainty its date, but in its mode of construction--the massive timbers being placed close together--and in its general appearance, there is an air of considerable antiquity. it is improbable that a house would be erected in such a situation after the reformation, and it accords generally with the descriptions of a recluse house. probably, however, many of the anchorholds attached to churches were of smaller dimensions; sometimes, perhaps, only a single little timber apartment on the ground floor, or sometimes probably raised upon an under croft, according to a common custom in mediæval domestic buildings. very probably some of those little windows which occur in many of our churches, in various situations, at various heights, and which, under the name of "low side windows," have formed the subject of so much discussion among ecclesiologists, may have been the windows of such anchorholds. the peculiarity of these windows is that they are sometimes merely a square opening, which originally was not glazed, but closed with a shutter; sometimes a small glazed window, in a position where it was clearly not intended to light the church generally; sometimes a window has a stone transom across, and the upper part is glazed, while the lower part is closed only by a shutter. it is clear that some of these may have served to enable the anchorite, living in a cell _outside_ the church, to see the altar. it seems to have been such a window which is alluded to in the following incident from mallory's "prince arthur:"--"then sir launcelot armed him and took his horse, and as he rode that way he saw a chapel where was a recluse, which had a window that she might see up to the altar; and all aloud she called sir launcelot, because he seemed a knight arrant.... and (after a long conversation) she commanded launcelot to dinner." in the late thirteenth-century ms., royal e. iv. at f. , is a representation of a recluse-house, in which, besides two two-light arched windows high up in the wall, there is a smaller square "low side window" very distinctly shown. others of these low side windows may have been for the use of wooden anchorholds built _within_ the church, combining two of the usual three windows of the cell, viz., the one to give light, and the one through which to receive food and communicate with the outer world. there is an anchorhold still remaining in a tolerably unmutilated state at rettenden, essex. it is a stone building of fifteenth-century date, of two stories, adjoining the north side of the chancel. it is entered by a rather elaborately moulded doorway from the chancel. the lower story is now used as a vestry, and is lighted by a modern window broken through its east wall; but it is described as having been a dark room, and there is no trace of any original window. in the north wall, and towards the east, is a bracket, such as would hold a small statue or a lamp. in the west side of this room, on the left immediately on entering it from the chancel, is the door of a stone winding stair (built up in the nave aisle, but now screened towards the aisle by a very large monument), which gives access to the upper story. this story consists of a room which very exactly agrees with the description of a recluse's cell (see opposite woodcut). on the south side are two arched niches, in which are stone benches, and the back of the easternmost of these niches is pierced by a small arched window, now blocked up, which looked down upon the altar. on the north side is a chimney, now filled with a modern fireplace, but the chimney is a part of the original building; and westward of the chimney is a small square opening, now filled with modern glazing, but the hook upon which the original shutter hung still remains. this window is not splayed in the usual mediæval manner, but is recessed in such a way as to allow the head of a person to look out, and especially down, with facility. on the exterior this window is about feet from the ground. in this respect it resembles the situation of a low side window in prior crawden's chapel, ely cathedral,[ ] which is on the first floor, having a room, lighted only by narrow slits, beneath it; and at the sainte chapelle, in paris, which also has an undercroft, there is a similar example of a side window, at a still greater height from the ground. the east side of the rettenden reclusorium has now a modern window, probably occupying the place of the original window which gave light to the cell. the stair-turret at the top of the winding staircase, seems to have been intended to serve for a little closet: it obtained some light through a small loop which looked out into the north aisle of the church; the wall on the north side of it is recessed so as to form a shelf, and a square slab of stone, which looks like a portion of a thirteenth-century coffin-stone, is laid upon the top of the newel, and fitted into the wall, so as to form another shelf or little table. [illustration: _laindon church, essex._] [illustration: _reclusorium, or anchorhold, at rettenden, essex._] at east horndon church, essex, there are two transept-like projections from the nave. in the one on the south there is a monumental niche in the south wall, upon the back of which are the indents of the brasses of a man and wife and several children; and there is a tradition, with which these indents are altogether inconsistent, that the heart of the unfortunate queen anne bullen is interred therein. over this is a chamber, open to the nave, and now used as a gallery, approached by a modern wooden stair; and there is a projection outside which looks like a chimney, carried out from this floor upwards. the transeptal projection on the north side is very similar in plan. on the ground floor there is a wide, shallow, cinque-foil headed niche (partly blocked) in the east wall; and there is a wainscot ceiling, very neatly divided into rectangular panels by moulded ribs of the date of about henry viii. the existence of the chamber above was unknown until the present rector discovered a doorway in the east wall of the ground floor, which, on being opened, gave access to a stone staircase behind the east wall, which led up into a first-floor chamber, about feet from east to west, and feet from north to south: the birds had had access to it through an unglazed window in the north wall for an unknown period, and it was half filled with their nests; the floor planks were quite decayed. there is no trace of a chimney here. it is now opened out to the nave to form a gallery. though we do not find in these two first-floor chambers the arrangements which could satisfy us that they were recluse cells, yet it is very probable that they were habitable chambers, inhabited, if not by recluses, perhaps by chantry priests, serving chantry chapels of the tyrrells. mr. m. h. bloxam, in an interesting paper in the transactions of the lincoln diocesan architectural society, mentions several other anchorholds:--"adjoining the little mountain church of s. patricio, about five miles from crickhowel, south wales, is an attached building or cell. it contains on the east side a stone altar, above which is a small window, now blocked up, which looked towards the altar of the church; but there was no other internal communication between this cell and the church, to the west end of which it is annexed; it appears as if destined for a recluse who was also a priest." mr. bloxam mentions some other examples, very much resembling the one described at rettenden. the north transept of clifton campville church, staffordshire, a structure of the fourteenth century, is vaulted and groined with stone; it measures feet from north to south, and feet from east to west. over this is a loft or chamber, apparently an anchorhold or _domus inclusi_, access to which is obtained by means of a newell staircase in the south-east angle, from a doorway at the north-east angle of the chancel. a small window on the south side of this chamber, now blocked up, afforded a view into the interior of the church. the roof of this chamber has been lowered, and all the windows blocked up. "on the north side of the chancel of chipping norton church, oxfordshire, is a revestry which still contains an ancient stone altar, with its appurtenances, viz., a piscina in the wall on the north side, and a bracket for an image projecting from the east wall, north of the altar. over this revestry is a loft or chamber, to which access is obtained by means of a staircase in the north-west angle. apertures in the wall enabled the recluse, probably a priest, here dwelling, to overlook the chancel and north aisle of the church. "adjoining the north side of the chancel of warmington church, warwickshire, is a revestry, entered through an ogee-headed doorway in the north wall of the chancel, down a descent of three steps. this revestry contains an ancient stone altar, projecting from a square-headed window in the east wall, and near the altar, in the same wall, is a piscina. in the south-west angle of this revestry is a flight of stone steps, leading up to a chamber or loft. this chamber contains, in the west wall, a fire-place, in the north-west angle a retiring-closet, or jakes, and in the south wall a small pointed window, of decorated character, through which the high-altar in the chancel might be viewed. in the north wall there appears to have been a pointed window, filled with decorated tracery, and in the east wall is another decorated window. this is one of the most interesting and complete specimens of the _domus inclusi_ i have met with."[ ] the chamber which is so frequently found over the porch of our churches, often with a fireplace, and sometimes with a closet within it, may probably have sometimes been inhabited by a recluse. chambers are also sometimes found in the towers of churches.[ ] mr. bloxam mentions a room, with a fire-place, in the tower of upton church, nottinghamshire. again, at boyton church, wiltshire, the tower is on the north side of the church, "and adjoining the tower on the west side, and communicating with it, is a room which appears to have been once permanently inhabited, and in the north-east angle of this room is a fire-place." at newport, salop, the first floor of the tower seems to have been a habitable chamber, and has a little inner chamber corbelled out at the north-west angle of the tower. we have already hinted that it is not improbable that timber anchorholds were sometimes erected inside our churches. or perhaps the recluse lived in the church itself, or, more definitely, in a par-closed chantry chapel, without any chamber being purposely built for him. the indications which lead us to this supposition are these: there is sometimes an ordinary domestic fire-place to be found inside the church. for instance, in the north aisle of layer marney church, essex, the western part of the aisle is screened off for the chantry of lord marney, whose tomb has the chantry altar still remaining, set crosswise at the west end of the tomb; in the eastern division of the aisle there is an ordinary domestic fire-place in the north wall. there is a similar fire-place, of about the same date, in sir thomas bullen's church of hever, in kent. again, we sometimes find beside the low side-windows already spoken of, an arrangement which shows that it was intended for some one habitually to sit there. thus, at somerton, oxfordshire, on the north side of the chancel, is a long and narrow window, with decorated tracery in the head; the lower part is divided by a thick transom, and does not appear to have been glazed. in the interior the wall is recessed beside the window, with a sort of shoulder, exactly adapted to give room for a seat, in such a position that its occupant would get the full benefit of the light through the glazed upper part of the little window, and would be in a convenient position for conversing through the unglazed lower portion of it. at elsfield church, oxfordshire, there is an early english lancet window, similarly divided by a transom, the lower part, now blocked up, having been originally unglazed, and the sill of the window in the interior has been formed into a stone seat and desk. we reproduce here a view of the latter from the "oxford architectural society's guide to the neighbourhood of oxford." perhaps in such instances as these, the recluse may have been a priest serving a chantry altar, and licensed, perhaps, to hear confessions,[ ] for which the seat beside the little open window would be a convenient arrangement. lord scrope's will has already told us of a chaplain dwelling continually (_commoranti continuo_) in the church of st. nicholas, gloucester, and of an anchorite living in the parish church of stamford. there is a low side-window at mawgan church, cornwall. in the south-east angle between the south transept and the chancel, the inner angle at the junction of the transept and chancel walls is cut away, from the floor upwards, to the height of six feet, and laterally about five feet in south and east directions from the angle. a short octagonal pillar, six feet high, supports all that remains of the angle of these walls, whilst the walls themselves rest on two flat segmental arches of three feet span. a low diagonal wall is built across the angle thus exposed, and a small lean-to roof is run up from it into the external angle enclosing a triangular space within. in this wall the low side-window is inserted. the sill of the window is four feet from the pavement. further eastward a priest's door seems to have formed part of the arrangement. the west jamb of the doorway is cut away so that from this triangular space and from the transept beyond a view is obtained of the east window. [illustration: _window, elsfield church._] the position of the low side-windows at grade, cury, and landewednack is the same as that of mawgan, but the window itself is different in form, those at grade and at cury being small oblong openings, the former ft. in. by ft. in., the sill only ft. in. from the ground; the latter is ft. by in., the sill ft. in. from ground. at landewednack the window has two lights, square headed, ft. in. by ft. in., sill ft. - / in. from ground. a large block of serpentine rock is fixed in the ground beneath the window in a position convenient for a person standing but not kneeling at the window.[ ] knighton gives us some particulars of a recluse priest who lived at leicester. "there was," he says, "in those days at leicester, a certain priest, hight william of swynderby, whom they commonly called william the hermit, because, for a long time, he had lived the hermitical life there; they received him into a certain chamber within the church, because of the holiness they believed to be in him, and they procured for him victuals and a pension, after the manner of other priests."[ ] in the "test. ebor.," p. , we find a testator leaving "to the chantry chapel of kenby my red vestment, ... also the great missal and the great portifer, which i bought of dominus thomas cope, priest and anchorite in that chapel." blomfield also (ii. ) tells us of a hermit, who lived in st. cuthbert's church, thetford, and performed divine service therein. who has not, at some time, been deeply impressed by the solemn stillness, the holy calm, of an empty church? earthly passions, and cares, and ambitions, seemed to have died away; one's soul was filled with a spiritual peace. one stood and listened to the wind surging against the walls outside, as the waves of the sea may beat against the walls of an ingulfed temple; and one felt as effectually secluded from the surge and roar of the worldly life outside the sacred walls, as if in such a temple at the bottom of the sea. one gazed upon the monumental effigies, with their hands clasped in an endless prayer, and their passionless marble faces turned for ages heavenward, and read their mouldering epitaphs, and moralized on the royal preacher's text--"all is vanity and vexation of spirit." and then one felt the disposition--and, perhaps, indulged it--to kneel before the altar, all alone with god, in that still and solemn church, and pour out one's high-wrought thoughts before him. at such times one has probably tasted something of the transcendental charm of the life of a recluse priest. one could not sustain the tension long. perhaps the old recluse, with his experience and his aids, could maintain it for a longer period. but to him, too, the natural reaction must have come in time; and then he had his mechanical occupations to fell back upon--trimming the lamps before the shrines, copying his manuscript, or illuminating its initial letters; perhaps, for health's sake, he took a daily walk up and down the aisle of the church, whose walls re-echoed his measured footfalls; then he had his oft-recurring "hours" to sing, and his books to read; and, to prevent the long hours which were still left him in his little par-closed chapel from growing too wearily monotonous, there came, now and then, a tap at the shutter of his "parlour" window, which heralded the visit of some poor soul, seeking counsel or comfort in his difficulties of this world or the next, or some pilgrim bringing news of distant lands, or some errant knight seeking news of adventures, or some parishioner come honestly to have a dish of gossip with the holy man, about the good and evil doings of his neighbours. there is a pathetic anecdote in blomfield's "norfolk," which will show that the spirit and the tradition of the old recluse priests survived the reformation. the rev. mr. john gibbs, formerly rector of gessing, in that county, was ejected from his rectory in as a non-juror. "he was an odd but harmless man, both in life and conversation. after his ejection he dwelt in the north porch chamber, and laid on the stairs that led up to the rood-loft, between the church and chancel, having a window at his head, so that he could lie in his couch, and see the altar. he lived to be very old, and was buried at frenze." * * * * * let us turn again to the female recluse, in her anchor-house outside the church. how was her cell furnished? it had always a little altar at the east end, before which the recluse paid her frequent devotions, hearing, besides, the daily mass in church through her window, and receiving the holy sacrament at stated times. bishop poore advises his recluses to receive it only fifteen times a year. the little square unglazed window was closed with a shutter, and a black curtain with a white cross upon it also hung before the opening, through which the recluse could converse without being seen. the walls appear to have been sometimes painted--of course with devotional subjects. to complete the scene add a comfortable carved oak chair, and a little table, an embroidery frame, and such like appliances for needlework; a book of prayers, and another of saintly legends, not forgetting bishop poore's "ancren riewle;" a fire on the hearth in cold weather, and the cat, which bishop poore expressly allows, purring beside it; and lastly paint in the recluse, in her black habit and veil, seated in her chair; or prostrate before her little altar; or on her knees beside her church window listening to the chanted mass; or receiving her basket of food from her servant, through the open parlour window; or standing before its black curtain, conversing with a stray knight-errant; or putting her white hand through it, to give an alms to some village crone or wandering beggar. a few extracts from bishop poore's "ancren riewle," already several times alluded to, will give life to the picture we have painted. though intended for the general use of recluses, it seems to have been specially addressed, in the first instance, to three sisters, who, in the bloom of youth, forsook the world, and became the tenants of a reclusorium. it would seem that in such cases each recluse had a separate cell, and did not communicate, except on rare occasions, with her fellow inmates; and each had her own separate servant to wait upon her. here are some particulars as to their communication with the outer world. "hold no conversation with any man out of a church window, but respect it for the sake of the holy sacrament which ye see there through;[ ] and at other times (other whiles) take your women to the window of the house (huses thurle), other men and women to the parlour-window to speak when necessary; nor ought ye (to converse) but at these two windows." here we have three windows; we have no difficulty in understanding which was the church-window, and the parlour-window--the window _pour parler_; but what was the house-window, through which the recluse might speak to her servant? was it merely the third glazed window, through which she might, if it were convenient, talk with her maid, but not with strangers, because she would be seen through it? or was it a window in the larger anchorholds, between the recluse cell, and the other apartment in which her maid lived, and in which, perhaps, guests were entertained? the latter seems the more probable explanation, and will receive further confirmation when we come to the directions about the entertainment of guests. the recluse was not to give way to the very natural temptation to put her head out of the open window, to get sometimes a wider view of the world about her. "a peering anchoress, who is always thrusting her head outward," he compares to "an untamed bird in a cage"--poor human bird! in another place he gives a more serious exhortation on the same subject "is not she too forward and foolhardy who holds her head boldly forth on the open battlements while men with crossbow bolts without assail the castle? surely our foe, the warrior of hell, shoots, as i ween, more bolts at one anchoress than at seventy and seven secular ladies. the battlements of the castle are the windows of their houses; let her not look out at them, lest she have the devil's bolts between her eyes before she even thinks of it." here are directions how to carry on her "parlements":--"first of all, when you have to go to your parlour-window, learn from your maid who it is that is come; ... and when you must needs go forth, go forth in the fear of god to a priest, ... and sit and listen, and not cackle." they were to be on their guard even with religious men, and not even confess, except in presence of a witness. "if any man requests to see you (_i.e._ to have the black curtain drawn aside), ask him what good might come of it.... if any one become so mad and unreasonable that he puts forth his hand toward the window-cloth (curtain), shut the window (_i.e._ close the shutter) quickly, and leave him; ... and as soon as any man falls into evil discourse, close the window, and go away with this verse, that he may hear it, 'the wicked have told me foolish tales, but not according to thy law;' and go forth before your altar, and say the 'miserere.'" again, "keep your hands within your windows, for handling or touching between a man and an anchoress is a thing unnatural, shameful, wicked," &c. the bishop adds a characteristic piece of detail to our picture when he speaks of the fair complexions of the recluses because not sunburnt, and their white hands through not working, both set in strong relief by the black colour of the habit and veil. he says, indeed, that "since no man seeth you, nor ye see any man, ye may be content with your clothes white or black." but in practice they seem usually to have worn black habits, unless, when attached to the church of any monastery, they may have worn the habit of the order. they were not to wear rings, brooches, ornamented girdles, or gloves. "an anchoress," he says, "ought to take sparingly (of alms), only that which is necessary (_i.e._ she ought not to take alms to give away again). if she can spare any fragments of her food, let her send them away (to some poor person) privately out of her dwelling. for the devil," he says elsewhere, "tempts anchoresses, through their charity, to collect to give to the poor, then to a friend, then to make a feast." "there are anchoresses," he says, "who make their meals with their friends without; that is too much friendship." the editor thinks this to mean that some anchoresses left their cells, and went to dine at the houses of their friends; but the word is _gistes_ (guests), and, more probably, it only means that the recluse ate her dinner in her cell while a guest ate hers in the guest-room of the reclusorium, with an open window between, so that they could see and converse with one another. for we find in another place that she was to maintain "silence always at meals; ... and if any one hath a guest whom she holds dear, she may cause her maid, as in her stead, to entertain her friend with glad cheer, and she shall have leave to open her window once or twice, and make signs to her of gladness." but "let no _man_ eat in your presence, except he be in great need." the narrative already given at p. , of the visit of st. richard the hermit to dame margaret the recluse of anderby, also shows that in exceptional cases a recluse ate with men. the incident of the head of the recluse, in her convulsive sleep, falling at the window at which the hermit was reclining, and leaning partly upon him,[ ] is explained by the theory that they were sitting in separate apartments, each close by this house window, which was open between them. as we have already seen, in the case of sir percival, a man might even sleep in the reclusorium; and so the rule says, "let no man sleep within your walls" as a general rule; "if, however, great necessity should cause your house to be used" by travellers, "see that ye have a woman of unspotted life with you day and night." as to their occupations, he advises them to make "no purses and blodbendes of silk, but shape and sew and mend church vestments, and poor people's clothes, and help to clothe yourselves and your domestics." "an anchoress must not become a school-mistress, nor turn her house into a school for children. her maiden may, however, teach any little girl concerning whom it might be doubtful whether she should learn among the boys."[ ] doubtless, we are right in inferring from the bishop's advice not to do certain things, that anchoresses were in the habit of doing them. from this kind of evidence we glean still further traits. he suggests to them that in confession they will perhaps have to mention such faults as these, "i played or spoke thus in the church; went to the play in the churchyard;[ ] looked on at this, or at the wrestling, or other foolish sports; spoke thus, or played, in the presence of secular men, or of religious men, in a house of anchorites, and at a different window than i ought; or, being alone in the church, i thought thus." again he mentions, "sitting too long at the parlour-window, spilling ale, dropping crumbs." again we find, "make no banquetings, nor encourage any strange vagabonds about the gate." but of all their failings, gossiping seems to have been the besetting sin of anchoresses. "people say of anchoresses that almost every one hath an old woman to feed her ears, a prating gossip, who tells her all the tales of the land, a magpie that chatters to her of everything that she sees or hears; so that it is a common saying, from mill and from market, from smithy and from anchor-house, men bring tidings." let us add the sketch drawn of them by the unfavourable hand of bilney the reformer, in his "reliques of rome," published in , and we have done:--"as touching the monastical sect of recluses, and such as be shutte up within walls, there unto death continuall to remayne, giving themselves to the mortification of carnal effects, to the contemplation of heavenly and spirituall thinges, to abstinence, to prayer, and to such other ghostly exercises, as men dead to the world, and havyng their lyfe hidden with christ, i have not to write. forasmuch as i cannot fynde probably in any author whence the profession of anckers and anckresses had the beginning and foundation, although in this behalf i have talked with men of that profession which could very little or nothing say of the matter. notwithstanding, as the whyte fryers father that order on helias the prophet (but falsely), so likewise do the ankers and ankresses make that holy and virtuous matrone judith their patroness and foundress; but how unaptly who seeth not? their profession and religion differeth as far from the manners of judith as light from darknesse, or god from the devill, as shall manifestly appere to them that will diligentlye conferre the history of judith with their life and conversation. judith made herself a privy chamber where she dwelt (sayth the scripture), being closed in with her maydens. our recluses also close themselves within the walls, but they suffer no man to be there with them. judith ware a smoche of heare, but our recluses are both softly and finely apparalled. judith fasted all the days of her lyfe, few excepted. our recluses eate and drinke at all tymes of the beste, being of the number of them _qui curios simulant et bacchanalia vivunt_. judith was a woman of a very good report. our recluses are reported to be superstitious and idolatrous persons, and such as all good men flye their company. judith feared the lord greatly, and lyved according to his holy word. our recluses fear the pope, and gladly doe what his pleasure is to command them. judith lyved of her own substance and goods, putting no man to charge. our recluses, as persons only borne to consume the good fruits of the erth, lyve idely of the labour of other men's handes. judith, when tyme required, came out of her closet, to do good unto other. our recluses never come out of their lobbies, sincke or swimme the people. judith put herself in jeopardy for to do good to the common countrye. our recluses are unprofitable clods of the earth, doing good to no man. who seeth not how farre our ankers and ankresses differe from the manners and life of this vertuous and godly woman judith, so that they cannot justly claime her to be their patronesse? of some idle and superstitious heremite borrowed they their idle and superstitious religion. for who knoweth not that our recluses have grates of yron in theyr spelunckes, and dennes out of the which they looke, as owles out of an yvye todde, when they will vouchsafe to speake with any man at whose hand they hope for advantage? so reade we in 'vitis patrum,' that john the heremite so enclosed himself in his hermitage that no person came in unto him; to them that came to visite him he spoke through a window onely. our ankers and ankresses professe nothing but a solitary lyfe in their hallowed house, wherein they are inclosed wyth the vowe of obedience to the pope, and to their ordinary bishop. their apparel is indifferent, so it be dissonant from the laity. no kind of meates they are forbidden to eat. at midnight they are bound to say certain prayers. their profession is counted to be among other professions so hardye and so streight that they may by no means be suffered to come out of their houses except it be to take on them an harder and streighter, which is to be made a bishop." it is not to be expected that mediæval paintings should give illustrations of persons who were thus never visible in the world. in the pictures of the hermits of the egyptian desert, on the walls of the campo santo at pisa, we see a representation of st. anthony holding a conversation with st. john the hermit, who is just visible through his grated window, "like an owl in an ivy tod," as bilney says; and we have already given a picture of sir percival knocking at the door of a female recluse. bilney says, that they wore any costume, "so it were dissonant from the laity;" but in all probability they commonly wore a costume similar in colour to that of the male hermits. the picture which we here give of an anchoress, is taken from a figure of st. paula, one of the anchorite saints of the desert, in the same picture of st. jerome, which has already supplied us, in the figure of st. damasus, with our best picture of the hermit's costume. [illustration: _st. paula._] the service for enclosing a recluse[ ] may be found in some of the old service books. we derive the following account of it from an old black-letter _manuale ad usum percelebris ecclesie sarisburiensis_ (london, ), in the british museum. the rubric before the service orders that no one shall be enclosed without the bishop's leave; that the candidate shall be closely questioned as to his motives; that he shall be taught not to entertain proud thoughts, as if he merited to be set apart from intercourse with common men, but rather on account of his own infirmity it was good that he should be removed from contact with others, that he might be kept out of sin himself, and not contaminate them. so that the recluse should esteem himself to be condemned for his sins, and shut up in his solitary cell as in a prison, and unworthy, for his sins, of the society of men. there is a note, that this office shall serve for both sexes. on the day before the ceremony of inclusion, the _includendus_--the person about to be inclosed--was to confess, and to fast that day on bread and water; and all that night he was to watch and pray, having his wax taper burning, in the monastery,[ ] near his inclusorium. on the morrow, all being assembled in church, the bishop, or priest appointed by him, first addressed an exhortation to the people who had come to see the ceremony, and to the includendus himself, and then began the service with a response, and several appropriate psalms and collects. after that, the priest put on his chasuble, and began mass, a special prayer being introduced for the includendus. after the reading of the gospel, the includendus stood before the altar, and offered his taper, which was to remain burning on the altar throughout the mass; and then, standing before the altar-step, he read his profession, or if he were a layman (and unable to read), one of the chorister boys read it for him. and this was the form of his profession:--"i, brother (or sister) n, offer and present myself to serve the divine goodness in the order of anchorites, and i promise to remain, according to the rule of that order, in the service of god, from henceforth, by the grace of god, and the counsel of the church." then he signed the document in which his profession was written with the sign of the cross, and laid it upon the altar on bended knees. then the bishop or priest said a prayer, and asperged with holy water the habit of the includendus; and he put on the habit, and prostrated himself before the altar, and so remained, while the priest and choir sang over him the hymn _veni creator spiritus_, and then proceeded with the mass. first the priest communicated, then the includendus, and then the rest of the congregation; and the mass was concluded. next his wax taper, which had all this time been burning on the altar, was given to the includendus, and a procession was formed; first the choir; then the includendus, clad in his proper habit, and carrying his lighted taper; then the bishop or priest, in his mass robes; and then the people following; and so they proceeded, singing a solemn litany, to the cell. and first the priest entered alone into the cell, and asperged it with holy water, saying appropriate sentences; then he consecrated and blessed the cell, with prayers offered before the altar of its chapel. the third of these short prayers may be transcribed: "benedic domine domum istam et locum istum, ut sit in eo sanitas, sanctitas, castitas, virtus, victoria, sanctimonia, humilitas, lenitas, mansuetudo, plenitudo, legis et obedientæ deo patre et filio et spiritui sancto et sit super locum istum et super omnes habitantes in eo tua larga benedictio, ut in his manufactis habitaculis cum solemtate manentes ipsi tuum sit semper habitaculum. per dominum," &c. then the bishop or priest came out, and led in the includendus, still carrying his lighted taper, and solemnly blessed him. and then--a mere change in the tense of the rubric has an effect which is quite pathetic; it is no longer the _includendus_, the person to be enclosed, but the _inclusus_, the enclosed one, he or she upon whom the doors of the cell have closed for ever in this life--then the enclosed is to maintain total and solemn silence throughout, while the doors are securely closed, the choir chanting appropriate psalms. then the celebrant causes all the people to pray for the inclusus privately, in solemn silence, to god, for whose love he has left the world, and caused himself to be inclosed in that strait prison. and after some concluding prayers, the procession left the inclusus to his solitary life, and returned, chanting, to the church, finishing at the step of the choir. one cannot read this solemn--albeit superstitious--service, in the quaint old mediæval character, out of the very book which has, perhaps, been used in the actual enclosing of some recluse, without being moved. was it some frail woman, with all the affections of her heart and the hopes of her earthly life shattered, who sought the refuge of this living tomb? was it some man of strong passions, wild and fierce in his crimes, as wild and fierce in his penitence? or was it some enthusiast, with the over-excited religious sensibility, of which we have instances enough in these days? we can see them still, in imagination, prostrate, "in total and solemn silence," before the wax taper placed upon the altar of the little chapel, and listening while the chant of the returning procession grows fainter and fainter in the distance. ah! we may scornfully smile at it all as a wild superstition, or treat it coldly as a question of mere antiquarian interest; but what broken hearts, what burning passions, have been shrouded under that recluse's robe, and what wild cries of human agony have been stifled under that "total and solemn silence!" when the processional chant had died away in the distance, and the recluse's taper had burnt out on his little altar, was that the end of the tragedy, or only the end of the first act? did the broken heart find repose? did the wild spirit grow tame? or did the one pine away and die like a flower in a dungeon, and the other beat itself to death against the bars of its self-made cage? chapter iv. consecrated widows of the middle ages. besides all other religious people living under vows, in community in monasteries, or as solitaries in their anchorages, there were also a number of widows vowed to that life and devoted to the service of god, who lived at home in their own houses or with their families. this was manifestly a continuation, or imitation, of the primitive order of widows, of whom st. paul speaks in his first epistle to timothy (ch. v.). for although religious women, from an early period (fourth century), were usually nuns, the primitive orders of deaconesses and widows did not altogether cease to exist in the church. the service books[ ] contain offices for their benediction; and though it is probable that in fact a deaconess was very rarely consecrated in the western church, yet the number of allusions to widows throughout the middle ages leads us to suspect that there may have been no inconsiderable number of them. a common form of commission[ ] to a suffragan bishop includes the consecrating of widows. from the pontifical of edmund lacey, bishop of exeter, of the fourteenth century, we give a sketch of the service.[ ] it is the same in substance as those in the earlier books. first, a rubric states that though a widow may be blessed on any day, it is more fitting that she be blessed on a holy day, and especially on the lord's day. between the epistle and the gospel, the bishop sitting on a faldstool facing the people, the widow kneeling before the bishop is to be interrogated if she desires, putting away all carnal affections, to be joined as a spouse to christ. then she shall publicly in the vulgar tongue profess herself, in the bishop's hands, resolved to observe perpetual continence. then the bishop blesses her habit (clamidem), saying a collect. then the bishop, genuflecting, begins the hymn _veni creator spiritus_; the widow puts on the habit and veil, and the bishop blesses and gives her the ring; and with a final prayer for appropriate virtues and blessings, the ordinary service of holy communion is resumed, special mention of the widow being made therein. these collects are of venerable age, and have much beauty of thought and expression. the reader may be glad to see one of them as an example, and as an indication of the spirit in which people entered into these religious vows: "o god, the gracious inhabiter of chaste bodies and lover of uncorrupt souls, look we pray thee, o lord, upon this thy servant, who humbly offers her devotion to thee. may there be in her, o lord, the gift of thy spirit, a prudent modesty, a wise graciousness, a grave gentleness, a chaste freedom; may she be fervent in charity and love nothing beside thee (_extra te_); may she live praiseworthy and not desire praise; may she fear thee and serve thee with a chaste love; be thou to her, o lord, honour, thou delight; be thou in sorrow her comfort, in doubt her counsellor; be thou to her defence in injury, in tribulation patience, in poverty abundance, in fasting food, in sickness medicine. by thee, whom she desires to love above all things, may she keep what she has vowed; so that by thy help she may conquer the old enemy, and cast out the defilements of sin; that she may be decorated with the gift of fruit sixty fold,[ ] and adorned with the lamps of all virtues, and by thy grace may be worthy to join the company of the elect widows. this we humbly ask through jesus christ our lord." in a paper in the "surrey transactions," vol. iii. p. , mr. baigent, the writer of it, finds two, and only two, entries of the consecration of widows in the episcopal registers of winchester, which go back to the early part of the reign of edward i. the first of these is on may , , of the lady aleanor giffard, probably, says mr. baigent, the widow of john giffard, of bowers giffard, in essex. the other entry, on october , , is of the benediction of isabella burgh, the widow of a citizen of london (whose will is given by mr. baigent), and of isabella golafre, widow of sir john golafre. the profession of the widow is given in old french, and a translation of it in old english, as follows: "in ye name of god, fader and sone and holy ghost. iche isabelle burghe, that was sometyme wyfe of thomas burghe, wyche that is god be taught helpynge the grace of god [the parallel french is, quest à dieu commande ottriaunte la grace de dieu] behote [promise] conversione of myn maners, and make myn avows to god, and to is swete moder seynte marie and to alle seintz, into youre handes leve [dear] fader in god, william be ye grace of god bisshope of wynchestre, that fro this day forward i schal ben chaste of myn body and in holy chastite kepe me treweliche and devouteliche all ye dayes of myn life." another form of profession is written on the lower margin of the exeter pontifical, and probably in the handwriting of bishop lacy: "i, n., wedowe, avowe to god perpetuall chastite of my body from henceforward, and in the presence of the honorable fadyr in god, my lord n., by the grace of god, bishop of n., i promyth sabilly to leve in the church, a wedowe. and this to do, of myne own hand i subscribe this writing: _et postea faciat signum crucis_." another example of a widow in the winchester registers is that of elizabeth de julien, widow of john plantagenet, earl of kent, who made that vow to bishop william de edyndon, but afterwards married sir eustache dabrichecourt, september , , whereupon proceedings were commenced against her by the archbishop of canterbury, who imposed on her a severe and life-long penance. she survived her second husband many years, and dying in , was buried in the choir of the friars minor at winchester, near the tomb of her first husband. the epitaph on the monumental brass of joanna braham, a.d. , at frenze, in norfolk, describes her as "vidua ac deo devota." in the book of the knight of la tour-landry is a description of a lady who, if she had not actually taken the vows of widowhood, lived the life we should suppose to be that of a vowess. "it is of a good lady whiche longe tyme was in wydowhode. she was of a holy lyf, and moste humble and honourable, as the whiche every yere kepte and held a feste upon crystemasse-day of her neyghbours bothe farre and nere, tyll her halle was ful of them. she served and honoured eche one after his degree, and specially she bare grete reverence to the good and trewe wymmen, and to them whiche has deservyd to be worshipped. also she was of suche customme that yf she knewe any poure gentyll woman that shold be wedded she arayed her with her jewels. also she wente to the obsequye of the poure gentyll wymmen, and gaf there torches, and all such other lumynary as it neded thereto. her dayly ordenaunce was that she rose erly ynough, and had ever freres, and two or three chappellayns whiche sayd matyns before her within her oratorye; and after she herd a hyhe masse and two lowe, and sayd her servyse full devoutely; and after this she wente and arayed herself, and walked in her gardyn, or else aboute her plase, sayenge her other devocions and prayers. and as tyme was she wente to dyner; and after dyner, if she wyste and knewe ony seke folke or wymmen in theyr childbedde, she went to see and vysited them, and made to be brought to them of her best mete. and then, as she myght not go herself, she had a servant propyer therefore, whiche rode upon a lytell hors, and bare with him grete plente of good mete and drynke for to gyve to the poure and seke folk there as they were. and after she had herd evensonge she went to her souper, yf she fasted not. and tymely she wente to bedde; made her styward to come to her to wete what mete sholde be had the next daye, and lyved by good ordenaunce, and wold be purveyed byfore of alle such thynge that was nedefull for her household. she made grete abstynence, and wered the hayre[ ] upon the wednesday and upon the fryday.... and she rose everye night thre tymes, and kneled downe to the ground by her bedde, and redryd thankynges to god, and prayd for al crysten soules, and dyd grete almes to the poure. this good lady, that wel is worthy to be named and preysed, had to name my lady cecyle of ballavylle.... she was the most good and curtoys lady that ever i knewe or wyste in ony countrey, and that lesse was envious, and never she wold here say ony evyll of no body, but excused them, and prayd to god that they myght amende them, and that none was that knewe what to hym shold happe.... she had a ryhte noble ende, and as i wene ryht agreable to god; and as men say commonely, of honest and good lyf cometh ever a good ende." in post-reformation times there are biographies of holy women which show that the idea of consecrated widowhood was still living in the minds of the people. probably the dress commonly worn by widows throughout their widowhood is a remnant of the mediæval custom. the pilgrims of the middle ages. chapter i. the fashion of going on pilgrimage seems to have sprung up in the fourth century. the first object of pilgrimage was the holy land. jerome said, at the outset, the most powerful thing which can be said against it; viz., that the way to heaven is as short from britain as from jerusalem--a consolatory reflection to those who were obliged, or who preferred, to stay at home; but it did not succeed in quenching the zeal of those many thousands who desired to see, with their own eyes, the places which had been hallowed by the presence and the deeds of their lord--to tread, with their own footsteps, "those holy fields over whose acres walked those blessed feet, which "eighteen" hundred years ago were nailed for our advantage on the bitter cross;"[ ] to kneel down and pray for pardon for their sins upon that very spot where the great sacrifice for sin was actually offered up; to stand upon the summit of mount olivet, and gaze up into that very pathway through the sky by which he ascended to his kingdom in heaven. we should, however, open up too wide a field if we were to enter into the subject of the early pilgrims to the holy land;[ ] to trace their route from britain, usually _viâ_ rome, by sea and land; to describe how a pilgrim passenger-traffic sprung up, of which adventurous ship-owners took advantage; how hospitals[ ] were founded here and there along the road, to give refuge to the weary pilgrims, until they reached the hospital _par excellence_, which stood beside the church of the holy sepulchre; how saxon kings made treaties to secure their safe conduct through foreign countries;[ ] how the order of the knights of the temple was founded to escort the caravans of pilgrims from one to another of the holy places, and protect them from marauding saracens and arabs; how the crusades were organised partly, no doubt, to stem the course of mahommedan conquest, but ostensibly to wrest the holy places from the hands of the infidel: this part of the subject of pilgrimage would occupy too much of our space here. our design is to give a sketch of the less known portion of the subject, which relates to the pilgrimages which sprung up in after-times, when the veneration for the holy places had extended to the shrines of saints; and when, still later, veneration had run wild into the grossest superstition, and crowds of sane men and women flocked to relic-worships, which would be ludicrous if they were not so pitiable and humiliating. this part of the subject forms a chapter in the history of the manners of the middle ages, which is little known to any but the antiquarian student; but it is an important chapter to all who desire thoroughly to understand what were the modes of thought and habits of life of our english forefathers in the middle ages. [illustration: _thirteenth century pilgrims (the two disciples at emmaus)._] the most usual foreign pilgrimages were to the holy land, the scene of our lord's earthly life; to rome, the centre of western christianity; and to the shrine of st. james at compostella.[ ] the number of pilgrims to these places must have been comparatively limited; for a man who had any regular business or profession could not well undertake so long an absence from home. the rich of no occupation could afford the leisure and the cost; and the poor who chose to abandon their lawful occupation could make these pilgrimages at the cost of others; for the pilgrim was sure of entertainment at every hospital, or monastery, or priory, probably at every parish priest's rectory and every gentleman's hall,[ ] on his way; and there were not a few poor men and women who indulged a vagabond humour in a pilgrim's life. the poor pilgrim repaid his entertainer's hospitality by bringing the news of the countries[ ] through which he had passed, and by amusing the household after supper with marvellous saintly legends, and traveller's tales. he raised a little money for his inevitable travelling expenses by retailing holy trifles and curiosities, such as were sold wholesale at all the shrines frequented by pilgrims, and which were usually supposed to have some saintly efficacy attached to them. sometimes the pilgrim would take a bolder flight, and carry with him some fragment of a relic--a joint of a bone, or a pinch of dust, or a nail-paring, or a couple of hairs of the saint, or a rag of his clothing; and the people gladly paid the pilgrim for thus bringing to their doors some of the advantages of the holy shrines which he had visited. thus chaucer's pardoner--"that strait was comen from the court of rome"-- "in his mail[ ] he had a pilwebere,[ ] which as he saidé was oure lady's veil; he said he had a gobbet of the sail thatte st. peter had whan that he went upon the sea, till jesu christ him hent.[ ] he had a cross of laton full of stones;[ ] and in a glass he haddé piggés bones.[ ] but with these relics whanné that he fond a poure parson dwelling upon lond, upon a day he gat him more monie than that the parson gat in monthes tweie. and thus with feined flattering and japes, he made the parson and the people his apes." in a subsequent chapter, on the merchants of the middle ages, will be found some illustrations of mediæval shipping, which also illustrate the present subject. one is a representation of sir john mandeville and his companions in mantle, hat, and staff, just landed at a foreign town on their pilgrimage to the holy land. another represents richard beauchamp, earl of warwick, in mantle, hat, and staff, embarking in his own ship on his departure for a similar pilgrimage. another illustration in the subsequent chapter on secular clergy represents earl richard at rome, being presented to the pope. but those who could not spare time or money to go to jerusalem, or rome, or compostella, could spare both for a shorter expedition; and pilgrimages to english shrines appear to have been very common. by far the most popular of our english pilgrimages was to the shrine of st. thomas-à-becket, at canterbury, and it was popular not only in england, but all over europe. the one which stood next in popular estimation, was the pilgrimage to our lady of walsingham. but nearly every cathedral and great monastery, and many a parish church besides, had its famous saint to whom the people resorted. there was st. cuthbert at durham, and st. william at york, and little st. william at norwich, and st. hugh at lincoln, and st. edward confessor at westminster, and st. erkenwald in the cathedral of london, and st. wulstan at worcester, and st. swithin at winchester, and st. edmund at bury, and ss. etheldreda and withburga at ely, and many more, whose remains were esteemed holy relics, and whose shrines were frequented by the devout. some came to pray at the tomb for the intercession of the saint in their behalf; or to seek the cure of disease by the touch of the relic; or to offer up thanks for deliverance believed to have been vouchsafed in time of peril through the saint's prayers; or to obtain the number of days' pardon--_i.e._ of remission of their time in purgatory--offered by papal bulls to those who should pray at the tomb. then there were famous roods, the rood of chester and of bromholme; and statues of the virgin, as our lady of wilsden, and of boxley, and of this, that, and the other place. there were scores of holy wells besides, under saintly invocations, of which st. winifred's well with her chapel over it still remains an excellent example.[ ] some of these were springs of medicinal water, and were doubtless of some efficacy in the cures for which they were noted; in others a saint had baptized his converts; others had simply afforded water to a saint in his neighbouring cell.[ ] before any man[ ] went on pilgrimage, he first went to his church, and received the church's blessing on his pious enterprise, and her prayers for his good success and safe return. the office of pilgrims (_officium peregrinorum_) may be found in the old service-books. we give a few notes of it from a sarum missal, date , in the british museum.[ ] the pilgrim is previously to have confessed. at the opening of the service he lies prostrate before the altar, while the priest and choir sing over him certain appropriate psalms, viz. the th, th, and th. then follow some versicles, and three collects, for safety, &c., in which the pilgrim is mentioned by name, "thy servant, n." then he rises, and there follows the benediction of his scrip and staff; and the priest sprinkles the scrip with holy water, and places it on the neck of the pilgrim, saying, "in the name of, &c., take this scrip, the habit of your pilgrimage, that, corrected and saved, you may be worthy to reach the thresholds of the saints to which you desire to go, and, your journey done, may return to us in safety." then the priest delivers the staff, saying, "take this staff, the support of your journey, and of the labour of your pilgrimage, that you may be able to conquer all the bands of the enemy, and to come safely to the threshold of the saints to which you desire to go, and, your journey obediently performed, return to us with joy." if any one of the pilgrims present is going to jerusalem, he is to bring a habit signed with the cross, and the priest blesses it:--"... we pray that thou wilt vouchsafe to bless this cross, that the banner of the sacred cross, whose figure is signed upon him, may be to thy servant an invincible strength against the evil temptations of the old enemy, a defence by the way, a protection in thy house, and may be to us everywhere a guard, through our lord, &c." then he sprinkles the habit with holy water, and gives it to the pilgrim, saying, "take this habit, signed with the cross of the lord our saviour, that by it you may come safely to his sepulchre, who, with the father," &c. then follows mass; and after mass, certain prayers over the pilgrims, prostrate at the altar; then, "let them communicate, and so depart in the name of the lord." the service runs in the plural, as if there were usually a number of pilgrims to be dispatched together. [illustration: _lydgate's pilgrim._] there was a certain costume appropriate to the pilgrim, which old writers speak of under the title of pilgrims' weeds; the illustrations of this paper will give examples of it. it consisted of a robe and hat, a staff and scrip. the robe called _sclavina_ by du cange, and other writers, is said to have been always of wool, and sometimes of shaggy stuff, like that represented in the accompanying woodcut of the latter part of the fourteenth century, from the harleian ms., , . it seems intended to represent st. john baptist's robe of camel's hair. its colour does not appear in the illuminations, but old writers speak of it as grey. the hat seems to be commonly a round hat, of felt, and, apparently, does not differ from the hats which travellers not uncommonly wore over their hoods in those days.[ ] the pilgrim who was sent on pilgrimage as a penance seems usually to have been ordered to go barefoot, and probably many others voluntarily inflicted this hardship upon themselves in order to heighten the merit and efficacy of their good deed. they often also made a vow not to cut the hair or beard until the pilgrimage had been accomplished. but the special insignia of a pilgrim were the staff and scrip. in the religious service with which the pilgrims initiated their journey, we have seen that the staff and scrip are the only insignia mentioned, except in the case of one going to the holy land, who has a robe signed with the cross; the staff and the scrip were specially blessed by the priest, and the pilgrim formally invested with them by his hands. the staff, or bourdon, was not of an invariable shape. on a fourteenth-century grave-stone at haltwhistle, northumberland, it is like a rather long walking-stick, with a natural knob at the top. in the cut from erasmus's "praise of folly," which forms the frontispiece of mr. nichols's "pilgrimages of canterbury and walsingham," it is a similar walking-stick; but, usually, it was a long staff, some five, six, or seven feet long, turned in the lathe, with a knob at the top, and another about a foot lower down. sometimes a little below the lower knob there is a hook, or a staple, to which we occasionally find a water-bottle or a small bundle attached. the hook is seen on the staff of lydgate's pilgrim (p. ). sir john hawkins tells us[ ] that the staff was sometimes hollowed out into a kind of flute, on which the pilgrim could play. the same kind of staff we find in illuminated mss. in the hands of beggars and shepherds, as well as pilgrims. the scrip was a small bag, slung at the side by a cord over the shoulder, to contain the pilgrim's food and his few necessaries.[ ] sometimes it was made of leather; but probably the material varied according to the taste and wealth of the pilgrim. we find it of different shape and size in different examples. in the monumental effigy of a pilgrim of rank at ashby-de-la-zouch, the scrip is rather long, widest at bottom, and is ornamented with three tassels at the bottom, something like the bag in which the lord chancellor carries the great seal, and it has scallop shells fixed upon its front. in the grave-stone of a knight at haltwhistle, already alluded to, the knight's arms, sculptured upon the shield on one side of his grave cross, are a _fess_ between three _garbs_ (_i.e._ wheat-sheaves); and a _garb_ is represented upon his scrip, which is square and otherwise plain. the tomb of abbot chillenham, at tewkesbury, has the pilgrim's staff and scrip sculptured upon it as an architectural ornament; the scrip is like the mediæval purse, with a scallop shell on the front of it, very like that on p. .[ ] the pilgrim is sometimes represented with a bottle, often with a rosary, and sometimes with other conveniences for travelling or helps to devotion. there is a very good example in hans burgmaier's "images de saints, &c., of the familly of the emp. maximilian i." fol. . [illustration: _pilgrim, from erasmus's "praise of folly."_] but though the conventional pilgrim is always represented with robe, and hat, and staff, and scrip, the actual pilgrim seems sometimes to have dispensed with some, if not with all, of these insignia. for example, chaucer minutely describes the costume of the principal personages in his company of canterbury pilgrims, and he not only does not describe what would have been so marked and picturesque features in their appearance, but his description seems to preclude the pilgrim's robe and hat. his knight is described in the ordinary jupon, "of fustian he wered a jupon." and the squire-- "short was his gowne with sleves long and wide." and the yeoman-- "was clad in cote and hood of green." and the serjeant of the law-- "rode but homely in a medlee cote, girt with a seint[ ] of silk with barres small." the merchant was in motley-- "and on his hed a flaundrish bever hat." and so with all the rest, they are clearly described in the ordinary dress of their class, which the pilgrim's robe would have concealed. it seems very doubtful whether they even bore the especial insignia of staff and scrip. perhaps when men and women went their pilgrimage on horseback, they did not go through the mere form of carrying a long walking-staff. the equestrian pilgrim, of whom we shall give a woodcut hereafter, though he is very correctly habited in robe and hat, with pilgrim signs on each, and his rosary round his neck, does not carry the bourdon. the only trace of pilgrim costume about chaucer's pilgrims, is in the pardoner-- "a vernicle hadde he sewed in his cappe"-- but that was a sign of a former pilgrimage to rome; and it is enough to prove--if proof were needed--that chaucer did not forget to clothe his personages in pilgrim weeds, but that they did not wear them. but besides the ordinary insignia of pilgrimage, every pilgrimage had its special signs, which the pilgrim on his return wore conspicuously upon his hat or his scrip, or hanging round his neck, in token that he had accomplished that particular pilgrimage. the pilgrim who had made a long pilgrimage, paying his devotions at every shrine in his way, might come back as thickly decorated with signs as a modern soldier, who has been through a stirring campaign, with medals and clasps. the pilgrim to the holy land had this distinction above all others, that he wore a special sign from the very hour that he took the vow upon him to make that most honourable pilgrimage. this sign was a cross, formed of two strips of coloured cloth sewn upon the shoulder of the robe; the english pilgrim wore the cross of white, the french of red, the flemish of green. some, in their fierce earnestness, had the sacred sign cut into their flesh; in the romance of "sir isumbras," we read-- "with a sharpe knyfe he share a cross upon his shoulder bare." others had it branded upon them with a hot iron; one pilgrim in the "mirac. de s. thomæ" of abbot benedict gives the obvious reason, that though his clothes should be torn away, no one should be able to tear the cross from his breast. at the end of the _officium peregrinorum_, which we have described, we find a rubric calling attention to the fact, that burning the cross in the flesh is forbidden by the canon law on pain of the greater excommunication; the prohibition is proof enough that at one time it was a not uncommon practice. but when the pilgrim reached the holy land, and had visited the usual round of the holy places, he became entitled to wear the palm in token of his accomplishment of that great pilgrimage; and from this badge he derived the name of palmer. how the palm was borne does not quite certainly appear; some say that it was a branch of palm, which the returning pilgrim bore in his hand or affixed to the top of his staff;[ ] but probably in the general case it was in the shape of sprigs of palm sewn crosswise upon the hat and scrip. the roman pilgrimage seems always to have ranked next in popular estimation to that of the holy land;[ ] and with reason, for rome was then the great centre of the religion and the civilization of western christendom. the plenary indulgence which boniface viii. published in , to all who should make the jubilee pilgrimage to rome, no doubt had its effect in popularizing this pilgrimage _ad limina apostolorum_. two hundred thousand pilgrims, it is said, visited rome in one month during the first jubilee; and succeeding popes shortened the interval between these great spiritual fairs, first to fifty, then to thirty-three, and lastly to twenty-five years. the pilgrim to rome doubtless visited many shrines in that great christian capital, and was entitled to wear as many signs; but the chief signs of the roman pilgrimage were a badge with the effigies of st. peter and st. paul, the cross-keys, and the vernicle. concerning the first, there is a grant from innocent iii. to the arch-priest and canons of st. peter's at rome,[ ] which confirms to them (or to those to whom they shall concede it) the right to cast and to sell the lead or pewter signs, bearing the effigies of the apostles peter and paul, with which those who have visited their threshold decorate themselves for the increase of their devotion and a testimony of their pilgrimage. dr. rock says[ ] "that a friend of his has one of these roman pilgrim signs, which was dug up at launde abbey, leicestershire. it is of copper, in the shape of a quatrefoil, one and three-quarter inches in diameter, and has the cross-keys on one side, the other side being plain." an equestrian pilgrim represented in hans burgmaier's "der weise koenige," seems to bear on his cloak and his hat the cross-keys. the vernicle was the kerchief of veronica, with which, said a very popular legend, she wiped the brow of the saviour, when he fainted under his cross in the via dolorosa, and which was found to have had miraculously transferred to it an imprint of the sacred countenance. chaucer's pardoner, as we have already seen-- "strait was comen from the court of rome," and, therefore, "a vernicle had he sewed upon his cap." the sign of the compostella pilgrimage was the scallop shell.[ ] the legend which the old spanish writers give in explanation of the badge is this:--when the body of the saint was being miraculously conveyed in a ship without sails or oars, from joppa to galicia, it passed the village of bonzas, on the coast of portugal, on the day that a marriage had been celebrated there. the bridegroom with his friends were amusing themselves on horseback on the sands, when his horse became unmanageable and plunged into the sea; whereupon the miraculous ship stopped in its voyage, and presently the bridegroom emerged, horse and man, close beside it. a conversation ensued between the knight and the saint's disciples on board, in which they apprised him that it was the saint who had saved him from a watery grave, and explained the christian religion to him. he believed, and was baptized there and then. and immediately the ship resumed its voyage, and the knight came galloping back over the sea to rejoin his astonished friends. he told them all that had happened, and they too were converted, and the knight baptized his bride with his own hand. now, when the knight emerged from the sea, both his dress and the trappings of his horse were covered with scallop shells; and, therefore, the galicians took the scallop shell as the sign of st. james. the legend is found represented in churches dedicated to st. james, and in ancient illuminated mss.[ ] the scallop shell is not unfrequently found in armorial bearings. it is hardly probable that it would be given to a man merely because he had made the common pilgrimage to compostella; perhaps it was earned by service under the banner of santiago, against the moors in the spanish crusades. the popes alexander iii., gregory ix., and clement v., granted a faculty to the archbishops of compostella, to excommunicate those who sell these shells to pilgrims anywhere except in the city of santiago, and they assign this reason, because the shells are the badge of the apostle santiago.[ ] the badge was not always an actual shell, but sometimes a jewel made in the shape of a scallop shell. in the "journal of the archæological association," iii. , is a woodcut of a scallop shell of silver gilt, with a circular piece of jet set in the middle, on which is carved an equestrian figure of santiago. the chief sign of the canterbury pilgrimage was an ampul (_ampulla_, a flask); we are told all about its origin and meaning by abbot benedict, who wrote a book on the miracles of st. thomas.[ ] the monks had carefully collected from the pavement the blood of the martyr which had been shed upon it, and preserved it as one of the precious relics. a sick lady who visited the shrine, begged for a drop of this blood as a medicine; it worked a miraculous cure, and the fame of the miracle spread far and wide, and future pilgrims were not satisfied unless they too might be permitted the same high privilege. a drop of it used to be mixed with a chalice full of water, that the colour and flavour might not offend the senses, and they were allowed to taste of it. it wrought, says the abbot, miraculous cures; and so, not only vast crowds came to take this strange and unheard-of medicine, but those who came were anxious to take some of it home for their sick friends and neighbours. at first they put it into wooden vessels, but these were split by the liquid; and many of the fragments of these vessels were hung up about the martyr's tomb in token of this wonder. at last it came into the head of a certain young man to cast little flasks--_ampullæ_--of lead and pewter. and then the miracle of the breaking ceased, and they knew that it was the divine will that the canterbury medicine should be carried in these ampullæ throughout the world, and that these ampullæ should be recognised by all the world as the sign of this pilgrimage and these wonderful cures. at first the pilgrims had carried the wooden vases concealed under their clothes; but these ampullæ were carried suspended round the neck; and when the pilgrims reached home, says another authority,[ ] they hung these ampullæ in their churches for sacred relics, that the glory of the blessed martyr might be known throughout the world. some of these curious relics still exist. they are thin, flat on one side, and slightly rounded on the other, with two little ears or loops through which a cord might be passed to suspend them. the mouth might have been closed by solder, or even by folding over the edges of the metal. there is a little flask figured in gardner's "history of dunwich," pl. iii., which has a t upon the side of it, and which may very probably have been one of these ampullæ. but one of a much more elaborate and interesting type is here engraved, from an example preserved in the museum at york. the principal figure is a somewhat stern representation of the blessed archbishop; above is a rude representation of his shrine; and round the margin is the rhyming legend--"optimus egrorum: medicus fit thoma bonorum" ("thomas is the best physician for the pious sick"). on the reverse of the ampul is a design whose intention is not very clear; two monks or priests are apparently saying some service out of a book, and one of them is laying down a pastoral staff; perhaps it represents the shrine with its attendants. from the style of art, this design may be of the early part of the thirteenth century. but though this ampul is clearly designated by the monkish writers, whom we have quoted, as the special sign of the canterbury pilgrimage, there was another sign which seems to have been peculiar to it, and that is a bell. whether these bells were hand-bells, which the pilgrims carried in their hands, and rang from time to time, or whether they were little bells, like hawks' bells, fastened to their dress--as such bells sometimes were to a canon's cope--does not certainly appear. w. thorpe, in the passage hereafter quoted at length from fox, speaks of "the noise of their singing and the sound of their piping, and the jangling of their canterbury bells," as a body of pilgrims passed through a town. one of the prettiest of our wild-flowers, the _campanula rotundifolia_, which has clusters of blue, bell-like flowers, has obtained the common name of canterbury bells.[ ] there were other religious trinkets also sold and used by pilgrims as mementoes of their visit to the famous shrine. the most common of them seems to have been the head of st. thomas,[ ] cast in various ornamental devices, in silver or pewter; sometimes it was adapted to hang to a rosary,[ ] more usually, in the examples which remain to us, it was made into a brooch to be fastened upon the cap or hood, or dress. in mr. c. r. smith's "collectanea antiqua," vol. i. pl. , , , and vol. ii. pl. , , , there are representations of no less than fifty-one english and foreign pilgrims' signs, of which a considerable proportion are heads of st. thomas. the whole collection is very curious and interesting.[ ] [illustration: _the canterbury ampulla._] the ampul was not confined to st. thomas of canterbury. when his ampuls became so very popular, the guardians of the other famous shrines adopted it, and manufactured "waters," "aquæ reliquiarum," of their own. the relic of the saint, which they were so fortunate as to possess, was washed with or dipped in holy water, which was thereupon supposed to possess--diluted--the virtues of the relic itself. thus there was a "durham water," being the water in which the incorruptible body of st. cuthbert had been washed at its last exposure; and reginald of durham, in his book on the admirable virtues of the blessed cuthbert,[ ] tells us how it used to be carried away in ampuls, and mentions a special example in which a little of this pleasant medicine poured into the mouth of a sick man, cured him on the spot. the same old writer tells us how the water held in a bowl that once belonged to editha, queen and saint, in which a little bit of rag, which had once formed part of st. cuthbert's garments, was soaked, acquired from these two relics so much virtue that it brought back health and strength to a dying clerk who drank it. in gardner's "history of dunwich" (pl. iii.) we find drawings of ampullæ like those of st. thomas, one of which has upon its front a w surmounted by a crown, which it is conjectured may be the pilgrim sign of our lady of walsingham, and contained, perhaps, water from the holy wells at walsingham, hereinafter described. another has an r surmounted by one of the symbols of the blessed virgin, a lily in a pot; the author hazards a conjecture that it may be the sign of st. richard of chichester. the pilgrim who brought away one of these flasks of medicine, or one of these blessed relics, we may suppose, did not always hang it up in church as an _ex voto_, but sometimes preserved it carefully in his house for use in time of sickness, and would often be applied to by a sick neighbour for the gift of a portion of the precious fluid out of his ampul, or for a touch of the trinket which had touched the saint. in the "collectanea antiqua," is a facsimile of a piece of paper bearing a rude woodcut of the adoration of the magi, and an inscription setting forth that "ces billets ont touché aux troi testes de saints rois a cologne: ils sont pour les voyageurs contre les malheurs des chemins, maux de teste, mal caduque, fièures, sorcellerie, toute sorte de malefice, et morte soubite." it was found upon the person of one william jackson, who having been sentenced for murder in june, - , was found dead in prison a few hours before the time of his execution. it was the charmed billet, doubtless, which preserved him from the more ignominious death. we find a description of a pilgrim in full costume, and decorated with signs, in "piers ploughman's vision." he was apparelled-- "in pilgrym's wise. he bare a burdoun[ ] y-bounde with a broad list, in a withwinde-wise y-wounden about; a bolle[ ] and a bagge he bare by his side, an hundred of ampulles; on his hat seten signes of synay[ ] and shells of galice,[ ] and many a crouche[ ] on his cloke and keys of rome, and the vernicle before, for men sholde knowe, and se bi his signes, whom he sought hadde. these folk prayed[ ] hym first fro whence he came? 'from synay,' he seide, 'and from our lordes sepulcre: in bethlem and in babiloyne i have ben in bothe; in armonye[ ] and alesaundre, in many other places. ye may se by my signes, that sitten in my hat, that i have walked ful wide in weet and in drye, and sought good seintes for my soules helthe.'" the little bit of satire, for the sake of which this model pilgrim is introduced, is too telling--especially after the wretched superstitions which we have been noticing--to be omitted here. "knowest thou?" asks the ploughman-- "'kondest thou aught a cor-saint[ ] that men calle truthe? canst thou aught weten[ ] us the way where that wight dwelleth?'" "nay," replies the much-travelled pilgrim-- "'nay, so me god helpe, i saw nevere palmere with pyke and with scrippe ask after hym, ever til now in this place.'" chapter ii. our lady of walsingham and st. thomas of canterbury. we shall not wonder that these various pilgrimages were so popular as they were, when we learn that there were not only physical panaceas to be obtained, and spiritual pardons and immunities to be procured at the shrines of the saints, but that moreover the journey to them was often made a very pleasant holiday excursion. far be it from us to deny that there was many a pilgrim who undertook his pilgrimage in anything but a holiday spirit, and who made it anything but a gay excursion; many a man who sought, howbeit mistakenly, to atone for wrong done, by making himself an outcast upon earth, and submitting to the privations of mendicant pilgrimage; many a one who sought thus to escape out of reach of the stings of remorse; many a one who tore himself from home and the knowledge of friends, and went to foreign countries to hide his shame from the eyes of those who knew him. certainly, here and there, might have been met a man or a woman, whose coarse sackcloth robe, girded to the naked skin, and unshod feet, were signs of real if mistaken penitence; and who carried grievous memories and a sad heart through every mile of his weary way. we give here, from hans burgmaier's "images de saints, &c., de la famille de l'empereur maximilian i.," a very excellent illustration of a pilgrim of this class. but this was not the general character of the home pilgrimages of which we are especially speaking. in the great majority of cases they seem to have been little more than a pleasant religious holiday.[ ] no doubt the general intention was devotional; very likely it was often in a moment of religious fervour that the vow was taken; the religious ceremony with which the journey was begun, must have had a solemnising effect; and doubtless when the pilgrim knelt at the shrine, an unquestioning faith in all the tales which he had heard of its sanctity and occasional miraculous power, and the imposing effect of the scene, would affect his mind with an unusual religious warmth and exaltation. but between the beginning and the end of the pilgrimage there was a long interval, which we say--not in a censorious spirit--was usually occupied by a very pleasant excursion. the same fine work which has supplied us with so excellent an illustration of an ascetic pilgrim, affords another equally valuable companion-picture of a pilgrim of the more usual class. he travels on foot, indeed, staff in hand, but he is comfortably shod and clad; and while the one girds his sackcloth shirt to his bare body with an iron chain, the other has his belt well furnished with little conveniences of travel. it is quite clear that the journey was not necessarily on foot, the voluntary pilgrims might ride if they preferred it.[ ] nor did they beg their bread as penitential pilgrims did; but put good store of money in their purse at starting, and ambled easily along the green roads, and lived well at the comfortable inns along their way. [illustration: _pilgrim in hair shirt and cloak._] in many instances when the time of pilgrimage is mentioned, we find that it was the spring; chaucer's pilgrims started-- "when that april with his showerés sote the drouth of march had perced to the root;" and fosbroke "apprehends that lent was the usual time for these pilgrimages." it was the custom for the pilgrims to associate in companies; indeed, since they travelled the same roads, about the same time of year, and stopped at the same inns and hospitals, it was inevitable; and they seem to have taken pains to make the journey agreeable to one another. chaucer's "hoste of the tabard" says to his guests:-- "ye go to canterbury: god you speed, the blisful martyr quité you your mede; and well i wot, as ye go by the way, ye shapen you to talken and to play; for trewely comfort and worthe is none, to riden by the way dumb as a stone." even the poor penitential pilgrim who travelled barefoot did not travel, all the way at least, on the hard and rough highway. special roads seem to have been made to the great shrines. thus the "pilgrim's road" may still be traced across kent, almost from london to canterbury; and if the londoner wishes for a pleasant and interesting home excursion, he may put a scrip on his back, and take a bourdon in his hand, and make a summer's pilgrimage on the track of chaucer's pilgrims. the pilgrim's road to walsingham is still known as the "palmer's way" and the "walsingham green way." it may be traced along the principal part of its course for sixty miles in the diocese of norwich. the common people used to call the milky way the walsingham way. dr. rock tells us[ ] that "besides its badge, each pilgrimage had also its gathering cry, which the pilgrims shouted out as, at the grey of morn, they slowly crept through the town or hamlet where they had slept that night." by calling aloud upon god for help, and begging the intercession of that saint to whose shrine they were wending, they bade all their fellow pilgrims to come forth upon their road and begin another day's march.[ ] after having said their prayers and told their beads, occasionally did they strive to shorten the weary length of the way by song and music. as often as a crowd of pilgrims started together from one place, they seem always to have hired a few singers and one or two musicians to go with them. just before reaching any town, they drew themselves up into a line, and thus walked through its streets in procession, singing and ringing their little hand-bells, with a player on the bagpipes at their head. they ought in strictness, perhaps, to have been psalms which they sung, and the tales with which they were accustomed to lighten the way ought to have been saintly legends and godly discourses; but in truth they were of very varied character, according to the character of the individual pilgrims. the songs were often love-songs; and though chaucer's poor parson of a town preached a sermon and was listened to, yet the romances of chivalry or the loose faiblieux which were current probably formed the majority of the real "canterbury tales." in foxe's "acts and monuments," we have a very graphic and amusing little sketch of a company of pilgrims passing through a town:-- w. thorpe tells archbishop arundel, "when diverse men and women will go thus after their own willes, and finding out one pilgrimage, they will order with them before to have with them both men and women that can well synge wanton songs; and some other pilgrims will have with them bagge-pipes, so that every towne they come throwe, what with the noyse of their singing and with the sound of their pipyng, and with the jingling of their canterbury belles, and with barking out of dogges after them, that they make more noise than if the kinge came there awaye with all his clarions, and many other minstrelles. and if these men and women be a moneth on their pilgrimage, many of them shall be an half year after great janglers, tale-tellers, and liars." the archbishop defends the fashion, and gives us further information on the subject, saying "that pilgremys have with them both syngers and also pipers, that when one of them that goeth barefoote striketh his toe upon a stone, and hurteth him sore, and maketh him to blede, it is well done that he or his fellow begyn than a songe, or else take out of his bosom a bagge-pipe, for to drive away with such myrthe the hurte of his fellow; for with soche solace the travell and weriness of pylgremes is lightly and merily broughte forth." erasmus's colloquy entitled "peregrinatio religionis ergo," enables us to accompany the pilgrim to the shrine of our lady of walsingham, and to join him in his devotions at the shrine. we shall throw together the most interesting portions of the narrative from mr. j. g. nichols's translation of it. "it is," he says, "the most celebrated place throughout all england,[ ] nor could you easily find in that island the man who ventures to reckon on prosperity unless he yearly salute her with some small offering according to his ability." "the town of walsingham," he says, "is maintained by scarcely anything else but the number of its visitors." the shrine of our lady was not within the priory church; but on the north side was the wooden chapel dedicated to "our lady," about twenty-three feet by thirteen, enclosed within a chapel of stone forty-eight feet by thirty, which erasmus describes as unfinished. on the west of the church was another wooden building, in which were two holy wells also dedicated to the virgin. erasmus describes these "holy places." "within the church, which i have called unfinished, is a small chapel made of wainscot, and admitting the devotees on each side by a narrow little door. the light is small, indeed scarcely any but from the wax lights. a most grateful fragrance meets the nostrils. when you look in, you would say it was the mansion of the saints, so much does it glitter on all sides with jewels, gold, and silver. in the inner chapel one canon attends to receive and take charge of the offerings," which the pilgrims placed upon the altar. "to the east of this is a chapel full of wonders. thither i go. another guide receives me. there we worshipped for a short time. presently the joint of a man's finger is exhibited to us, the largest of three; i kiss it; and then i ask whose relics were these? he says, st. peter's. the apostle? i ask. he said, yes. then observing the size of the joint, which might have been that of a giant, i remarked, peter must have been a man of very large size. at this, one of my companions burst into a laugh; which i certainly took ill, for if he had been quiet the attendant would have shown us all the relics. however, we pacified him by offering a few pence. before the chapel was a shed, which they say was suddenly, in the winter season, when everything was covered with snow, brought thither from a great distance. under this shed are two wells full to the brink; they say the spring is sacred to the holy virgin. the water is wonderfully cold, and efficacious in curing the pains of the head and stomach. we next turned towards the heavenly milk of the blessed virgin" (kept apparently in another chapel); "that milk is kept on the high-altar; in the centre of which is christ; at his right hand for honour's sake, his mother; for the milk personifies the mother. as soon as the canon in attendance saw us, he rose, put on his surplice, added the stole to his neck, prostrated himself with due ceremony, and worshipped; anon he stretched forth the thrice-holy milk to be kissed by us. on this, we also, on the lowest step of the altar, religiously fell prostrate; and having first called upon christ, we addressed the virgin with a little prayer like this, which i had prepared for the purpose.... "'a very pious prayer; what reply did she make?' "each appeared to assent, if my eyes were not deceived. for the holy milk seemed to leap a little, and the eucharist shone somewhat brighter. meanwhile the ministering canon approached us, saying nothing, but holding out a little box, such as are presented by the toll collectors on the bridges in germany. i gave a few pence, which he offered to the virgin." the visitor on this occasion being a distinguished person, and performing a trifling service for the canons, was presented by the sub-prior with a relic. "he then drew from a bag a fragment of wood, cut from a beam on which the virgin mother had been seen to rest. a wonderful fragrance at once proved it to be a thing extremely sacred. for my part, having received so distinguished a present, prostrate and with uncovered head, i kissed it three or four times with the highest veneration, and placed it in my purse. i would not exchange that fragment, small as it is, for all the gold in the tagus. i will enclose it in gold, but so that it may shine through crystal." he is also shown some relics not shown to ordinary visitors. "several wax candles are lighted, and a small image is produced, neither excelling in material nor workmanship; but in virtue most efficacious. he then exhibited the golden and silver statues. 'this one,' says he, 'is entirely of gold; this is silver gilt; he added the weight of each, its value, and the name of the donor.[ ] then he drew forth from the altar itself, a world of admirable things, the individual articles of which, if i were to proceed to describe, this day would not suffice for the relation. so that pilgrimage terminated most fortunately for me. i was abundantly gratified with sights; and i bring away this inestimable gift, a token bestowed by the virgin herself. "'have you made no trial of the powers of your wood?' "i have: in an inn, before the end of three days, i found a man afflicted in mind, for whom charms were then in preparation. this piece of wood was placed under his pillow, unknown to himself; he fell into a sleep equally deep and prolonged; in the morning he rose of whole mind." * * * * * chaucer left his account of the canterbury pilgrimage incomplete; but another author, soon after chaucer's death, wrote a supplement to his great work, which, however inferior in genius to the work of the great master, yet admirably serves our purpose of giving a graphic contemporary picture of the doings of a company of pilgrims to st. thomas, when arrived at their destination. erasmus, too, in the colloquy already so largely quoted, enables us to add some details to the picture. the pilgrims of chaucer's continuator arrived in canterbury at "mydmorowe." erasmus tells us what they saw as they approached the city. "the church dedicated to st. thomas, erects itself to heaven with such majesty, that even from a distance it strikes religious awe into the beholders.... there are two vast towers that seem to salute the visitor from afar, and make the surrounding country far and wide resound with the wonderful booming of their brazen bells." being arrived, they took up their lodgings at the "chequers."[ ] "they toke their in and loggit them at midmorowe i trowe atte cheker of the hope, that many a man doth know." and mine host of the "tabard," in southwark, their guide, having given the necessary orders for their dinner, they all proceeded to the cathedral to make their offerings at the shrine of st. thomas. at the church door they were sprinkled with holy water as they entered. the knight and the better sort of the company went straight to their devotions; but some of the pilgrims of a less educated class, began to wander about the nave of the church, curiously admiring all the objects around them. the miller and his companions entered into a warm discussion concerning the arms in the painted glass windows. at length the host of the "tabard" called them together and reproved them for their negligence, whereupon they hastened to make their offerings:-- "then passed they forth boystly gogling with their hedds kneeled down to-fore the shrine, and hertily their beads they prayed to st. thomas, in such wise as they couth; and sith the holy relikes each man with his mouth kissed, as a goodly monk the names told and taught. and sith to other places of holyness they raught, and were in their devocioune tyl service were al done." erasmus gives a very detailed account of these "holy relikes," and of the "other places of holiness":-- "on your entrance [by the south porch] the edifice at once displays itself in all its spaciousness and majesty. to that part any one is admitted. there are some books fixed to the pillars, and the monument of i know not whom. the iron screens stop further progress, but yet admit a view of the whole space, from the choir to the end of the church. to the choir you mount by many steps, under which is a passage leading to the north. at that spot is shown a wooden altar, dedicated to the virgin, but mean, nor remarkable in any respect, unless as a monument of antiquity, putting to shame the extravagance of these times. there the pious old man is said to have breathed his last farewell to the virgin when his death was at hand. on the altar is the point of the sword with which the head of the most excellent prelate was cleft, and his brain stirred, that he might be the more instantly despatched. the sacred rust of this iron, through love of the martyr, we religiously kissed. leaving this spot, we descended to the crypt. it has its own priests. there was first exhibited the perforated skull of the martyr, the forehead is left bare to be kissed, while the other parts are covered with silver. at the same time is shown a slip of lead, engraved with his name _thomas acrensis_.[ ] there also hang in the dark the hair shirts, the girdles and bandages with which that prelate subdued his flesh; striking horror with their very appearance, and reproaching us with our indulgence and our luxuries. from hence we returned into the choir. on the north side the aumbrics were unlocked. it is wonderful to tell what a quantity of bones was there brought out: skulls, jaw-bones, teeth, hands, fingers, entire arms; on all which we devoutly bestowed our kisses; and the exhibition seemed likely to last for ever, if my somewhat unmanageable companion in that pilgrimage had not interrupted the zeal of the showman. "'did he offend the priest?' "when an arm was brought forward which had still the bloody flesh adhering, he drew back from kissing it, and even betrayed some weariness. the priest presently shut up his treasures. we next viewed the table of the altar, and its ornaments, and then the articles which are kept under the altar, all most sumptuous; you would say midas and croesus were beggars if you saw that vast assemblage of gold and silver. after this we were led into the sacristy. what a display was there of silken vestments, what an array of golden candlesticks!... from this place we were conducted back to the upper floor, for behind the high-altar you ascend again as into a new church. there, in a little chapel, is shown the whole figure of the excellent man, gilt and adorned with many jewels. then the head priest (prior) came forward. he opened to us the shrine in which what is left of the body of the holy man is said to rest. a wooden canopy covers the shrine, and when that is drawn up with ropes, inestimable treasures are opened to view. the least valuable part was gold; every part glistened, shone, and sparkled with rare and very large jewels, some of them exceeding the size of a goose's egg. there some monks stood around with much veneration; the cover being raised we all worshipped. the prior with a white rod pointed out each jewel, telling its name in french, its value, and the name of its donor, for the principal of them were offerings sent by sovereign princes.... from hence we returned to the crypt, where the virgin mother has her abode, but a somewhat dark one, being edged in by more than one screen. "'what was she afraid of?' "nothing, i imagine, but thieves; for i have never seen anything more burdened with riches. when lamps were brought, we beheld a more than royal spectacle.... lastly we were conducted back to the sacristy; there was brought out a box covered with black leather; it was laid upon the table and opened; immediately all knelt and worshipped. "'what was in it?' "some torn fragments of linen, and most of them retaining marks of dirt.... after offering us a cup of wine, the prior courteously dismissed us." when chaucer's pilgrims had seen such of this magnificence as existed in their earlier time, noon approaching, they gathered together and went to their dinner. before they left the church, however, they bought signs "as the manner was," to show to all men that they had performed this meritorious act. "there as manere and custom is, signes there they bought for men of contre' should know whom they had sought. each man set his silver in such thing as they liked, and in the meen while the miller had y-piked his bosom full of signys of canterbury broches. others set their signys upon their hedes, and some upon their cap, and sith to dinner-ward they gan for to stapp." the appearance of these shrines and their surroundings is brought before our eyes by the pictures in a beautiful volume of lydgate's "history of st. edmund" in the british museum (harl. , ). at f. is a representation of the shrine of st. edmund in the abbey church of st. edmund's bury. at f. a still better representation of it, showing the iron grille which enclosed it, a monk worshipping at it, and a clerk with a wand, probably the custodian whose duty it was to show the various jewels and relics--as the prior did to erasmus at canterbury. at f. is another shrine, with some people about it who have come in the hope of receiving miraculous cures; still another at f. v., with pilgrims praying round it. at f. a shrine, with two monks in a stall beside it saying an office, a clerk and others present. at f. v. a shrine with a group of monks. other representations of shrines (all no doubt intended to represent the one shrine of st. edmund, but differing in details) are to be found at f. v., , &c. in the ms. roman "d'alexandre," of the latter half of the fourteenth century, in the bodleian library, at f. , , is a very good representation of the shrine of st. thomas the apostle, with several people about it, and in front are two pilgrims in rough habits, a broad hat slung over the shoulder, and a staff. we have hitherto spoken of male pilgrims; but it must be borne in mind that women of all ranks were frequently to be found on pilgrimage;[ ] and all that has been said of the costume and habits of the one sex applies equally to the other. we give here a cut of a female pilgrim with scrip, staff, and hat, from pl. of strutt's "dresses and habits of the people of england," who professes to take it from the harleian ms. . we also give a picture of a pilgrim monk (cotton. ms. tiberius, a. .) who bears the staff and scrip, but is otherwise habited in the proper costume of his order. [illustration: _female pilgrim._ (strutt, pl. .)] [illustration: _pilgrim monk._] when the pilgrim had returned safely home, it was but natural and proper that as he had been sent forth with the blessing and prayers of the church, he should present himself again in church to give thanks for the accomplishment of his pilgrimage and his safe return. we do not find in the service-books--as we might have expected--any special service for this occasion, but we find sufficient indications that it was the practice. knighton tells us, for example, of the famous guy, earl of warwick, that on his return from his pilgrimage to the holy land, before he took any refreshment, he went to all the churches in the city to return thanks. du cange tells us that palmers were received on their return home with ecclesiastical processions; but perhaps this was only in the case of men of some social importance. we have the details of one such occasion on record:[ ] william de mandeville, earl of essex, assumed the cross, and after procuring suitable necessaries, took with him a retinue, and among them a chaplain to perform divine offices, for all of whom he kept a daily table. before he set out he went to gilbert, bishop of london, for his license and benediction. he travelled by land as far as rome, over france, burgundy, and the alps, leaving his horse at mantua. he visited every holy place in jerusalem and on his route; made his prayers and offerings at each; and so returned. upon his arrival, he made presents of silk cloths to all the churches of his see, for copes or coverings of the altars. the monks of walden met him in procession, in albes and copes, singing, "blessed is he who cometh in the name of the lord;" and the earl coming to the high-altar, and there prostrating himself, the prior gave him the benediction. after this he rose, and kneeling, offered some precious relics in an ivory box, which he had obtained in jerusalem and elsewhere. this offering concluded, he rose, and stood before the altar; the prior and convent singing the _te deum_. leaving the church he went to the chapter, to give and receive the kiss of peace from the prior and monks. a sumptuous entertainment followed for himself and his suite; and the succeeding days were passed in visits to relatives and friends, who congratulated him on his safe return. [illustration: from "le pélerinage de la vie humaine" (french national library).] du cange says that palmers used to present their scrips and staves to their parish churches. and coryatt[ ] says that he saw cockle and mussel shells, and beads, and other religious relics, hung up over the door of a little chapel in a nunnery, which, says fosbroke, were offerings made by pilgrims on their return from compostella. the illuminated ms., julius e. vi., illustrates, among other events of the life of richard beauchamp, earl of warwick, various scenes of his pilgrimage to rome and to jerusalem. in an illumination (subsequently engraved in the chapter on merchants) he is seen embarking in his own ship; in another, he is presented to the pope and cardinals at rome[ ] (subsequently engraved in the chapter on secular clergy); in another, he is worshipping at the holy sepulchre, where he hung up his shield in remembrance of his accomplished vow. the additional ms. , , is part of st. john mandeville's history of his travels, and its illuminations in some respects illustrate the voyage of a pilgrim of rank. hans burgmaier's "images de saints," &c.,--from which we take the figure on the next page,--affords us a very excellent contemporary illustration of a pilgrim of high rank, with his attendants, all in pilgrim costume, and wearing the signs which show us that their pilgrimage has been successfully accomplished. those who had taken any of the greater pilgrimages would probably be regarded with a certain respect and reverence by their untravelled neighbours, and the agnomen of palmer or pilgrim, which would naturally be added to their christian name--as william the palmer, or john the pilgrim--is doubtless the origin of two sufficiently common surnames. the tokens of pilgrimage sometimes even accompanied a man to his grave, and were sculptured on his monument. shells have not unfrequently been found in stone coffins, and are taken with great probability to be relics of the pilgrimage, which the deceased had once taken to compostella, and which as sacred things, and having a certain religious virtue, were strewed over him as he was carried upon his bier in the funeral procession, and were placed with him in his grave. for example, when the grave of bishop mayhew, who died in , in hereford cathedral, was opened some years ago, there was found lying by his side, a common, rough, hazel wand, between four and five feet long, and about as thick as a man's finger; and with it a mussel and a few oyster-shells. four other instances of such hazel rods, without accompanying shells, buried with ecclesiastics, had previously been observed in the same cathedral.[ ] the tomb of abbot cheltenham, at tewkesbury, has the spandrels ornamented with shields charged with scallop shells, and the pilgrim staff and scrip are sculptured on the bosses of the groining of the canopy over the tomb. there is a gravestone at haltwhistle, northumberland, to which we have already more than once had occasion to refer,[ ] on which is the usual device of a cross sculptured in relief, and on one side of the shaft of the cross are laid a sword and shield, charged with the arms of blenkinsop, a fess between three garbs, indicating, we presume, that the deceased was a knight; on the other side of the shaft of the cross are laid a palmer's staff, and a scrip, bearing also garbs, and indicating that the knight had been a pilgrim. [illustration: _pilgrim on horseback._] in the church of ashby-de-la-zouch, leicestershire, there is, under a monumental arch in the wall of the north aisle, a recumbent effigy, a good deal defaced, of a man in pilgrim weeds. a tunic or gown reaches half-way down between the knee and ankle, and he has short pointed laced boots; a hat with its margin decorated with scallop-shells lies under his head, his scrip tasselled and charged with scallop-shells is at his right side, and his rosary on his left, and his staff is laid diagonally across the body. the costly style of the monument,[ ] the lion at his feet, and above all a collar of ss. round his neck, prove that the person thus commemorated was a person of distinction. in the churchyard of llanfihangel-aber-cowen, carmarthenshire, there are three graves,[ ] which are assigned by the local tradition to three holy palmers, "who wandered thither in poverty and distress, and being about to perish for want, slew each other: the last survivor buried his fellows and then himself in one of the graves which they had prepared, and pulling the stone over him, left it, as it is, ill adjusted." two of the headstones have very rude demi-effigies, with a cross patée sculptured upon them. in one of the graves were found, some years ago, the bones of a female or youth, and half-a-dozen scallop-shells. there are also, among the curious symbols which appear on mediæval coffin-stones, some which are very likely intended for pilgrim staves. there is one at woodhorn, northumberland, engraved in the "manual of sepulchral slabs and crosses," and another at alnwick-le-street, yorkshire, is engraved in gough's "sepulchral monuments," vol. i. it may be that these were men who had made a vow of perpetual pilgrimage, or who died in the midst of an unfinished pilgrimage, and therefore the pilgrim insignia were placed upon their monuments. if every man and woman who had made a pilgrimage had had its badges carved upon their tombs, we should surely have found many other tombs thus designated; but, indeed, we have the tombs of men who we know had accomplished pilgrimages to jerusalem, but have no pilgrim insignia upon their tombs. other illustrations of pilgrim costume may be found scattered throughout the illuminated mss. references to some of the best of them are here added. in the royal, , , at f. , is a good drawing of st. james as a pilgrim. in the add. ms. , , at f. , another of the pilgrim saints with scrip and staff; in the ms. nero e , a half-length of the saint with a scallop-shell in his hat; in the ms. , , of early sixteenth-century date, at f. v., another. in lydgate's "history of st. edmund," already quoted for its pictures of shrines, there are also several good pictures of pilgrims. on f. is a group of three pilgrims, who appear again in different parts of the history, twice on page , and again at and . at f. the three pilgrims have built themselves a hermitage and chapel, surrounded by a fence of wicker-work. in henry vii.'s chapel, westminster, the figure of a pilgrim is frequently introduced in the ornamental sculpture of the side chapels and on the reredos, in allusion, no doubt, to the pilgrims who figure in the legendary history of st. edmund the confessor. having followed the pilgrim to his very tomb, there we pause. we cannot but satirise the troops of mere religious holiday-makers, who rode a pleasant summer's holiday through the green roads of merry england, feasting at the inns, singing amorous songs, and telling loose stories by the way; going through a round of sight-seeing at the end of it; and drinking foul water in which a dead man's blood had been mingled, or a dead man's bones had been washed. but let us be allowed to indulge the hope that every act of real, honest, self-denial--however mistaken--in remorse for sin, for the sake of purity, or for the honour of religion, did benefit the honest, though mistaken devotee. is _our_ religion so perfect and so pure, and is _our_ practice so exactly accordant with it, that we can afford to sit in severe judgment upon honest, self-denying error? the secular clergy of the middle ages. chapter i. the parochial clergy. the present organisation of the church of england dates from the council of hertford, a.d. . before that time the saxon people were the object of missionary operations, carried on by two independent bodies, the italian mission, having its centre at canterbury, and the celtic mission, in iona. the bishops who had been sent from one or other of these sources into the several kingdoms of the heptarchy, gathered a body of clergy about them, with whom they lived in common at the cathedral town; thence they made missionary progresses through the towns and villages of the saxon "bush;" returning always to the cathedral as their head-quarters and home. the national churches which sprang from these two sources were kept asunder by some differences of discipline and ceremonial rather than of doctrine. these differences were reconciled at the council of hertford, and all the churches there and then recognised theodore, archbishop of canterbury, as the metropolitan of all england. to the same archbishop we owe the establishment of the parochial organisation of the church of england, which has ever since continued. he pointed out to the people the advantage of having the constant ministrations of a regular pastor, instead of the occasional visits of a missionary. he encouraged the thanes to provide a dwelling-house and a parcel of glebe for the clergyman's residence; and permitted that the tithe of each manor--which the thane had hitherto paid into the common church-fund of the bishop--should henceforth be paid to the resident pastor, for his own maintenance and the support of his local hospitalities and charities; and lastly, he permitted each thane to select the pastor for his own manor out of the general body of the clergy. thus naturally grew the whole establishment of the church of england; thus each kingdom of the heptarchy became, in ecclesiastical language, a diocese, each manor a parish; and thus the patronage of the benefices of england became vested in the lords of the manors. at the same time that a rector was thus gradually settled in every parish, with rights and duties which soon became defined, and sanctioned by law, the bishop continued to keep a body of clergy about him in the cathedral, whose position also gradually became defined and settled. the number of clergy in the cathedral establishment became settled, and they acquired the name of canons; they were organised into a collegiate body, with a dean and other officers. the estates of the bishops were distinguished from those of the body of canons. each canon had his own house within the walled space about the cathedral, which was called the close, and a share in the common property of the chapter. besides the canons, thus limited in number, there gradually arose a necessity for other clergymen to fulfil the various duties of a cathedral. these received stipends, and lodged where they could in the town; but in time these additional clergy also were organised into a corporation, and generally some benefactor was found to build them a quadrangle of little houses within, or hard by, the close, and often to endow their corporation with lands and livings. the vicars' close at wells is a very good and well-known example of these supplementary establishments. it is a long quadrangle, with little houses on each side, a hall at one end, and a library at the other, and a direct communication with the cathedral. there also arose in process of time many collegiate churches in the kingdom, which, resembled the cathedral establishments of secular canons in every respect, except that no bishop had his see within their church. some of the churches of these colleges of secular canons were architecturally equal to the cathedrals. southwell minster, for example, is not even equalled by many of the cathedral churches. it would occupy too much space to enter into any details of the constitution of these establishments. these canons may usually be recognised in pictures by their costume. the most characteristic features were the square cap and the furred amys. the amys was a fur cape worn over the shoulders, with a hood attached, and usually has a fringe of the tails of the fur or sometimes of little bells, and two long ends in front. in the accompanying very beautiful woodcut we have a semi-choir of secular canons, seated in their stalls in the cathedral, with the bishop in his stall at the west end. they are habited in surplices, ornamented with needlework, beneath which may be seen their robes, some pink, some blue in colour.[ ] one in the subsellæ seems to have his furred amys thrown over the arm of his stall; his right-hand neighbour seems to have his hanging over his shoulder. he, and one in the upper stalls, have round skull caps (birettas); others have the hood on their heads, where it assumes a horned shape, which may be seen in other pictures of canons. the woodcut is part of a full-page illumination of the interior of a church, in the book of hours of richard ii., in the british museum (domit. xvii.). [illustration] these powerful ecclesiastical establishments continued to flourish throughout the middle ages; their histories must be sought in dugdale's "monasticon," or britton's or murray's "cathedrals," or the monographs of the several cathedrals. in the registers of the cathedrals there exists also a vast amount of unpublished matter, which would supply all the little life-like details that historians usually pass by, but which we need to enable us really to enter into the cathedral life of the middle ages. the world is indebted to mr. raine for the publication of some such details from the registry of york, in the very interesting "york fabric rolls," which he edited for the surtees society. to return to the saxon rectors. by the end of the saxon period of our history we find the whole kingdom divided into parishes, and in each a rector resident. probably the rectors were often related to the lords of the manors, as is natural in the case of family livings; they were not a learned clergy; speaking generally they were a married clergy; in other respects, too, they did not affect the ascetic spirit of monasticism; they ate and drank like other people; farmed their own glebes; spent a good deal of their leisure in hawking and hunting, like their brothers, and cousins, and neighbours; but all their interests were in the people and things of their own parishes; they seem to have performed their clerical functions fairly well; and they were bountiful to the poor; in short, they seem to have had the virtues and failings of the country rectors of a hundred years ago. after the norman conquest several causes concurred to deprive a large majority of the parishes of the advantage of the cure of well-born, well-endowed rectors, and to supply their places by ill-paid vicars and parochial chaplains. first among these causes we may mention the evil of impropriations, from which so many of our parishes are yet suffering, and of which this is a brief explanation. just before the norman conquest there was a great revival of the monastic principle; several new orders of monks had been founded; and the religious feeling of the age set in strongly in favour of these religious communities which then, at least, were learned, industrious, and self-denying. the normans founded many new monasteries in england, and not only endowed them with lands and manors, but introduced the custom of endowing them also with the rectories of which they were patrons. they gave the benefice to the convent, and the convent, as a religious corporation, took upon itself the office of rector, and provided a vicar to perform the spiritual duties of the cure. the apportionment of the temporalities of the benefice usually was, that the convent took the great tithe, which formed the far larger portion of the benefice, and gave the vicar the small tithe, and (if it were not too large) the rectory-house and glebe for his maintenance. the position of a poor vicar, it is easy to see, was very different in dignity and emolument, and in prestige in the eyes of his parishioners, and the means of conferring temporal benefits upon them, from that of the old rectors his predecessors in the cure. by the time of the reformation, about half of the livings of england and wales had thus become impropriate to monasteries, cathedral chapters, corporations, guilds, &c.; and since the great tithe was not restored to the parishes at the dissolution of the religious houses, but granted to laymen together with the abbey-lands, about half the parishes of england are still suffering from this perversion of the ancient saxon endowments. another cause of the change in the condition of the parochial clergy was the custom of papal provisors. the popes, in the thirteenth century, gradually assumed a power of nominating to vacant benefices. gregory ix. and innocent iv., who ruled the church in the middle of this century, are said to have presented italian priests to all the best benefices in england. many of these foreigners, having preferment in their own country, never came near their cures, but employed parish chaplains to fulfil their duties, and sometimes neglected to do even that. edward iii. resisted this invasion of the rights of the patrons of english livings, and in the time of richard ii. it was finally stopped by the famous statute of præmunire (a.d. ). the custom of allowing one man to hold several livings was another means of depriving parishes of a resident rector, and handing them over to the care of a curate. the extent to which this system of pluralities was carried in the middle ages seems almost incredible; we even read of one man having from four to five hundred benefices. another less known abuse was the custom of presenting to benefices men who had taken only the minor clerical orders. a glance at the lists of incumbents of benefices in any good county history will reveal the fact that rectors of parishes were often only deacons, sub-deacons, or acolytes.[ ] it is clear that in many of these cases--probably in the majority of them--the men had taken a minor order only to qualify themselves for holding the temporalities of a benefice, and never proceeded to the priesthood at all; they employed a chaplain to perform their spiritual functions for them, while they enjoyed the fruits of the benefice as if it were a lay fee, the minor order which they had taken imposing no restraint upon their living an entirely secular life.[ ] it is clear that a considerable number of priests were required to perform the duties of the numerous parishes whose rectors were absent or in minor orders, who seem to have been called parochial chaplains. the emolument and social position of these parochial chaplains were not such as to make the office a desirable one; and it would seem that the candidates for it were, to a great extent, drawn from the lower classes of the people. chaucer tells us of his poor parson of a town, whose description we give below, that "with him there was a _ploughman_ was his brother." in the norwich corporation records of the time of henry viii. ( a.d.), there is a copy of the examination of "sir william green," in whose sketch of his own life, though he was only a pretended priest, we have a curious history of the way in which many a poor man's son did really attain the priesthood. he was the son of a labouring man, learned grammar at the village grammar school for two years, and then went to day labour with his father. afterwards removing to boston, he lived with his aunt, partly labouring for his living, and going to school as he had opportunity. being evidently a clerkly lad, he was admitted to the minor orders, up to that of acolyte, at the hands of "friar graunt," who was a suffragan bishop in the diocese of lincoln. after that he went to cambridge, where, as at boston, he partly earned a livelihood by his labour, and partly availed himself of the opportunities of learning which the university offered, getting his meat and drink of alms. at length, having an opportunity of going to rome, with two monks of whitby abbey (perhaps in the capacity of attendant, one edward prentis being of the company, who was, perhaps, his fellow-servant to the two monks), he there endeavoured to obtain the order of the priesthood, which seems to have been conferred rather indiscriminately at rome, and without a "title;" but in this he was unsuccessful. after his return to england he laboured for his living, first with his brother in essex, then at cambridge, then at boston, then in london. at last he went to cambridge again, and, by the influence of mr. coney, obtained of the vice-chancellor a licence under seal to collect subscriptions for one year towards an exhibition to complete his education in the schools, as was often done by poor scholars.[ ] had he obtained money enough, completed his education, and obtained ordination in due course, it would have completed the story in a regular way. but here he fell into bad hands, forged first a new poor scholar's licence, and then letters of orders, and then wandered about begging alms as an unfortunate, destitute priest; he may furnish us with a type of the idle and vagabond priests, of whom there were only too many in the country, and of whom sir thomas more says, "the order is rebuked by the priests' begging and lewd living, which either is fain to walk at rovers and live upon trentals (thirty days' masses), or worse, or to serve in a secular man's house."[ ] the original of this sketch is given at length in the note below.[ ] this custom of poor scholars gaining their livelihood and the means of prosecuting their studies by seeking alms was very common. it should be noticed here that the church in the middle ages was the chief ladder by which men of the lower ranks were able to climb up--and vast numbers did climb up--into the upper ranks of society, to be clergymen, and monks, and abbots, and bishops, statesmen, and popes. piers ploughman, in a very illiberal strain, makes it a subject of reproach-- "now might each sowter[ ] his son setten to schole, and each beggar's brat in the book learne, and worth to a writer and with a lorde dwelle, or falsly to a frere the fiend for to serven. so of that beggar's brat a bishop that worthen, among the peers of the land prese to sythen; and lordes sons lowly to the lorde's loute, knyghtes crooketh hem to, and coucheth ful lowe; and his sire a sowter y-soiled with grees,[ ] his teeth with toyling of lether battered as a sawe." the church was the great protector and friend of the lower classes of society, and that on the highest grounds. in this very matter of educating the children of the poor, and opening to such as were specially gifted a suitable career, we find so late as the date of the reformation, cranmer maintaining the rights of the poor on high grounds. for among the royal commissioners for reorganising the cathedral establishment at canterbury "were more than one or two who would have none admitted to the grammar school but sons or younger brothers of gentlemen. as for others, husbandmen's children, they were more used, they said, for the plough and to be artificers than to occupy the place of the learned sort. whereto the archbishop said that poor men's children are many times endowed with more singular gifts of nature, which are also the gifts of god, as eloquence, memory, apt pronunciation, sobriety, and such like; and also commonly more apt to study than is the gentleman's son, more delicately educated. hereunto it was, on the other part, replied that it was for the ploughman's son to go to plough, and the artificer's son to apply to the trade of his parent's vocation; and the gentleman's children are used to have the knowledge of government and rule of the commonwealth. 'i grant,' replied the archbishop, 'much of your meaning herein as needful in a commonwealth; but yet utterly to exclude the ploughman's son and the poor man's son from the benefit of learning, as though they were unworthy to have the gifts of the holy ghost bestowed upon them as well as upon others, was much as to say as that almighty god should not be at liberty to bestow his great gifts of grace upon any person, but as we and other men shall appoint them to be employed according to our fancy, and not according to his most goodly will and pleasure, who giveth his gifts of learning and other perfections in all sciences unto all kinds and states of people indifferently." * * * * * besides the rectors and vicars of parishes, there was another class of beneficed clergymen in the middle ages, who gradually became very numerous, viz., the chantry priests. by the end of the ante-reformation period there was hardly a church in the kingdom which had not one or more chantries founded in it, and endowed for the perpetual maintenance of a chantry priest, to say mass daily for ever for the soul's health of the founder and his family. the churches of the large and wealthy towns had sometimes ten or twelve such chantries. the chantry chapel was sometimes built on to the parish church, and opening into it; sometimes it was only a corner of the church screened off from the rest of the area by openwork wooden screens. the chantry priest had sometimes a chantry-house to live in, and estates for his maintenance, sometimes he had only an annual income, charged on the estate of the founder. the chantries were suppressed, and their endowments confiscated, in the reign of edward vi., but the chantry chapels still remain as part of our parish churches, and where the parclose screens have long since been removed, the traces of the chantry altar are still very frequently apparent to the eye of the ecclesiastical antiquary. sometimes more than one priest was provided for by wealthy people. richard iii. commenced the foundation of a chantry of one hundred chaplains, to sing masses in the cathedral church of york; the chantry-house was begun, and six altars were erected in york minster, when the king's death at bosworth field interrupted the completion of the magnificent design.[ ] we have next to add to our enumeration of the various classes of the mediæval clergy another class of chaplains, whose duties were very nearly akin to those of the chantry priests. these were the guild priests. it was the custom throughout the middle ages for men and women to associate themselves in religious guilds, partly for mutual assistance in temporal matters, but chiefly for mutual prayers for their welfare while living, and for their soul's health when dead. these guilds usually maintained a chaplain, whose duty it was to celebrate mass daily for the brethren and sisters of the guild. these guild priests must have been numerous, _e.g._, we learn from blomfield's "norfolk," that there were at the reformation ten guilds in windham church, norfolk, seven at hingham, seven at swaffham, seventeen at yarmouth, &c. moreover, a guild, like a chantry, had sometimes more than one guild priest. leland tells us the guild of st. john's, in st. botolph's church, boston, had ten priests, "living in a fayre house at the west end of the parish church yard." in st. mary's church, lichfield, was a guild which had five priests.[ ] the rules of some of these religious guilds may be found in stow's "survey of london," _e.g._, of st. barbara's guild in the church of st. katherine, next the tower of london (in book ii. p. of hughes's edition.) we find bequests to the guild priests, in common with other chaplains, in the ancient wills, _e.g._, in , henry waller, of richmond, leaves "to every gyld prest of thys town, vi{d}. y{t} ar at my beryall."[ ] dr. rock says,[ ] "besides this, every guild priest had to go on sundays and holy days, and help the priests in the parochial services of the church in which his guild kept their altar. all chantry priests were bidden by our old english canons to do the same." the brotherhood priest of the guild of the holy trinity, at st. botolph's, in london, was required to be "meke and obedient unto the qu'er in alle divine servyces duryng hys time, as custome is in the citye amonge alle other p'sts." sometimes a chantry priest was specially required by his foundation deed to help in the cure of souls in the parish, as in the case of a chantry founded in st. mary's, maldon, and little bentley, essex;[ ] sometimes the chantry chapel was built in a hamlet at a distance from the parish church, and was intended to serve as a chapel of ease, and the priest as an assistant curate, as at foulness island and billericay, both in essex. but it is very doubtful whether the chantry priests generally considered themselves bound to take any share in the parochial work of the parish.[ ] in the absence of any cure of souls, the office of chantry or guild priest was easy, and often lucrative; and we find it a common subject of complaint, from the fourteenth to the sixteenth centuries, that it was preferred to a cure of souls; and that even parochial incumbents were apt to leave their parishes in the hands of a parochial chaplain, and seek for themselves a chantry or guild, or one of the temporary engagements to celebrate annals, of which there were so many provided by the wills of which we shall shortly have to speak. thus chaucer reckons, among the virtues of his poore parson, that-- "he set not his benefice to hire, and let his shepe accomber in the mire, and runne to london to saint poule's, to seken him a chauntrie for soules, or with a brotherhood to be with-held, but dwelt at home, and kepte well his fold." so also piers ploughman-- "parsons and parisshe preistes, pleyned hem to the bisshope, that hire parishes weren povere sith the pestilence tyme, to have a licence and leve at london to dwelle and syngen ther for symonie, for silver is swete." besides the chantry priests and guild priests, there was a great crowd of priests who gained a livelihood by taking temporary engagements to say masses for the souls of the departed. nearly every will of the period we are considering provides for the saying of masses for the soul of the testator. sometimes it is only by ordering a fee to be paid to every priest who shall be present at the funeral, sometimes by ordering the executors to have a number of masses, varying from ten to ten thousand, said as speedily as may be; sometimes by directing that a priest shall be engaged to say mass for a certain period, varying from thirty days to forty or fifty years. these casual masses formed an irregular provision for a large number of priests, many of whom performed no other clerical function, and too often led a dissolute as well as an idle life. archbishop islip says in his "constitutions:"[ ]--"we are certainly informed, by common fame and experience, that modern priests, through covetousness and love of ease, not content with reasonable salaries, demand excessive pay for their labours, and receive it; and do so despise labour and study pleasure, that they wholly refuse, as parish priests, to serve in churches or chapels, or to attend the cure of souls, though fitting salaries are offered them, that they may live in a leisurely manner, by celebrating annals for the quick and dead; and so parish churches and chapels remain unofficiated, destitute of parochial chaplains, and even proper curates, to the grievous danger of souls." chaucer has introduced one of this class into the canon's yeoman's tale:-- "in london was a priest, an annueller,[ ] that therein dwelled hadde many a year, which was so pleasant and so serviceable unto the wife there as he was at table that she would suffer him no thing to pay for board ne clothing, went he never so gay, and spending silver had he right ynoit."[ ] another numerous class of the clergy were the domestic chaplains. every nobleman and gentleman had a private chapel in his own house, and an ecclesiastical establishment attached, proportionate to his own rank and wealth. in royal houses and those of the great nobles, this private establishment was not unfrequently a collegiate establishment, with a dean and canons, clerks, and singing men and boys, who had their church and quadrangle within the precincts of the castle, and were maintained by ample endowments. the establishment of the royal chapel of st. george, in windsor castle, is, perhaps, the only remaining example. the household book of the earl of northumberland gives us very full details of his chapel establishment, and of their duties, and of the emoluments which they received in money and kind. they consisted of a dean, who was to be a d.d. or ll.d. or b.d., and ten other priests, and eleven gentlemen and six children, who composed the choir.[ ] but country gentlemen of wealth often maintained a considerable chapel establishment. henry machyn, in his diary,[ ] tells us, in noticing the death of sir thomas jarmyn, of rushbrooke hall, suffolk, in , that "he was the best housekeeper in the county of suffolk, and kept a goodly chapel of singing men." knights and gentlemen of less means, or less love of goodly singing men, were content with a single priest as chaplain.[ ] even wealthy yeomen and tradesmen had their domestic chaplain. sir thomas more says,[ ] there was "such a rabel [of priests], that every mean man must have a priest in his house to wait upon his wife, which no man almost lacketh now." the chapels of the great lords were often sumptuous buildings, erected within the precincts, of which st. george's, windsor, and the chapel within the tower of london may supply examples. smaller chapels erected within the house were still handsome and ecclesiastically-designed buildings, of which examples may be found in nearly every old castle and manor house which still exists; _e.g._, the chapel of colchester castle of the twelfth century, of ormsbro castle of late twelfth century, of beverstone castle of the fourteenth century, engraved in parker's "domestic architecture," iii. p. ; that at igtham castle of the fifteenth century, engraved in the same work, iii. p. ; that at haddon hall of the fifteenth century. in great houses, besides the general chapel, there was often a small oratory besides for the private use of the lord of the castle, in later times called a closet; sometimes another oratory for the lady, as in the case of the earl of northumberland.[ ] in some of these domestic chapels we find a curious internal arrangement; the western part of the apartment is divided into two stories by a wooden floor. this is the case also with the chapel of the preceptory of chobham, northumberland, of the coyston almshouses at leicester (parker's "dom. arch."). it is the case in one of the chapels in tewkesbury abbey church, and in the case of a priory church in norway. in some cases it was probably to accommodate the tenants of different stories of the house. the frequency with which in later times the lord of the house had a private gallery in the chapel (a similar arrangement occasionally occurs in parish churches) leads us to conjecture that in these cases of two floors the upper floor was for the members of the family, and the lower for the servants of the house. these chapels were thoroughly furnished with vessels, books, robes, and every usual ornament, and every object and appliance necessary for the performance of the offices of the church, with a splendour proportioned to the means of the master of the house. from the household book of the earl of northumberland, we gather that the chapel had three altars, and that my lord and my lady had each a closet, _i.e._, an oratory, in which there were other altars. the chapel was furnished with hangings, and had a pair of organs. there were four antiphoners and four grails--service books--which were so famous for their beauty, that, at the earl's death, wolsey intimated his wish to have them. we find mention, too, of the suits of vestments and single vestments, and copes and surplices, and altar-cloths for the five altars. all these things were under the care of the yeoman of the vestry, and were carried about with the earl at his removals from one to another of his houses. minute catalogues and descriptions of the furniture of these domestic chapels may also be found in the inventories attached to ancient wills.[ ] we shall give hereafter a picture of one of these domestic chaplains, viz., of sir roger, chaplain of the chapel of the earl of warwick at flamstead. there is a picture of another chaplain of the earl of warwick in the ms. life of r. beauchamp, earl of warwick (julius e. iv.), where the earl and his chaplain are represented sitting together at dinner. besides the clergy who were occupied in these various kinds of spiritual work, there were also a great number of priests engaged in secular occupations. bishops were statesmen, generals, and ambassadors, employing suffragan bishops[ ] in the work of their dioceses. priests were engaged in many ways in the king's service, and in that of noblemen and others. piers ploughman says:-- "somme serven the kyng, and his silver tellen, in cheker and in chauncelrie, chalangen his dettes, of wardes and of wardemotes, weyves and theyves. and some serven as servantz, lordes and ladies, and in stede of stywardes, sitten and demen." the domestic chaplains were usually employed more or less in secular duties. thus such services are regularly allotted to the eleven priests in the chapel of the earls of northumberland; one was surveyor of my lord's lands, and another my lord's secretary. mr. christopher pickering, in his will (a.d. ), leaves to "my sarvands john dobson and frances, xx{s}. a-pece, besydes ther wages; allso i gyve unto sir james edwarde my sarvand," &c.; and one of the witnesses to the will is "sir james edwarde, preste," who was probably mr. pickering's chaplain.[ ] sir thomas more says, every man has a priest to wait upon his wife; and in truth the chaplain seems to have often performed the duties of a superior gentleman usher. nicholas blackburn, a wealthy citizen of york, and twice lord mayor, leaves (a.d. - ) a special bequest to his wife "to find her a gentlewoman, and a priest, and a servant."[ ] lady elizabeth hay leaves bequests in this order, to her son, her chaplain, her servant, and her maid.[ ] chapter ii. clerks in minor orders. it is necessary, to a complete sketch of the subject of the secular clergy, to notice, however briefly, the minor orders, which have so long been abolished in the reformed church of england, that we have forgotten their very names. there were seven orders through which the clerk had to go, from the lowest to the highest step in the hierarchy. the pontifical of archbishop ecgbert gives us the form of ordination for each order; and the ordination ceremonies and exhortations show us very fully what were the duties of the various orders, and by what costume and symbols of office we may recognise them. but these particulars are brought together more concisely in a document of much later date, viz., in the account of the degradation from the priesthood of sir william sawtre, the first of the lollards who died for heresy, in the year a.d., and a transcript of it will suffice for our present purpose. the archbishop, assisted by several bishops, sitting on the bishop's throne in st. paul's--sir william sawtre standing before him in priestly robes--proceeded to the degradation as follows:--"in the name, &c., we, thomas, &c., degrade and depose you from the order of priests, and in token thereof we take from you the paten and the chalice, and deprive you of all power of celebrating mass; we also strip you of the chasuble, take from you the sacerdotal vestment, and deprive you altogether of the dignity of the priesthood. thee also, the said william, dressed in the habit of a deacon, and having the book of the gospels in thy hands, do we degrade and depose from the order of deacons, as a condemned and relapsed heretic; and in token hereof we take from thee the book of the gospels, and the stole, and deprive thee of the power of reading the gospels. we degrade thee from the order of subdeacons, and in token thereof take from thee the albe and maniple. we degrade thee from the order of an acolyte, taking from thee in token thereof this small pitcher and taper staff. we degrade thee from the order of an exorcist, and take from thee in token thereof the book of exorcisms. we degrade thee from the order of reader, and take from thee in token thereof the book of divine lessons. thee also, the said william sawtre, vested in a surplice as an ostiary,[ ] do we degrade from that order, taking from thee the surplice and the keys of the church. furthermore, as a sign of actual degradation, we have caused the crown and clerical tonsure to be shaved off in our presence, and to be entirely obliterated like a layman; we have also caused a woollen cap to be put upon thy head, as a secular layman." the word _clericus_--clerk--was one of very wide and rather vague significance, and included not only the various grades of clerks in orders, of whom we have spoken, but also all men who followed any kind of occupation which involved the use of reading and writing; finally, every man who could read might claim the "benefit of clergy," _i.e._, the legal immunities of a clerk. the word is still used with the same comprehensiveness and vagueness of meaning. clerk in orders is still the legal description of a clergyman; and men whose occupation is to use the pen are still called clerks, as lawyers' clerks, merchants' clerks, &c. clerks were often employed in secular occupations; for example, alan middleton, who was employed by the convent of st. alban's to collect their rents, and who is represented on page ante in the picture from their "catalogus benefactorum" (nero d. vii., british museum), is tonsured, and therefore was a clerk. chaucer gives us a charming picture of a poor clerk of oxford, who seems to have been a candidate for holy orders, and is therefore germane to our subject:-- "a clerke there was of oxenforde also, that unto logike hadde long ygo, as lene was his horse as is a rake, and he was not right fat, i undertake, but looked holwe and thereto soberly. ful thredbare was his overest courtepy,[ ] for he hadde getten him yet no benefice, ne was nought worldly to have an office.[ ] for him was lever han at his beddes hed a twenty bokes, clothed in black or red, of aristotle and his philosophie, than robes riche, or fidel or sautrie. but all be that he was a philosophre, yet hadde he but little gold in cofre, but all that he might of his frendes hente,[ ] on bokes and on lerning he it spente; and besely gan for the soules praye of hem that yave him wherewith to scholaie,[ ] of studie toke he moste cure and hede. not a word spake he more than was nede, and that was said in forme and reverence, and short and quike, and ful of high sentence. souning in moral vertue was his speche, and gladly wolde he lerne and gladly teche." in the miller's tale chaucer gives us a sketch of another poor scholar of oxford. he lodged with a carpenter, and "a chambre had he in that hostelerie, alone withouten any compaynie, ful fetisly 'ydight with herbés sweet." his books great and small, and his astrological apparatus "on shelvés couched at his beddé's head, his press ycovered with a falding red, and all about there lay a gay sautrie on which he made on nightés melodie so swetély that all the chamber rung, and _angelus ad virginem_ he sung." we give a typical illustration of the class from one of the characters in a dance of death at the end of a book of the hours of the blessed virgin mary, in the british museum. it is described beneath as "un clerc."[ ] [illustration: _a clerk._] one of this class was employed by every parish to perform certain duties on behalf of the parishioners, and to assist the clergyman in certain functions of his office. the parish clerk has survived the revolution which swept away the other minor ecclesiastical officials of the middle ages, and still has his legal status in the parish church. probably many of our readers will be surprised to hear that the office is an ancient one, and will take interest in a few original extracts which throw light on the subject. in the wills he frequently has a legacy left, together with the clergy--_e.g._, "item i leave to my parish vicar iij{s.} iiij{d.} item i leave to my parish clerk xij{d.} item i leave to every chaplain present at my obsequies and mass iiij{d.}" (will of john brompton, of beverley, merchant, .)[ ] elizabeth del hay, in , leaves to "every priest ministering at my obsequies vi{d.}; to every parish clerk iiij{d.}; to minor clerks to each one ij{d.}"[ ] hawisia aske, of york, in - a.d., leaves to the "parish chaplain of st. michael iij{s.} iiij{d.}; to every chaplain of the said church xx{d.}; to the parish clerk of the said church xx{d.}; to the sub-clerk of the same church x{d.}"[ ] john clerk, formerly chaplain of the chapel of the blessed mary magdalen, near york, in , leaves to "the parish clerk of st. olave, in the suburbs of york, xij{d.}; to each of the two chaplains of the said church being present at my funeral and mass iiij{d.}; to the parish clerk of the said church iiij{d.}; to the sub-clerk of the said church ij{d.}; among the little boys of the said church wearing surplices iiij{d.}, to be distributed equally."[ ] these extracts serve to indicate the clerical staff of the several churches mentioned. from other sources we learn what his duties were. in the parish of milend, near colchester, was presented to the archdeacon by the rector, because in the said church there was "nother clerke nor sexten to go withe him in tyme of visitacion [of the sick], nor to helpe him say masses, nor to rynge to servyce."[ ] and in the vicar of kelveden, essex, complains that there is not "caryed holy water,[ ] nor ryngyng to evensonge accordyng as the clerke shuld do, with other dutees to him belongyng."[ ] in the york presentations we find a similar complaint at wyghton in ; they present that the parish clerk does not perform his services as he ought, because when he ought to go with the vicar to visit the sick, the clerk absents himself, and sends a boy with the vicar.[ ] the clerk might be a married man, for in thomas curtas, parish clerk of the parish of st. thomas the martyr, is presented, because with his wife he has hindered, and still hinders, the parish clerk of st. mary bishophill, york [in which parish he seems to have lived] from entering his house on the lord's days with holy water, as is the custom of the city. also it is complained that the said thomas and his wife refuse to come to hear divine service at their parish church, and withdraw their oblations.[ ] in the royal ms., , e iv., is a series of illustrations of a mediæval tale, which turns on the adventures of a parish clerk, as he goes through the parish aspersing the people with holy water. two of the pictures will suffice to show the costume and the holy water-pot and aspersoir, and to indicate how he went into all the rooms of the house--now into the kitchen sprinkling the cook, now into the hall sprinkling the lord and lady who are at breakfast. in the woodcut on p. , will be seen how he precedes an ecclesiastical procession, sprinkling the people on each side as he goes. the subsequent description (p. ) of the parish clerk absolon, by chaucer, indicates that sometimes--perhaps on some special festivals--the clerk went about censing the people instead of sprinkling them. [illustration: _the parish clerk sprinkling the cook._] [illustration: _the parish clerk sprinkling the knight and lady._] to continue the notes of a parish clerk's duties, gathered from the churchwardens' presentations: at wyghton, in , they find "a faut with our parish clerk yt he hath not done his dewtee to ye kirk, yt is to say, ryngyng of ye morne bell and ye evyn bell; and also another fawt [which may explain the former one], he fyndes yt pour mene pays hym not his wages."[ ] at cawood, in a.d., we find it the duty of the parish clerk "to keepe ye clok and ryng corfer [curfew] at dew tymes appointed by ye parrish, and also to ryng ye day bell."[ ] he had his desk in church near the clergyman, perhaps on the opposite side of the chancel, as we gather from a presentation from st. maurice, york, in , that the desks in the choir on both sides, especially where the parish chaplain and parish clerk are accustomed to sit, need repair.[ ] a story in matthew paris[ ] tells us what his office was worth: "it happened that an agent of the pope met a petty clerk of a village carrying water in a little vessel, with a sprinkler and some bits of bread given him for having sprinkled some holy water, and to him the deceitful roman thus addressed himself: 'how much does the profit yielded to you by this church amount to in a year?' to which the clerk, ignorant of the roman's cunning, replied, 'to twenty shillings i think;' whereupon the agent demanded the per-centage the pope had just demanded on all ecclesiastical benefices. and to pay that small sum this poor man was compelled to hold schools for many days, and by selling his books in the precincts, to drag on a half-starved life." the parish clerks of london formed a guild, which used to exhibit miracle plays at its annual feast, on the green, in the parish of st. james, clerkenwell. the parish clerks always took an important part in the conduct of the miracle plays; and it was natural that when they united their forces in such an exhibition on behalf of their guild the result should be an exhibition of unusual excellence. stow tells us that in the guild performed before the king and queen and whole court three days successively, and that in they produced a play of the creation of the world, whose representation occupied eight successive days. the passion-play, still exhibited every ten years at ober-ammergau, has made all the world acquainted with the kind of exhibition in which our forefathers delighted. these miracle-plays still survive also in spain, and probably in other roman catholic countries. chaucer has not failed to give us, in his wonderful gallery of contemporary characters (in the miller's tale), a portrait of the parish clerk:-- "now was ther of that churche a parish clerk, the which that was ycleped absolon. crulle was his here,[ ] and as the gold it shon, and strouted as a fanne large and brode; ful streight and even lay his jolly shode. his rode[ ] was red, his eyen grey as goos, with poules windowes carven on his shoos, in hosen red he went ful fetisly,[ ] yclad he was ful smal and proprely, all in a kirtle of a light waget,[ ] ful faire and thicke ben the pointes set. an' therupon he had a gay surplise, as white as is the blossome upon the rise.[ ] a mery child he was, so god me save, wel coud he leten blod, and clippe, and shave, and make a chartre of lond and a quitance; in twenty manere could he trip and dance, (after the scole of oxenforde tho) and playen songes on a smal ribible.[ ] therto he song, sometime a loud quinible.[ ] and as wel could he play on a giterne. in all the toun n'as brewhouse ne taverne that he ne visited with his solas, ther as that any galliard tapstere was. this absolon, that joly was and gay, goth with a censor on the holy day, censing the wives of the parish faste,[ ] and many a lovely loke he on hem caste. * * * * * sometime to shew his lightnesse and maistrie, he plaieth herode on a skaffold hie." chapter iii. the parish priest. we shall obtain further help to a comprehension of the character, and position, and popular estimation of the mediæval seculars--the parish priests--if we compare them first with the regulars--the monks and friars--and then with their modern representatives the parochial clergy. one great point of difference between the regulars and the seculars was that the monks and friars affected asceticism, and the parish priests did not. the monks and friars had taken the three vows of absolute poverty, voluntary celibacy, and implicit obedience to the superior of the convent. the parish priests, on the contrary, had their benefices and their private property; they long resisted the obligations of celibacy, which popes and councils tried to lay upon them; they were themselves spiritual rulers in their own parishes, subject only to the constitutional rule of the bishop. the monks professed to shut themselves up from the world, and to mortify their bodily appetites in order the better, as they considered, to work out their own salvation. the friars professed to be the schools of the prophets, to have the spirit of nazariteship, to be followers of elijah and john baptist, to wear sackcloth, and live hardly, and go about as preachers of repentance. the secular clergy had no desire and felt no need to shut themselves up from the world like monks; they did not feel called upon, with the friars, to imitate john baptist, "neither eating nor drinking," seeing that a greater than he came "eating and drinking" and living the common life of men. they rather looked upon christian priests and clerks as occupying the place of the priests and levites of the ancient church, set apart to minister in holy things like them, but not condemned to poverty or asceticism any more than they were. the difference told unfavourably for the parish clergy in the popular estimation; for the unreasoning crowd is always impressed by the dramatic exhibition of austerity of life and the profession of extraordinary sanctity, and undervalues the virtue which is only seen in the godly regulation of a life of ordinary every-day occupations. the lord monks were the aristocratic order of the clergy. their convents were wealthy and powerful, their minsters and houses were the glory of the land, their officials ranked with the nobles, and the greatness of the whole house reflected dignity upon each of its monks. the friars were the popular order of the clergy. the four orders were great organizations of itinerant preachers; powerful through their learning and eloquence, their organization, and the papal support; cultivating the favour of the people by which they lived by popular eloquence and demagogic arts. between these two great classes stood the secular clergy, upon whom the practical pastoral work of the country fell. a numerous body, but disorganized; diocesan bishops acting as statesmen, and devolving their ecclesiastical duties on suffragans; rectors refusing to take priests' orders, and living like laymen; the majority of the parishes practically served by parochial chaplains; every gentleman having his own chaplain dependent on his own pleasure; hundreds of priests engaged in secular occupations. between the secular priests and the friars, as we have seen, pp. _et seq._, there was a direct rivalry and a great deal of bitter feeling. the friars accused the parish priests of neglect of duty and ignorance in spiritual things and worldliness of life, and came into their parishes whenever they pleased, preaching and visiting from house to house, hearing confessions and prescribing penances, and carrying away the offerings of the people. the parish priests looked upon the friars as intruders in their parishes, and accused them of setting their people against them and undermining their spiritual influence; of corrupting discipline, by receiving the confessions of those who were ashamed to confess to their pastor who knew them, and enjoining light penances in order to encourage people to come to them; and lastly, of using all the arts of low popularity-seeking in order to extract gifts and offerings from their people. we have already given one contemporary illustration of this from chaucer, at p. _ante_. we add one or two extracts from piers ploughman's vision. in one place of his elaborate allegory he introduces wrath, saying:-- "i am wrath, quod he, i was sum tyme a frere, and the convent's gardyner for to graff impes[ ] on limitoures and listers lesyngs i imped till they bere leaves of low speech lordes to please and sithen thier blossomed abrode in bower to hear shriftes. and now is fallen therof a fruite, that folk have well liever shewen her shriftes to hem than shryve hem to ther parsones. and now, parsons have perceyved that freres part with hem, these possessioners preache and deprave freres, and freres find hem in default, as folk beareth witness."--v. . and again on the same grievance of the friars gaining the confidence of the people away from their parish priests-- "and well is this y-holde: in parisches of engelonde, for persones and parish prestes: that shulde the peple shryve, ben curatoures called: to know and to hele. alle that ben her parishens: penaunce to enjoine, and shulden be ashamed in her shrifte: an shame maketh hem wende, and fleen to the freres: as fals folke to westmynstere, that borwith and bereth it thider."[ ] when we compare the mediæval seculars with the modern clergy, we find that the modern clergy form a much more homogeneous body. in the mediæval seculars the bishop was often one who had been a monk or friar; the cathedral clergy in many dioceses were regulars. then, besides the parsons and parochial chaplains, who answer to our incumbents and curates, there were the chantry and gild priests, and priests who "lived at rovers on trentals;" the great number of domestic chaplains must have considerably affected the relations of the parochial clergy to the gentry. of the inferior ecclesiastical people, deacons, sub-deacons, acolytes, readers, exorcists, and ostiaries it is probable that in an ordinary parish there would be only a parish clerk and a boy-acolyte; in larger churches an ostiary besides, answering to our verger, and in cathedrals a larger staff of minor officials; but it is doubtful whether there was any real working staff of sub-deacons, readers, exorcists, any more than we in these days have a working order of deacons; men passed through those orders on their way upwards to the priesthood, but made no stay in them. but a still greater difference between the mediæval secular clergy and the modern parochial clergy is in their relative position with respect to society generally. the homogeneous body of "the bishops and clergy" are the only representatives of a clergy in the eyes of modern english society; the relative position of the secular clergy in the eyes of the mediæval world was less exclusive and far inferior. the seculars were only one order of the clergy, sharing the title with monks and friars, and they were commonly held as inferior to the one in wealth and learning, and to the other in holiness and zeal. another difference between the mediæval seculars and the modern clergy is in the superior independence of the latter. the poor parochial chaplain was largely dependent for his means of living on the fees and offerings of his parishioners. the domestic chaplain was only an upper servant. even the country incumbent, in those feudal days when the lord of the manor was a petty sovereign, was very much under the influence of the local magnate. in some primitive little villages, where the lord of the manor continues to be the sovereign of his village, it is still the fashion for the clergyman not to begin service till the squire comes. the book of the knight of la tour landry gives two stories which serve to show that the deference of the clergyman to the squire was sometimes carried to very excessive lengths in the old days of which we are writing. "i have herde of a knight and of a lady that in her youthe delited hem to rise late. and so they used longe, tille many tymes that thei lost her masse, and made other of her parisshe to lese it, for the knight was lorde and patron of the chirche, and therfor the priest durst not disobeye hym. and so it happed that on a sunday the knight sent unto the chirche that thei shulde abide hym. and whane he come, it was passed none, wherfor thir might not that day have no masse, for every man saide it was passed tyme of the day, and therfor thei durst not singe. and so that sunday the knight, the lady, and alle the parisshe was without masse, of the whiche the pepelle were sori, but thir must needs suffre." and on a night there came a vision to the parson, and the same night the knight and lady dreamed a dream. and the parson came to the knight's house, and he told him his vision, and the priest his, of which they greatly marvelled, for their dreams were like. "and the priest said unto the knight, 'there is hereby in a forest an holy ermyte that canne telle us what this avision menithe.' and than thei yede to hym, and tolde it hym fro point to point, and as it was. and the wise holi man, the which was of blessed lyff, expounded and declared her avision." the other story is of "a ladi that dwelled faste by the chirche, that toke every day so long time to make her redy that it made every sunday the person of the chirche and the parisshenes to abide after her. and she happed to abide so longe on a sunday that it was fer dayes, and every man said to other, 'this day we trow shall not this lady be kemed and arraied.'" * * * * * the condition of the parochial clergy being such as we have sketched, it might seem as if the people stood but a poor chance of being christianly and virtuously brought up. but when we come to inquire into that part of the question the results are unexpectedly satisfactory. the priests in charge of parishes seem, on the whole, to have done their duty better than we should have anticipated; and the people generally had a knowledge of the great truths of religion, greater probably than is now generally possessed--it was taught to them by the eye in sculptures, paintings, stained glass, miracle plays; these religious truths were probably more constantly in their minds and on their lips than is the case now--they occur much more frequently in popular literature; and though the people were rude and coarse and violent and sensual enough, yet it is probable that religion was a greater power among them generally than it is now; there was probably more crime, but less vice; above all, an elevated sanctity in individuals was probably more common in those times than in these. one interesting evidence of the actual mode of pastoral ministrations in those days is the handbooks, which were common enough, teaching the parish priest his duties. the early english text society has lately done us a service by publishing one of these manuals of "instructions for parish priests," which will enable us to give some notes on the subject. "great numbers," says the editor, "of independent works of this nature were produced in the middle ages. there is probably not a language or dialect in europe that has not now, or had not once, several treatises of this nature among its early literature. the growth of languages, the reformation, and the alteration in clerical education consequent on that great revolution, have caused a great part of them to perish or become forgotten. a relic of this sort fished up from the forgotten past is very useful to us as a help towards understanding the sort of life our fathers lived. to many it will seem strange that these directions, written without the least thought of hostile criticism, when there was no danger in plain speaking, and no inducements to hide or soften down, should be so free from superstition. we have scarcely any of the nonsense which some people still think made up the greater part of the religion of the middle ages, but instead thereof good sound morality, such as it would be pleasant to hear preached at the present day." the book in question is by john myrk, a canon regular of st. austin, of lilleshall, in shropshire; the beautiful ruins of his monastery may still be seen in the grounds of the duke of sutherland's shooting-box at lilleshall. he tells us that he translated it from a latin book called "pars oculi." it is worthy of note that a former prior of lilleshall, johannes miræus, had written a work on the same subject, called "manuale sacerdotis," to which john myrk's bears much resemblance, both in subject and treatment. the editor's sketch of the argument of the "instructions to parish priests" will help us to give a sufficient idea of its contents for our present purpose. the author begins by telling the parish priest what sort of man he himself should be. not ignorant, because "whenne the blynde ledeth the blynde into the dyche they fallen both." he must himself be an example to his people:-- "what thee nedeth hem to teche and whyche thou muste thy self be, for lytel is worth thy prechynge if thou be of evyle lyvynge." he must be chaste, eschew lies and oaths, drunkenness, gluttony, pride, sloth, and envy. must keep from taverns, trading, wrestling, and shooting, and the like manly sports; from hunting, hawking, and dancing. must not wear cutted clothes or pyked shoes, or dagger, but wear becoming clothes, and shave his crown and beard. must be given to hospitality, both to poor and rich, read his psalter, and remember doomsday; return good for evil, eschew jesting and ribaldry, despise the world, and follow after virtue. the priest must not be content with knowing his own duties. he must be prepared to teach those under his charge all that christian men and women should do and believe. we are told that when any one has done a sin he must not continue long with it on his conscience, but go straight to the priest and confess it, lest he should forget before the great shriving time at eastertide. pregnant women, especially, are to go to their shrift, and receive the holy communion at once. our instructor is very strict on the duties of midwives--women they were really in those days, and properly licensed to their office by the ecclesiastical authorities. they are on no account to permit children to die unbaptized. if there be no priest at hand, they are to administer that sacrament themselves if they see danger of death. they must be especially careful to use the right form of words, such as our lord taught; but it does not matter whether they say them in latin or english, or whether the latin be good or bad, so that the intention be to use the proper words. the water, and the vessel that contained it, are not to be again employed in domestic use, but to be burned or carried to the church and cast into the font. if no one else be at hand, the parents themselves may baptize their children. all infants are to be christened at easter and whitsuntide in the newly-blessed fonts, if there have not been necessity to administer the sacrament before. godparents are to be careful to teach their godchildren the _pater noster_, _ave maria_, and _credo_; and are not to be sponsors to their godchildren at their confirmation, for they have already contracted a spiritual relationship. before weddings banns are to be asked on three holidays, and all persons who contract irregular marriages, and the priests, clerks, and others that help thereat, are cursed for the same. the real presence of the body and blood of our saviour in the sacrament of the altar is to be fully held; but the people are to bear in mind that the wine and water given them after they have received communion is not a part of the sacrament. it is an important thing to behave reverently in church, for the church is god's house, not a place for idle prattle. when people go there they are not to jest, or loll against the pillars and walls, but kneel down on the floor and pray to their lord for mercy and grace. when the gospel is read they are to stand up, and sign themselves with the cross; and when they hear the sanctus bell ring, they are to kneel and worship their maker in the blessed sacrament. all men are to show reverence when they see the priest carrying the host to the sick. he is to teach them the "our father," and "hail, mary," and "i believe," of which metrical versions are given, with a short exposition of the creed. the author gives some very interesting instructions about churchyards, which show that they were sometimes treated with shameful irreverence. it was not for want of good instructions that our ancestors, in the days of the plantagenets, played at rustic games, and that the gentry held their manorial courts, over the sleeping-places of the dead. of witchcraft we hear surprisingly little. myrk's words are such that one might almost think he had some sceptical doubts on the subject. not so with usury: the taking interest for money, or lending anything to get profit thereby, is, we are shown, "a synne full grevus." after these and several more general instructions of a similar character, the author gives a very good commentary on the creed, the sacraments, the commandments, and the deadly sins. the little tract ends with a few words of instruction to priests as to the "manner of saying mass, and of giving holy communion to the sick." on several subjects the author gives very detailed instructions and advice as to the best way of dealing with people, and his counsels are so right and sensible, that they might well be read now, not out of mere curiosity, but for profit. here is his conclusion, as a specimen of the english and versification:-- "hyt ys i-made hem[ ] to schonne that have no bokes of here[ ] owne, and other that beth of mene lore that wolde fayn conne[ ] more, and those that here-in learnest most, thonke yerne the holy gost, that geveth wyt to eche mon to do the gode that he con, and by hys travayle and hys dede geveth hym heven to hys mede; the mede and the joye of heven lyht god us graunte for hys myht. amen." that these instructions were not thrown away upon the mediæval parish priests we may infer from chaucer's beautiful description of the poor parson of a town, who was one of his immortal band of canterbury pilgrims, which we here give as a fitting conclusion of this first part of our subject:-- "a good man there was of religioun, that was a poure persone of a toun; but riche he was of holy thought and werk. he was also a lerned man, a clerk, that criste's gospel trewely wolde preche, his parishens devoutly wolde he teche. benigne he was and wonder diligent, and in adversite ful patient; and such he was yproved often sithes. full loth were he to cursen for his tithes, but rather wolde he given out of doubte unto his poure parishens about, of his offering and eke of his substance. he could in litel thing have suffisance. wide was his parish, and houses fer asunder, but he ne left nought for no rain ne thunder, in sikenesse and in mischief to visite the farthest in his parish much and lite,[ ] upon his fete, and in his hand a staff. this noble ensample to his sheep he gaf[ ] that first he wrought, and afterward he taught. out of the gospel he the wordes caught, and this figure he added yet thereto, that if gold rusté what should iren do? for if a priest be foul, on whom we trust, no wonder is a léwéd man to rust; well ought a preest ensample for to give, by his clenenesse how his shepe shulde live. he sette not his benefice to hire, and lefte his sheep accumbered in the mire, and ran unto london, unto seint poules, to seeken him a chanterie for souls, or with a brotherhede to be withold, but dwelt at home and kepté well his fold. he was a shepherd and no mercenare; and though he holy were and vertuous, he was to sinful men not despitous,[ ] ne of his speché dangerous ne digne,[ ] but in his teaching discrete and benigne. to drawen folk to heaven with fairénesse, by good ensample was his businesse. but it were any persone obstinat, what so he were of highe or low estate, him wolde he snibben[ ] sharply for the nones, a better preest i trow that nowhere none is. he waited after no pomp ne reverence, ne maked him no spiced[ ] conscience, but christés lore, and his apostles twelve, he taught, but first he followed it himselve." thus, monk, and friar, and hermit, and recluse, and rector, and chantry priest, played their several parts in mediæval society, until the reformation came and swept away the religious orders and their houses, the chantry priests and their superstitions, and the colleges of seculars, with all their good and evil, and left only the parish churches and the parish priests remaining, stripped of half their tithe, and insufficient in number, in learning, and in social _status_ to fulfil the office of the ministry of god among the people. since then, for three centuries the people have multiplied, and the insufficiency of the ministry has been proportionately aggravated. it has been left to our day to complete the work of the reformation by multiplying bishops and priests, and creating an order of deacons, re-distributing the ancient revenues and supplying what more is needed, and by effecting a general reorganization of the ecclesiastical establishment to adapt it to the actual spiritual needs of the people. chapter iv. clerical costume. we proceed to give some notes on the costume of the secular clergy; first the official costume which they wore when performing the public functions of their order, and next the ordinary costume in which they walked about their parishes and took part in the daily affairs of the mediæval society of which they formed so large and important a part. the first branch of this subject is one of considerable magnitude; it can hardly be altogether omitted in such a series of papers as this, but our limited space requires that we should deal with it as briefly as may be. representations of the pope occur not infrequently in ancient paintings. his costume is that of an archbishop, only that instead of the usual mitre he wears a conical tiara. in later times a cross with three crossbars has been used by artists as a symbol of the pope, with two crossbars of a patriarch, and with one crossbar of an archbishop; but dr. rock assures us that the pope never had a pastoral staff of this shape, but of one crossbar only; that patriarchs of the eastern church used the cross of two bars, but never those of the western church; and that the example of thomas-à-becket with a cross of two bars, in queen mary's psalter (royal, b. vii.) is a unique example (and possibly an error of the artist's). a representation of pope leo iii. from a contemporary picture is engraved in the "annales archæologique," vol. viii. p. ; another very complete and clear representation of the pontifical costume of the time of innocent iii. is engraved by dr. rock ("church of our fathers," p. ) from a fresco painting at subiaco, near rome. another representation, of late thirteenth-century date, is given in the famous ms. called the "psalter of queen mary," in the british museum (royal, b. vii.); there the pope is in nothing more than ordinary episcopal costume--alb, tunic, chasuble, without the pall--and holds his cross-staff of only one bar in his right hand, and his canonical tiara has one crown round the base. beside him stands a bishop in the same costume, except that he wears the mitre and holds a crook. a good fourteenth-century representation of a pope and cardinals is in the ms. august. v. f. . we give a woodcut of the fifteenth century, from a ms. life of richard beauchamp, earl of warwick, in the british museum (julius e. iv. f. ); the subject is the presentation of the pilgrim earl to the pope, and it enables us to bring into one view the costumes of pope, cardinal, and bishop. a later picture of considerable artistic merit may be found in hans burgmair's "der weise könig," where the pope, officiating at a royal marriage, is habited in a chasuble, and has the three crowns on his tiara. [illustration: _pope, cardinal, and bishop._] the cardinalate is not an ecclesiastical "order." originally the name was applied to the priests of the chief churches of rome, who formed the chapter of the bishop of rome. in later times they were the princes of the papal sovereignty, and the dignity was conferred not only upon the highest order of the hierarchy, but upon priests, deacons,[ ] and even upon men who had only taken minor orders to qualify themselves for holding office in the papal kingdom. the red hat, which became their distinctive symbol, is said to have been given them first by innocent vi. at the council of lyons in ; and de curbio says they first wore it in , at the interview between the pope and louis ix. of france. a representation of it may be seen in the ms. royal, g. vi., which is engraved in the "pictorial history of england," vol. i. . another very clear and good representation of the costume of a cardinal is in the plate in hans burgmair's "der weise könig," already mentioned; a group of them is on the right side of the drawing, each with a fur-lined hood on his head, and his hat over the hood. it is not the hat which is peculiar to cardinals, but the colour of it, and the number of its tassels. other ecclesiastics wore the hat of the same shape, but only a cardinal wears it of scarlet. moreover, a priest wore only one tassel to each string, a bishop three, a cardinal seven. it was not the hat only which was scarlet. wolsey, we read, was in the habit of dressing entirely in scarlet for his ordinary costume. in the decretals of pope gregory, royal, e. iv. f. v., are representations of cardinals in red gown and hood and hat. on the following page they are represented, in _pontificalibus_. the archbishop wore the habit of a bishop, his differences being in the crosier and pall.[ ] his crozier had a cross head instead of a curved head like the bishop's. over the chasuble he wore the pall, which was a flat circular band, or collar, placed loosely round the shoulders, with long ends hanging down behind and before, made of lambs' wool, and marked with a number of crosses. dr. rock has engraved[ ] two remarkably interesting early representations of archbishops of ravenna, in which a very early form of the pontifical garments is given, viz., the sandals, alb, stole, tunic, chasuble, pall, and tonsure. they are not represented with either mitre or staff. other representations of archbishops may be found of the eleventh century in the bayeux tapestry, and of the thirteenth in the royal ms., b. vii. in the froissart ms., harl. , , at f. , is a fifteenth-century representation of the archbishop of canterbury in ordinary dress--a lavender-coloured gown and red liripipe. the bishop wore the same habit as the priest, with the addition of sandals, gloves, a ring, the pastoral staff with a curved head, and the mitre. the chasuble was only worn when celebrating the holy communion; on any other ceremonial occasion the cope was worn, _e.g._, when in choir, as in the woodcut on p. : or when preaching, as in a picture in the harl. ms. , engraved in the "pictorial history of england," vol. i. ; or when attending parliament. in illuminated mss. bishops are very commonly represented dressed in alb and cope only, and this seems to have been their most usual habit. if the bishop were a monk or friar he wore the cope over the robe proper to his order. we might multiply indefinitely references to representations of bishops and other ecclesiastics in the illuminated ms. we will content ourselves with one reference to a beautifully drawn figure in the psalter of the close of the th century (harl. , , f. ). in the early fourteenth-century ms. (royal, e. iii. at ff. and ), we find two representations of a bishop in what we may suppose was his ordinary unofficial costume; he wears a blue-grey robe and hood with empty falling sleeves, through which appear the blue sleeves of his under robe; it is the ordinary civil and clerical costume of the period, but he is marked out as a bishop by a white mitre. in the pontifical of the middle of the fifteenth century, already referred to (egerton, ) at f. in the representation of the ceremony of the feet-washing, the bishop in a long black sleeveless robe[ ] over a white alb, and a biretta. the earliest form of the mitre was that of a simple cap, like a skull-cap, of which there is a representation, giving in many respects a clear and elaborate picture of the episcopal robes, in a woodcut of st. dunstan in the ms. cotton, claudius a. iii.[ ] in this early shape it has already the infulæ--two narrow bands hanging down behind. in the twelfth century it is in the form of a large cap, with a depression in the middle, which produces two blunt horns at the sides. there is a good representation of this in the ms. cotton, nero c. iv. f. , which has been engraved by strutt, shaw, and dr. rock. in the harl. ms. , , f. , is a picture of the entombment of an archbishop, in which is well shown the transition shape of the mitre from the twelfth century, already described, to the cleft and pointed shape which was used in the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries. the depression is here deepened into a partial cleft, and the mitre is put on so that the horns come before and behind, instead of at the sides, but the horns are still blunt and rounded. the archbishop's gloves in this picture are white, like the mitre, and in shape are like mittens, _i.e._, not divided into fingers. the shape in the thirteenth and fourteenth century presented a stiff low triangle in front and behind, with a gap between them. it is well shown in a ms. of the close of the twelfth century, harl. , , f. , and, in a shape a little further developed, in the pictures in the royal ms., b. vii., already noticed. in the fifteenth century the mitre began to be made taller, and with curved sides, as seen in the beautiful woodcut of a bishop and his canons in choir given in our last chapter, p. . the latest example in the english church is in the brass of archbishop harsnett, in chigwell church, in which also occur the latest examples of the alb, stole, dalmatic, and cope. the pastoral staff also varied in shape at different times. the earliest examples of it are in the representations of st. mark and st. luke,[ ] in the "gospels of macdurnan," in the lambeth library, a work of the middle of the ninth century. st. luke's staff is short, st. mark's longer than himself; in both cases the staff terminates with a plain, slightly reflexed curve of about three-fourths of a circle. some actual examples of the metal heads of these celtic pastoral staves remain; one is engraved in the "archæologia scotica," vol. ii., another is in the british museum; that of the abbots of clonmacnoise, and that of the ancient bishops of waterford, are in the possession of the duke of devonshire. they were all brought together in in the loan exhibition at south kensington. one of the earliest english representations of the staff is in the picture of the consecration of a church, in a ms. of the ninth century, in the rouen library, engraved in the "archæologia," vol xxv. p. , in the "pictorial history of england," and by dr. rock, ii. p. . here the staff is about the length of an ordinary walking-stick, and is terminated by a round knob. odo, bishop of bayeux, is represented on his great seal with a short staff, with a tau-cross or crutch head. an actually existing staff of this shape, which belonged to gerard, bishop of limoges, who died in , is engraved in the "annales archæologique," vol. x. p. . the staves represented in illuminations of the twelfth and thirteenth centuries have usually a plain spiral curve of rather more than a circle;[ ] in later times they were ornamented with foliage, and sometimes with statuettes, and were enamelled and jewelled. numerous representations and actual examples exist; some may be seen in the south kensington museum. from early in the fourteenth century downward, a napkin of linen or silk is often found attached by one corner to the head of the staff, whose origin and meaning seem to be undetermined. the official costume of the remaining orders, together with the symbols significant of their several offices, are well brought out in the degradation of w. sawtre, already given at p. . some of the vestments there mentioned may need a few words of explanation. the alb was a kind of long coat with close fitting sleeves made of white[ ] linen, and usually, at least during the celebration of divine service, ornamented with four to six square pieces of cloth of gold, or other rich stuff, or of goldsmith's work, which were placed on the skirt before and behind, on the wrist of each sleeve, and on the back and breast. the dalmatic of the deacon was a kind of tunic, reaching generally a little below the knees, and slit some way up the sides, and with short, broad sleeves; it was usually ornamented with a broad hem, which passed round the side slits. the sub-deacon's tunicle was like the dalmatic, but rather shorter, and less ornamented. the cope was a kind of cloak, usually of rich material, fastened across the chest by a large brooch; it was worn by priests in choir and in processions, and on other occasions of state and ceremony. the chasuble was the eucharistic vestment; originally it was a circle of rich cloth with a slit in the middle, through which the head was passed, and then it fell in ample folds all round the figure. gradually it was made oval in shape, continually decreasing in width, so as to leave less of the garment to encumber the arms. in its modern shape it consists of two stiff rectangular pieces of cloth, one piece falling before, the other behind, and fastened together at the shoulders of the wearer. the ancient inventories of cathedrals, abbeys, and churches show us that the cope and chasuble were made in every colour, of every rich material, and sometimes embroidered and jewelled. indeed, all the official robes of the clergy were of the costliest material and most beautiful workmanship which could be obtained. england was celebrated for its skill in the arts employed in their production, and an anecdote of the time of henry iii. shows us that the english ecclesiastical vestments excited admiration and cupidity even at rome. their richness had nothing to do with personal pride or luxury on the part of the priests. they were not the property of the clergy, but were generally presented to the churches, to which they belonged in perpetuity; and they were made thus costly on the principle of honouring the divine worship. as men gave their costliest material and noblest art for the erection of the place in which it was offered, so also for the appliances used in its ministration, and the robes of the ministrants. in full sacerdotal habit the priests wore the apparelled alb, and stole, and over that the dalmatic, and either the cope or the chasuble over all, with the amys thrown back like a hood over the cope or chasuble. representations of priests _in pontificalibus_ abound in illuminated mss., and in their monumental effigies, to such an extent that we need hardly quote any particular examples. representations of the inferior orders are comparatively rare. examples of deacons may be found engraved in dr. rock's "church of our fathers," i. , , , , and . two others of early fourteenth-century date may be found in the add. ms. , , f. , one wearing a dalmatic of cloth of gold, the other of scarlet, over the alb. two others of the latter part of the fourteenth century are seen in king richard ii.'s book of hours (dom. a. xvii. f. ), one in blue dalmatic embroidered with gold, the other red embroidered with gold. a monumental effigy of a deacon under a mural arch at avon dassett, warwickshire, was referred to by mr. m. h. bloxam, in a recent lecture at the architectural museum, south kensington. the effigy, which is of the thirteenth century, is in alb, stole, and dalmatic. we are indebted to mr. bloxam for a note of another mutilated effigy of a deacon of the fourteenth century among the ruins of furness abbey; he is habited in the alb only, with a girdle round the middle, whose tasselled knobs hang down in front. the stole is passed across the body from the left shoulder, and is fastened together at the right hip. dr. rock, vol. i. p. , engraves a very good representation of a ninth-century sub-deacon in his tunicle, holding a pitcher in one hand and an empty chalice in the other; and in vol. ii. p. , an acolyte, in what seems to be a surplice, with a scarlet hood--part of his ordinary costume--over it, the date of the drawing being _cir._ a.d. we have already noted the costume of an ostiary at p. . in the illuminations we frequently find an inferior minister attending upon a priest when engaged in his office, but in many cases it is difficult to determine whether he is deacon, sub-deacon, or acolyte, _e.g._--in the early fourteenth-century ms., add. , , at f. , is a priest officiating at a funeral, attended by a minister, who is habited in a pink under robe--his ordinary dress--and over it a short white garment with wide loose sleeves, which may be either a deacon's dalmatic, or a sub-deacon's tunic, or an acolyte's surplice. in the add. ms. , , at f. , is a representation of a priest celebrating mass in a hermitage, with a minister kneeling behind him, habited in a white alb only, holding a lighted taper. again, in the ms. royal, e. iii. f. , is a picture of a prior dressed like some of the canons in our woodcut from richard ii.'s book of hours, in a blue under robe, white surplice, and red stole crossed over the breast, and his furred hood on his head; he is baptizing a heathen king, and an attendant minister, who is dressed in the ordinary secular habit of the time, stands beside, holding the chrismatory. in the same history of richard earl of warwick which we have already quoted, there is at f. v., a boy in a short surplice with a censer. in the early fourteenth-century ms., royal, e. iii. at f. v., is a picture of a bishop anointing a king; an attendant minister, who carries a holy water vessel and aspersoir, is dressed in a surplice over a pink tunic. the surplice is found in almost as many and as different shapes in the middle ages as now; sometimes with narrow sleeves and tight up to the neck; sometimes with shorter and wider sleeves and falling low at the neck; sometimes longer and sometimes shorter in the skirt; never, however, so long as altogether to hide the cassock beneath. in addition to the references already given, it may be sufficient to name as further authorities for ecclesiastical costumes generally:--for saxon times, the benedictional of st. ethelwold, engraved in the archæologia; for the thirteenth century, queen mary's psalter, royal, b. vii.; for the fourteenth, royal, , c. vii.; for the fifteenth century, lydgate's "life of st. edmund;" for the sixteenth century, hans burgmaier's "der weise könig," and the various works on sepulchral monuments and monumental brasses. [illustration: _coronation procession of charles v. of france._] the accompanying woodcut from col. johnes's froissart, vol. i. p. , representing the coronation procession of charles v. of france, will help us to exhibit some of the orders of the clergy with their proper costume and symbols. first goes the aquabajalus, in alb, sprinkling holy water; then a cross-bearer in cassock and surplice; then two priests, in cassock, surplice, and cope; then follows a canon in his cap (biretta), with his furred amys over his arm.[ ] * * * * * but the clergy wore these robes only when actually engaged in some official act. what was their ordinary costume is generally little known, and it is a part of the subject in which we are especially interested in these papers. from the earliest times of the english church downwards it was considered by the rulers of the church that clergymen ought to be distinguished from laymen not only by the tonsure, but also by their dress. we do not find that any uniform habit was prescribed to them, such as distinguished the regular orders of monks and friars from the laity, and from one another; but we gather from the canons of synods, and the injunctions of bishops, that the clergy were expected to wear their clothes not too gay in colour, and not too fashionably cut; that they were to abstain from wearing ornaments or carrying arms; and that their horse furniture was to be in the same severe style. we also gather from the frequent repetition of canons on the subject, and the growing earnestness of their tone, that these injunctions were very generally disregarded. we need not take the reader through the whole series of authorities which may be found in the various collections of councils; a single quotation from the injunctions of john (stratford) archbishop of canterbury, a.d. , will suffice to give us a comprehensive sketch of the general contents of the whole series. "the external costume often shows the internal character and condition of persons; and though the behaviour of clerks ought to be an example and pattern of the laity, yet the abuse of clerks, which has gained ground more than usually in these days in tonsures, in garments, in horse trappings, and other things, has now generated an abominable scandal among the people, while persons holding ecclesiastical dignities, rectories, honourable prebends, and benefices with cure of souls, even when ordained to holy orders, scorn to wear the crown (which is the token of the heavenly kingdom and of perfection), and, using the distinction of hair extended almost to the shoulders like effeminate persons, walk about clothed in a military rather than a clerical outer habit, viz., short, or notably scant, and with excessively wide sleeves, which do not cover the elbows, but hang down, lined, or, as they say, turned up with fur or silk, and hoods with tippets of wonderful length, and with long beards; and rashly dare, contrary to the canonical sanctions, to use rings indifferently on their fingers; and to be girt with zones, studded with precious stones of wonderful size, with purses engraved with various figures, enamelled and gilt, and attached to them (_i.e._ to the girdle), with knives, hanging after the fashion of swords, also with buskins red and even checked, green shoes and peaked and cut[ ] in many ways, with cruppers (_croperiis_) to their saddles, and horns hanging to their necks, capes and cloaks furred openly at the edges to such an extent, that little or no distinction appears of clerks from laymen, whereby they render themselves, through their demerits, unworthy of the privilege of their order and profession. "we therefore, wishing henceforward to prevent such errors, &c., command and ordain, that whoever obtain ecclesiastical benefices in our province, especially if ordained to holy orders, wear clerical garments and tonsure suitable to their status; but if any clerks of our province go publicly in an outer garment short, or notably scant, or in one with long or excessively wide sleeves, not touching the elbow round about, but hanging, with untonsured hair and long beard, or publicly wear their rings on their fingers, &c., if, on admonition, they do not reform within six months, they shall be suspended, and shall only be absolved by their diocesan, and then only on condition that they pay one-fifth of a year's income to the poor of the place through the diocesan," &c., &c. the authorities tried to get these canons observed. grostête sent back a curate who came to him for ordination "dressed in rings and scarlet like a courtier."[ ] some of the vicars of york cathedral[ ] were presented in a.d. for being in the habit of going through the city in short tunics, ornamentally trimmed, with knives and baselards[ ] hanging at their girdles. but the evidence before us seems to prove that it was not only the acolyte-rectors, and worldly-minded clerics, who indulged in such fashions, but that the secular clergy generally resisted these endeavours to impose upon them anything approaching to a regular habit like those worn by the monks and friars, and persisted in refusing to wear sad colours, or to cut their coats differently from other people, or to abstain from wearing a gold ring or an ornamented girdle. in the drawings of the secular clergy in the illuminated mss., we constantly find them in the ordinary civil costume. even in representations of the different orders and ranks of the secular clergy drawn by friendly hands, and intended to represent them _comme il faut_, we find them dressed in violation of the canons. we have already had occasion to notice a bishop in a blue-grey gown and hood, over a blue under-robe; and a prior performing a royal baptism, and canons performing service under the presidency of their bishop, with the blue and red robes of every-day life under their ritual surplices. the mss. furnish us with an abundance of other examples, _e.g._--in the early fourteenth-century ms., add. , , at f. v., is a picture showing "how the priests read before the barony the letter which the false queen sent to arthur." one of the persons thus described as priests has a blue gown and hood and black shoes, the other a claret-coloured gown and hood and red shoes. [illustration: _dns. ricardus de threton, sacerdos._] but our best examples are those in the book (cott. nero d. vii.) before quoted, in which the grateful monks of st. alban's have recorded the names and good deeds of those who had presented gifts or done services to the convent. in many cases the scribe has given us a portrait of the benefactor in the margin of the record; and these portraits supply us with an authentic gallery of typical portraits of the various orders of society of the time at which they were executed. from these we have taken the three examples we here present to the reader. on f. v. is a portrait of one lawrence, a clerk, who is dressed in a brown robe; another clerk, william by name, is in a scarlet robe and hood; on f. v., leofric, a deacon, is in a blue robe and hood. the accompanying woodcut, from folio , is dns. ricardus de threton, sacerdos,--sir richard de threton, priest,--who was executor of sir robert de thorp, knight, formerly chancellor of the king, and who gave twenty marks to the convent. our woodcut gives only the outlines of the full-length portrait. in the original the robe and hood are of full bright blue, lined with white; the under sleeves, which appear at the wrists, are of the same colour; and the shoes are red. at f. v. is dns. bartholomeus de wendone, rector of the church of thakreston, and the character of the face leads us to think that it may have been intended for a portrait. his robe and hood and sleeves are scarlet, with black shoes. another rector, dns. johannes rodland (at f. ), rector of the church of todyngton, has a green robe and scarlet hood. still another rector, of the church of little waltham, is represented half-length in pink gown and purple hood. on f. v. is the full-length portrait which is here represented. it is of dns. rogerus, chaplain of the chapel of the earl of warwick, at flamsted. over a scarlet gown, of the same fashion as those in the preceding pictures, is a pink cloak lined with blue; the hood is scarlet, of the same suit as the gown; the buttons at the shoulder of the cloak are white, the shoes red. it will be seen also that all three of these clergymen wear the moustache and beard. [illustration: _dns. barth. de wendone, rector._] [illustration: _dns. rogerus, capellanus._] dominus robertus de walsham, precentor of sarum (f. v.), is in his choir habit, a white surplice, and over it a fur amys fastened at the throat with a brooch. dns. robertus de hereforde, dean of sarum (f. ), has a lilac robe and hood fastened by a gold brooch. there is another dean, magister johnnes appleby, dean of st. paul's, at f. , whose costume is not very distinctly drawn. it may be necessary to assure some of our readers, that the colours here described were not given at the caprice of a limner wishing to make his page look gay. the portraits were perhaps imaginary, but the personages are habited in the costume proper to their rank and order. the series of benedictine abbots and monks in the same book are in black robes; other monks introduced are in the proper habit of their order; a king in his royal robes; a knight sometimes in armour, sometimes in the civil costume of his rank, with a sword by his side, and a chaplet round his flowing hair; a lady in the fashionable dress of the time; a burgher in his proper habit, with his hair cut short. and so the clergy are represented in the dress which they usually wore; and, for our purpose, the pictures are more valuable than if they were actual portraits of individual peculiarities of costume, because we are the more sure that they give us the usual and recognised costume of the several characters. indeed, it is a rule, which has very rare exceptions, that the mediæval illuminators represented contemporary subjects with scrupulous accuracy. we give another representation from the picture of john ball, the priest who was concerned in wat tyler's rebellion, taken from a ms. of froissart's chronicle, in the bibliothèque impériale at paris. the whole picture is interesting; the background is a church, in whose churchyard are three tall crosses. ball is preaching from the pulpit of his saddle to the crowd of insurgents who occupy the left side of the picture. in the froissart ms. harl. , , at f. , is a picture of _un vaillant homme et clerque nommé maistre johan warennes_, preaching against pope boniface; he is in a pulpit panelled in green and gold, with a pall hung over the front, and the people sit on benches before him; he is habited in a blue robe and hood lined with white. [illustration: _john ball, priest._] the author of piers ploughman, carping at the clergy in the latter half of the fourteenth century, says it would be better "if many a priest bare for their baselards and their brooches, a pair of beads in their hand, and a book under their arm. sire[ ] john and sire geffrey hath a girdle of silver, a baselard and a knife, with botons overgilt." a little later, he speaks of proud priests habited in patlocks,--a short jacket worn by laymen,--with peaked shoes and large knives or daggers. and in the poems of john audelay, in the fifteenth century, a parish priest is described in "his girdle harnesched with silver, his baselard hangs by." in the wills of the clergy they themselves describe their "togas" of gay colours, trimmed with various furs, and their ornamented girdles and purses, and make no secret of the objectionable knives and baselards. in the bury st. edmunds wills, adam de stanton, a chaplain, a.d. , bequeaths one girdle, with purse and knife, valued at _s._--a rather large sum of money in those days. in the york wills, john wynd-hill, rector of arnecliffe, a.d. , bequeaths a pair of amber beads, such as piers ploughman says a priest ought "to bear in his hand, and a book under his arm;" and, curiously enough, in the next sentence he leaves "an english book of piers ploughman;" but he does not seem to have been much influenced by the popular poet's invectives, for he goes on to bequeath two green gowns and one of murrey and one of sanguine colour, besides two of black, all trimmed with various furs; also, one girdle of sanguine silk, ornamented with silver, and gilded, and another zone of green and white, ornamented with silver and gilded; and he also leaves behind him--_proh pudor_--his best silver girdle, and a baselard with ivory and silver handle. john gilby, rector of knesale, - , leaves a red toga, furred with byce, a black zone of silk with gilt bars, and a zone ornamented with silver. j. bagule, rector of all saints, york, a.d. , leaves a little baselard, with a zone harnessed with silver, to sir t. astell, a chaplain. w. duffield, a chantry priest at york, a.d. , leaves a black zone silvered, a purse called a "gypsire," and a white purse of "burdeux." w. siverd, chaplain, leaves to h. hobshot a hawk-bag; and to w. day, parochial chaplain of calton, a pair of hawk-bag rings; and to j. sarle, chaplain, "my ruby zone, silvered, and my toga, furred with 'bevers;'" and to the wife of j. bridlington, "a ruby purse of satin." r. rolleston, provost of the church of beverley, a.d. , leaves a "toga lunata" with a red hood, a toga and hood of violet, a long toga and hood of black, trimmed with martrons, and a toga and hood of violet. j. clyft, chaplain, a.d. , leaves a zone of silk, ornamented with silver. j. tidman, chaplain, a.d. , a toga of violet and one of meld. c. lassels, chaplain, a.d. , a green toga and a white zone, silvered. t. horneby, rector of stokesley, a.d. , a red toga and hood; and, among the richmondshire wills, we find that of sir henry halled, lady-priest of the parish of kirby-in-kendal, in a.d. (four years before the suppression of the chantries), who leaves a short gown and a long gown, whose colour is not specified, but was probably black, which seems by this time to have been the most usual clerical wear. the accompanying woodcut will admirably illustrate the ornamented girdle, purse, and knife, of which we have been reading. it is from a ms. of chaucer's poem of the romaunt of the rose (harl. , , f. ), and represents a priest confessing a lady in a church. the characters in the scene are, like the poem, allegorical; the priest is genius, and the lady is dame nature; but it is not the less an accurate picture of a confessional scene of the latter part of the fourteenth century. the priest is habited in a robe of purple, with a black cap and a black liripipe attached to it, brought over the shoulder to the front, and falling over the arm. the tab, peeping from beneath the cap above the ear, is red; the girdle, purse, and knife, are, in the original illumination, very clearly represented. in another picture of the same person, at f. , the black girdle is represented as ornamented with little circles of gold. [illustration: _a priest confessing a lady._] many of these clergymen had one black toga with hood _en suite_--not for constant use in divine service, for, as we have already seen, they are generally represented in the illuminations with coloured "togas" under their surplices,--but perhaps, for wear on mourning occasions. thus, in the presentations of york cathedral, a.d. , "we thynke it were convenient that whene we fetche a corse to the churche, that we shulde be in our blak abbettes [habits] mornyngly, w{t} our hodes of the same of our hedes, as is used in many other places."[ ] at the time of the reformation, when the english clergy abandoned the mediæval official robes, they also desisted from wearing the tonsure, which had for many centuries been the distinguishing mark of a cleric, and they seem generally to have adopted the academical dress, for the model both of their official and their ordinary dress. the puritan clergy adopted a costume which differed little, if at all, from that of the laity of the same school. but it is curious that this question of clerical dress continued to be one of complaint on one side, and resistance on the other, down to the end of our ecclesiastical legislation. the th canon of is as rhetorical in form, and as querulous in tone, and as minute in its description of the way in which ecclesiastical persons should, and the way in which they should not, dress, as is the injunction of , which we have already quoted. "the true, ancient, and flourishing churches of christ, being ever desirous that their prelacy and clergy might be had as well in outward reverence, as otherwise regarded for the worthiness of their ministry, did think it fit, by a prescript form of decent and comely apparel, to have them known to the people, and thereby to receive the honour and estimation due to the special messengers and ministers of almighty god: we, therefore, following their grave judgment and the ancient custom of the church of england, and hoping that in time new fangleness of apparel in some factious persons will die of itself, do constitute and appoint, that the archbishops and bishops shall not intermit to use the accustomed apparel of their degree. likewise, all deans, masters of colleges, archdeacons, and prebendaries, in cathedrals and collegiate churches (being priests or deacons), doctors in divinity, law, and physic, bachelors in divinity, masters of arts, and bachelors of law, having any ecclesiastical living, shall wear gowns with standing collars, and sleeves straight at the hands, or wide sleeves, as is used in the universities, with hoods or tippets of silk or sarcenet, and square caps; and that all other ministers admitted, or to be admitted, into that function, shall also usually wear the like apparel as is aforesaid, except tippets only. we do further in like manner ordain, that all the said ecclesiastical persons above mentioned shall usually wear on their journeys cloaks with sleeves, commonly called priests' cloaks, without guards, welts, long buttons, or cuts. and no ecclesiastical person shall wear any coif, or wrought night-cap, but only plain night caps of black silk, satin, or velvet. in all which particulars concerning the apparel here prescribed, our meaning is not to attribute any holiness or special worthiness to the said garments, but for decency, gravity, and order, as is before specified. in private houses and in their studies the said persons ecclesiastical may use any comely and scholarlike apparel, provided that it be not cut or pinkt; and that in public they go not in their doublet and hose without coats or cassocks; and that they wear not any light-coloured stockings. likewise, poor beneficed men and curates (not being able to provide themselves long gowns) may go in short gowns of the fashion aforesaid." the portraits prefixed to the folio works of the great divines of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries have made us familiar with the fact, that at the time of the reformation the clergy wore the beard and moustache. they continued to wear the cassock and gown as their ordinary out-door costume until as late as the time of george ii.; but in the fashion of doublet and hose, hats, shoes, and hair, they followed the custom of other gentlemen. mr. fairholt, in his "costume in england," p. , gives us a woodcut from a print of a.d., which admirably illustrates the ordinary out-door dress of a clergyman of the time of william and mary. chapter v. parsonage houses. when, in our endeavour to realise the life of these secular clergymen of the middle ages, we come to inquire, what sort of houses did they live in? how were these furnished? what sort of life did their occupants lead? what kind of men were they? it is curious how little seems to be generally known on the subject, compared with what we know about the houses and life and character of the regular orders. instead of gathering together what others have said, we find ourselves engaged in an original investigation of a new and obscure subject. the case of the cathedral and collegiate clergy, and that of the isolated parochial clergy, form two distinct branches of the subject. the limited space at our disposal will not permit us to do justice to both; the latter branch of the subject is less known, and perhaps the more generally interesting, and we shall therefore devote the bulk of our space to it. we will only premise a few words on the former branch. the bishop of a cathedral of secular canons had his house near his cathedral, in which he maintained a household equal in numbers and expense to that of the secular barons among whom he took rank; the chief difference being, that the spiritual lord's family consisted rather of chaplains and clerks than of squires and men-at-arms. the bishop's palace at wells is a very interesting example in an unusually perfect condition. britton gives an engraving of it as it appeared before the reign of edward vi. the bishop besides had other residences on his manors, some of which were castles like those of the other nobility. farnham, the present residence of the see of winchester, is a noble example, which still serves its original purpose. of the cathedral closes many still remain sufficiently unchanged to enable us to understand their original condition. take lincoln for example. on the north side of the church, in the angle between the nave and transept, was the cloister, with the polygonal chapter-house on the east side. the lofty wall which enclosed the precincts yet remains, with its main entrance in the middle of the west wall, opposite the great doors of the cathedral. this gate, called the exchequer gate, has chambers over it, devoted probably to the official business of the diocese. there are two other smaller gates at the north-east and south-east corners of the close, and there is a postern on the south side. the bishop's palace, whose beautiful and interesting ruins and charming grounds still remain, occupied the slope of the southern hill outside the close. the vicar's court is in the corner of the close near the gateway to the palace grounds. a fourteenth-century house, which was the official residence of the chaplain of one of the endowed chantries, still remains on the south side of the close, nearly opposite the choir door. on the east side of the close the fifteenth-century houses of several of the canons still remain, and are interesting examples of the domestic architecture of the time. it is not difficult from these data to picture to ourselves the original condition of this noble establishment when the cathedral, with its cloister and chapter-house, stood isolated in the middle of the green sward, and the houses of the canons and chaplains formed a great irregular quadrangle round it, and the close walls shut them all in from the outer world, and the halls and towers of the bishop's palace were still perfect amidst its hanging gardens enclosed within their own walls, the quadrangle of houses which had been built for the cathedral vicars occupying a corner cut out of the bishop's grounds beside his gateway. and we can repeople the restored close. let it be on the morning of one of the great festivals; let the great bells be ringing out their summons to high mass; and we shall see the dignified canons in amice and cap crossing the green singly on their way from their houses to their stalls in the choir; the vicars conversing in a little group as they come across from their court; the surpliced chorister boys under the charge of their schoolmaster; a band of minstrels with flutes, and hautboys, and viols, and harps, and organs, coming in from the city, to use their instruments in the rood-loft to aid the voices of the choir; scattered clerks and country clergy, and townspeople, are all converging to the great south door; and last of all the lord bishop, in cope and mitre, emerges from his gateway, preceded by his cross-bearer, attended by noble or royal guests, and followed by a suite of officials and clerks; while over all the great bells ring out their joyous peal to summon the people to the solemn worship of god in the mother church of the vast diocese. * * * * * but we must turn to our researches into the humbler life of the country rectors and vicars. and first, what sort of houses did they live in? we have not been able to find one of the parsonage houses of an earlier date than the reformation still remaining in a condition sufficiently unaltered to enable us to understand what they originally were. there is an ancient rectory house of the fourteenth century at west deane, sussex,[ ] of which we give a ground-plan and north-east view on the following page; but the rectory belonged to the prior and convent of benedictine monks of wilmington, and this house was probably their grange, or cell, and may have been inhabited by two of their monks, or by their tenant, and not by the parish priest. again, there is a very picturesque rectory house, of the fifteenth century, at little chesterton, near cambridge,[ ] but this again is believed to have been a grange, or cell, of a monastic house. in the absence of actual examples, we are driven to glean what information we can from other sources. there remain to us a good many of the deeds of the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries, by which, on the impropriation of the benefices, provision was made for the permanent endowment of vicarages in them. in the majority of cases the old rectory house was assigned as the future vicarage house, and no detailed description of it was necessary; but in the deed by which the rectories of sawbridgeworth, in herts, and kelvedon, in essex, were appropriated to the convent of westminster, we are so fortunate as to find descriptions of the fourteenth-century parsonage houses, one of which is so detailed as to enable any one who is acquainted with the domestic architecture of the time to form a very definite picture of the whole building. in the case of sawbridgeworth, the old rectory house was assigned as the vicarage house, and is thus described--"all the messuage which is called the priest's messuage, with the houses thereon built, that is to say, one hall with two chambers, with a buttery, cellar, kitchen, stable, and other fitting and decent houses, with all the garden as it is enclosed with walls to the said messuage belonging." the description of the parsonage house at kelvedon is much more definite and intelligible. for this the deed tells us the convent assigned--"one hall situate in the manor of the said abbot and convent near the said church, with a chamber and soler at one end of the hall and with a buttery and cellar at the other. also one other house in three parts, that is to say, for a kitchen with a convenient chamber in the end of the said house for guests, and a bakehouse. also one other house in two parts, next the gate at the entrance of the manor, for a stable and cowhouse. he (the vicar) shall also have a convenient grange, to be built within a year at the expense of the prior and convent. he shall also have the curtilage with the garden adjoining to the hall on the north side, as it is enclosed with hedges and ditches." the date of the deed is a.d., and it speaks of these houses as already existing. now the common arrangement of a small house at that date, and for near a century before and after, was this, "a hall in the centre, with a soler at one end and offices at the other."[ ] a description which exactly agrees with the account of the kelvedon house, and enables us to say with great probability that in the sawbridgeworth "priest's messuage" also, the two chambers were at one end of the hall, and the buttery, cellar, and kitchen at the other, the stable and other fitting and decent houses being detached from and not forming any portion of the dwelling house. [illustration: _rectory house, west deane, sussex._] [illustration: a entrance door. b windows. c cellar window. d entrance to stair. e a recess. f fire-place. ft. in. length of exterior width of interior thickness of wall height of rooms ] confining ourselves, however, to the kelvedon house, a little study will enable us to reconstruct it conjecturally with a very high probability of being minutely accurate in our conjectures. first of all, a house of this character in the county of essex would, beyond question, be a timber house. to make our description clearer we have given a rough diagram of our conjectural arrangement. its principal feature was, of course, the "one hall" (a). we know at once what the hall of a timber house of this period of architecture would be. it would be a rather spacious and lofty apartment, with an open timber roof; the principal door of the house would open into the "screens" (d), at the lower end of the hall, and the back door of the house would be at the other end of the screens. at the upper end of the hall would be the raised dais (b), at which the master of the house sat with his family. the fireplace would either be an open hearth in the middle of the hall, like that which still exists in the fourteenth-century hall at penshurst place, kent, or it would be an open fireplace, under a projecting chimney, at the further side of the hall, such as is frequently seen in ms. illuminations of the small houses of the period. there was next "a chamber and soler at one end of the hall." the soler of a mediæval house was the chief apartment after the hall, it answered to the "great chamber" of the sixteenth century, and to the parlour or drawing-room of more modern times. it was usually adjacent to the upper end of the hall, and built on transversely to it, with a window at each end. it was usually raised on an undercroft, which was used as a storeroom or cellar, so that it was reached by a stair from the upper end of the hall. sometimes, instead of a mere undercroft, there was a chamber under the soler, which was the case here, so that we have added these features to our plan (c). next there was "a buttery and cellar at the other" end of the hall. in the buttery in those days were kept wine and beer, table linen, cups, pots, &c.: and in the cellar the stores of eatables which, it must be remembered, were not bought in weekly from the village shop, or the next market town, but were partly the produce of the glebe and tithe, and partly were laid in yearly or half-yearly at some neighbouring fair. the buttery and cellar--they who are familiar with old houses, or with our colleges, will remember--are always at the lower end of the hall, and open upon the screens, with two whole or half doors side by side; we may therefore add them thus upon our plan (h, i). [illustration: _conjectural plan of rectory-house at kelvedon, essex._] the deed adds, "also one other house in three parts." in those days the rooms of a house were not massed compactly together under one roof, but were built in separate buildings more or less detached, and each building was called a house; "one other house in three parts, that is to say, a kitchen with a convenient chamber at one end of the said house for guests, and a bakehouse." "the kitchen," says mr. parker, in his "domestic architecture," "was frequently a detached building, often connected with the hall by a passage or alley leading from the screens;" and it was often of greater relative size and importance than modern usage would lead us to suppose; the kitchens of old monasteries, mansion houses, and colleges often have almost the size and architectural character of a second hall. in the case before us it was a section of the "other house," and probably occupied its whole height, with an open timber roof (g). in the disposition of the bakehouse and convenient chamber for guests which were also in this other house, we meet with our first difficulty; the "chamber" might possibly be over the bakehouse, which took the usual form of an undercroft beneath the guest chamber; but the definition that the house was divided "in three parts" suggests that it was divided from top to bottom into three distinct sections. inclining to the latter opinion, we have so disposed these apartments in our plan (f, e). the elevation of the house may be conjectured with as much probability as its plan. standing in front of it we should have the side of the hall towards us, with the arched door at its lower end, and perhaps two windows in the side with carved wood tracery[ ] in their heads. to the right would be the gable end of the chamber with soler over it; the soler would probably have a rather large arched and traceried window in the end, the chamber a smaller and perhaps square-headed light. on the left would be the building, perhaps a lean-to, containing the buttery and cellar, with only a small square-headed light in front. the accompanying wood-cut of a fourteenth-century house, from the add. mss. , , will help to illustrate our conjectural elevation of kelvedon rectory. it has the hall with its great door and arched traceried window, and at the one end a chamber and soler over it. it only wants the offices at the other end to make the resemblance complete.[ ] [illustration: _a fourteenth century house._] of later date probably and greater size, resembling a moated manor house, was the rectory of great bromley, essex, which is thus described in the terrier of a.d.: "a large parsonage house compass'd with a mote, a gate-house, with a large chamber, and a substantial bridge of timber adjoining to it, a little yard, an orchard, and a little garden, all within the mote, which, together with the circuit of the house, contains about half an acre of ground; and without the mote there is a yard, in which there is another gate-house and a stable, and a hay house adjoining; also a barn of yards long and yards wide, and about acres and a-half of glebeland."[ ] the outbuildings were perhaps arranged as a courtyard outside the moat to which the gate-house formed an entrance, so that the visitor would pass through this outer gate, through the court of offices, over the bridge, and through the second gate-house into the base court of the house. this is the arrangement at ightham mote, kent. the parish chaplains seem to have had houses of residence provided for them. the parish of st. michael-le-belfry, york, complained in its visitation presentment, in the year , that there was no house assigned for the parish chaplain or for the parish clerk. that they were small houses we gather from the fact that in some of the settlements of vicarages it is required that a competent house shall be built for the vicar where the parish chaplain has been used to live; _e.g._ at great bentley, essex, it was ordered in , that the vicars "shall have one competent dwelling-house with a sufficient curtilage, where the parish chaplain did use to abide, to be prepared at the cost of the said prior and convent."[ ] and at the settlement of the vicarage of st. peter's, colchester, a.d. , it was required that "the convent of st. botolph's, the impropriators, should prepare a competent house for the vicar in the ground of the churchyard where a house was built for the parish chaplain of the said church." at radwinter, essex, we find by the terrier of a.d., that there were two mansions belonging to the benefice, "on the south side of the church, towards the west end, one called the great vicarage, and in ancient time the domus capellanorum, and the other the less vicarage," which latter "formerly served for the ease of the parson, and, as appears by evidence, first given to the end that if any of the parish were sick, the party might be sure to find the parson or his curate near the church ready to go and visit him." at the south-west corner of the churchyard of doddinghurst, essex, there still exists a little house of fifteenth-century date, which may have been such a curate's house. from a comparison of these parsonages with the usual plan and arrangement of the houses of laymen of the fourteenth century, may be made the important deduction that the houses of the parochial clergy had no ecclesiastical peculiarities of arrangement; they were not little monasteries or great recluse houses, they were like the houses of the laity; and this agrees with the conclusions to which we have arrived already by other roads, that the secular clergy lived in very much the same style as laymen of a similar degree of wealth and social standing. the poor clerk lived in a single chamber of a citizen's house; the town priest had a house like those of the citizens; the country rector or vicar a house like the manor houses of the smaller gentry. as to the furniture of the parsonage, the wills of the clergy supply us with ample authorities. we will select one of about the date of the kelvedon parsonage house which we have been studying, to help us to conjecturally furnish the house which we have conjecturally built. here is an inventory of the goods of adam de stanton, a chaplain, date a.d., taken from mr. tymms's collection of bury wills. "imprimis, in money vi{s.} viii{d.} and i seal of silver worth ijs." the money will seem a fair sum to have in hand when we consider the greater value of money then and especially the comparative scarcity of actual coin. the seal was probably his official seal as chaplain of an endowed chantry; we have extant examples of such seals of the beneficed clergy. "item, iij brass pots and i posnet worth xj{s.} vj{d.} item, in plate, xxij{d.} item, a round pot with a laver, j{s.} vj{d.,}" probably an ewer and basin for washing the hands, like those still used in germany, &c. "item, in iron instruments, vj{s.} viiij{d.} and vj{d.,}" perhaps fire-dogs and poker, spit, and pothook. "item, in pewter vessels, iiij{s.} ij{d.,}" probably plates, dishes, and spoons. "item, of wooden utensils," which, from comparison with other inventories of about the same period, we suppose may be boards and trestles for tables, and benches, and a chair, and perhaps may include trenchers and bowls. "item, i portiforum, x{s.,}" a book of church service so called, which must have been a handsome one to be worth ten shillings, perhaps it was illuminated. "item, j book de lege and j par statutorum, and j book of romances.[ ] item, j girdle with purse and knife, v{s.}" on which we have already commented in our last chapter. "item, j pair of knives for the table, xij{d.} item, j saddle with bridle and spurs, iij{s.} item, of linen and woollen garments, xxviij{s.} and xij{d.} item, of chests and caskets, vj{s.} ij{d.,}" chests and caskets then served for cupboards and drawers.[ ] if we compare these clerical inventories with those of contemporary laymen of the same degree, we shall find that a country parson's house was furnished like a small manor house, and that his domestic economy was very like that of the gentry of a like income. matthew paris tells us an anecdote of a certain handsome clerk, the rector of a rich church, who surpassed all the knights living around him in giving repeated entertainments and acts of hospitality.[ ] but usually it was a rude kind of life which the country squire or parson led, very like that which was led by the substantial farmers of a few generations ago, when it was the fashion for the unmarried farm labourers to live in the farm-house, and for the farmer and his household all to sit down to meals together. these were their hours:-- "rise at five, dine at nine, sup at five, and bed at nine, will make a man live to ninety-and-nine." the master of the house sat in the sole arm-chair, in the middle of the high table on the dais, with his family on either side of him; and his men sat at the movable tables of boards and trestles, with a bench on each side, which we find mentioned in the inventories: or the master sat at the same table with his men, only he sat above the salt and they below; he drank his ale out of a silver cup while they drank it out of horn; he ate white bread while they ate brown, and he a capon out of his curtilage while they had pork or mutton ham; he retired to his great chamber when he desired privacy, which was not often perhaps; and he slept in a tester bed in the great chamber, while they slept on truckle beds in the hall. one item in the description of the kelvedon parsonage requires special consideration, and opens up a rather important question as to the domestic economy of the parochial clergy over and above what we have hitherto gleaned. "the convenient chamber for guests" there mentioned was not a best bedroom for any friend who might pay him a visit. it was a provision for the efficient exercise of the hospitality to which the beneficed parochial clergy were bound. it is a subject which perhaps needs a little explanation. in england there were no inns where travellers could obtain food and lodging until the middle of the fourteenth century; and for long after that period they could only be found in the largest and most important towns; and it was held to be a part of the duty of the clergy to "entertain strangers," and be "given to hospitality." it was a charity not very likely to be abused; for, thanks to bad roads, unbridged fords, no inns, wild moors, and vast forests haunted by lawless men, very few travelled, except for serious business; and it was a real act of christian charity to afford to such travellers the food and shelter which they needed, and would have been hard put to it to have obtained otherwise. the monasteries, we all know, exercised this hospitality on so large a scale, that in order to avoid the interruption a constant succession of guests would have made in the seclusion and regularity of conventual life, they provided special buildings for it, called the hospitium or guest house, a kind of inn within the walls, and they appointed one of the monks, under the name of the hospitaller or guest master, to represent the convent in entertaining the guests. hermitages also, we have seen, were frequently built along the high roads, especially near bridges and fords, for the purpose of aiding travellers. along the road which led towards some famous place of pilgrimage hospitals, which were always religious foundations, were founded especially for the entertainment of poor pilgrims. and the parochial clergy were expected to exercise a similar hospitality. thus in the replies of the rectors of berkshire to the papal legate, in a.d., they say that "their churches were endowed and enriched by their patrons with lands and revenues for the especial purpose that the rectors of them should receive guests, rich as well as poor, and show hospitality to laity as well as clergy, according to their means, as the custom of the place required."[ ] again, in , the clergy, on a similar occasion, stated that "a custom has hitherto prevailed, and been observed in england, that the rectors of parochial churches have always been remarkable for hospitality, and have made a practice of supplying food to their parishioners who were in want, ... and if a portion of their benefices be taken away from them, they will be under the necessity of refusing their hospitality, and abandoning their accustomed offices of piety. and if these be withdrawn, they will incur the hatred of those subject to them [their parishioners], and will lose the favour of passers-by [travellers] and their neighbours."[ ] again, in a.d., bishop grostête, in his remonstrance to the pope, says of the foreigners who were intruded into english benefices, that they "could not even take up their residence, to administer to the wants of the poor, and to receive travellers."[ ] there is an interesting passage illustrative of the subject quoted in parker's "domestic architecture," i. p. . Æneus sylvius, afterwards pope pius ii., describing his journey from scotland into england, in the year , says that he entered a large village in a wild and barbarous part of the country, about sunset, and "alighted at a rustic's house, and supped there with the priest of the place and the host." the special mention of the priest in the first place almost leads us to conjecture that the foreign ecclesiastic had first gone to the priest of the place for the usual hospitality, and had been taken on by him to the manor house--for the "rustic" seems to have been a squire--as better able to afford him a suitable hospitality. sundry pottages, and fowls, and geese, were placed on the table, but there was neither bread nor wine. he had, however, brought with him a few loaves and a roundel of wine, which he had received at a certain monastery. either a stranger was a great novelty, or the italian ecclesiastic had something remarkable in his appearance, for he says all "the people of the place ran to the house to stare at him." kelvedon being on one of the great high roads of the country, its parson would often be called upon to exercise his duty of hospitality, hence the provision of a special guest chamber in the parsonage house. and so in our picture of the domestic economy and ordinary life of a mediæval country parson we must furnish his guest chamber, and add a little to the contents of buttery and cellar, to provide for his duty of hospitality; and we must picture him not always sitting in solitary dignity at his high table on the dais, but often playing the courteous host to knight and lady, merchant, minstrel, or pilgrim; and after dinner giving the broken meat to the poor, who in the days when there was no poor law were the regular dependants on his bounty. the minstrels of the middle ages. chapter i. it would carry us too far a-field to attempt to give a sketch of the early music of the principal nations of antiquity, such as might be deduced from the monuments of egypt and nineveh and greece. we may, however, briefly glance at the most ancient minstrelsy of the israelites; partly for the sake of the peculiar interest of the subject itself, partly because the early history of music is nearly the same in all nations, and this earliest history will illustrate and receive illustration from a comparison with the history of music in mediæval england. musical instruments, we are told by the highest of all authorities, were invented in the eighth generation of the world--that is in the third generation before the flood--by tubal, "the father of all such as handle the harp and organ, both stringed and wind instruments." the ancient israelites used musical instruments on the same occasions as the mediæval europeans--in battle; in their feasts and dances; in processions, whether of religious or civil ceremony; and in the solemnising of divine worship. the trumpet and the horn were then, as always, the instruments of warlike music--"if ye go to war then shall ye blow an alarm with the silver trumpets."[ ] the trumpet regulated the march of the hosts of israel through the wilderness. when joshua compassed jericho, the seven priests blew trumpets of rams' horns. gideon and his three hundred discomfited the host of the midianites with the sound of their trumpets. the tabret was the common accompaniment of the troops of female dancers, whether the occasion were religious or festive. miriam the prophetess took a timbrel in her hand, and all the women went out after her with timbrels and with dances, singing a solemn chorus to the triumphant song of moses and of the children of israel over the destruction of pharaoh in the red sea,-- "sing ye to the lord, for he hath triumphed gloriously; the horse and his rider hath he thrown into the sea."[ ] jephthah's daughter went to meet her victorious father with timbrels and dances:-- "the daughter of the warrior gileadite, from mizpeh's tower'd gate with welcome light, with timbrel and with song." and so, when king saul returned from the slaughter of the philistines, after the shepherd david had killed their giant champion in the valley of elah, the women came out of all the cities to meet the returning warriors "singing and dancing to meet king saul, with tabrets, with joy, and with instruments of music;" and the women answered one another in dramatic chorus-- "saul hath slain his thousands, and david his ten thousands."[ ] laban says that he would have sent away jacob and his wives and children, "with mirth and with songs, with tabret and with harp." and jeremiah prophesying that times of ease and prosperity shall come again for israel, says: "o virgin of israel, thou shalt again be adorned with thy tabrets, and shalt go forth in the dances of them that make merry."[ ] in their feasts these and many other instruments were used. isaiah tells us[ ] that they had "the harp, and the viol, the tabret, and pipe, and wine in their feasts;" and amos tells us of the luxurious people who lie upon beds of ivory, and "chant to the sound of the viol, and invent to themselves instruments of music like david," and drink wine in bowls, and anoint themselves with the costliest perfumes. instruments of music were used in the colleges of prophets, which samuel established in the land, to accompany and inspire the delivery of their prophetical utterances. as saul, newly anointed, went up the hill of god towards the city, he met a company of prophets coming down, with a psaltery, and a tabret, and a pipe, and a harp before them, prophesying; and the spirit of the lord came upon saul when he heard, and he also prophesied.[ ] when elisha was requested by jehoram to prophesy the fate of the battle with the moabites, he said: "bring me a minstrel; and when the minstrel played, the hand of the lord came upon him, and he prophesied." when david brought up the ark from gibeah, he and all the house of israel played before the lord on all manner of instruments made of firwood, even on harps, psalteries, timbrels, cornets, and cymbals.[ ] and in the song which he himself composed to be sung on that occasion,[ ] he thus describes the musical part of the procession:-- "it is well seen how thou goest, how thou, my god and king, goest to the sanctuary; the singers go before, the minstrels follow after, in the midst are the damsels playing with the timbrels." the instruments appointed for the regular daily service of the temple "by david, and gad the king's seer, and nathan the prophet, for so was the commandment of the lord by his prophets," were cymbals, psalteries, and harps, which david made for the purpose, and which were played by four thousand levites. besides the instruments already mentioned,--the harp, tabret, timbrel, psaltery, trumpet, cornet, cymbal, pipe, and viol,--they had also the lyre, bag-pipes, and bells; and probably they carried back with them from babylon further additions, from the instruments of "all peoples, nations, and languages" with which they would become familiarised in that capital of the world. but from the time of tubal down to the time when the royal minstrel of israel sang those glorious songs which are still the daily solace of thousands of mankind, and further down to the time when the captive israelites hanged their unstrung harps upon the willows of babylon, and could not sing the songs of zion in a strange land, the harp continued still the fitting accompaniment of the voice in all poetical utterance of a dignified and solemn character:--the recitation of the poetical portions of historical and prophetical scripture, for instance, would be sustained by it, and the songs of the psalmists of zion were accompanied by its strains. and thus this sketch of the history of the earliest music closes, with the minstrel harp still in the foreground; while in the distance we hear the sound of the fanfare of cornet, flute, harp, sackbut, psaltery, dulcimer, and all kinds of music, which were concerted on great occasions; such as that on which they resounded over the plain of dura, to bow that bending crowd of heads, as the ripe corn bends before the wind, to the great image of gold:--an idolatry, alas! which the peoples, nations, and languages still perform almost as fervently as of old. * * * * * the northern bard, or scald, was the father of the minstrels of mediæval europe. our own early traditions afford some picturesque anecdotes, proving the high estimation in which the character was held by the saxons and their kindred danes; and showing that they were accustomed to wander about to court, and camp, and hall; and were hospitably received, even though the bard were of a race against which his hosts were at that very time encamped in hostile array. we will only remind the reader of the royal alfred's assumption of the character of a minstrel, and his visit in that disguise to the danish camp (a.d. ); and of the similar visit, ten years after, of anlaff the danish king to the camp of saxon athelstane. but the earliest anecdote of the kind we shall have hereafter to refer to, and may therefore here detail at length. it is told us by geoffrey of monmouth, that colgrin, the son of ella, who succeeded hengist in the leadership of the invading saxons, was shut up in york, and closely besieged by king arthur and his britons. baldulf, the brother of colgrin, wanted to gain access to him, to apprise him of a reinforcement which was coming from germany. in order to accomplish this design, he assumed the character of a minstrel. he shaved his head and beard; and dressing himself in the habit of that profession, took his harp in his hand. in this disguise he walked up and down the trenches without suspicion, playing all the while upon his instrument as a harper. by little and little he approached the walls of the city; and, making himself known to the sentinels, was in the night drawn up by a rope. the harper continued throughout the middle ages to be the most dignified of the minstrel craft, the reciter, and often the composer, of heroic legend and historical tale, of wild romance and amorous song. frequently, and perhaps especially in the case of the higher class of harpers, he travelled alone, as in the cases which we have already seen of baldulf, and alfred, and anlaff. but he also often associated himself with a band of minstrels, who filled up the intervals of his recitations and songs with their music, much as vocal and instrumental pieces are alternated in our modern concerts. with a band of minstrels there was also very usually associated a mime, who amused the audience with his feats of agility and leger-de-main. the association appears at first sight somewhat undignified--the heroic harper and the tumbler--but the incongruity was not peculiar to the middle ages; the author of the "iliad" wrote the "battle of the frogs,"--the greeks were not satisfied without a satiric drama after their grand heroic tragedy; and in these days we have a farce or a pantomime after shakspeare. we are not all heraclituses, to see only the tragic side of life, or democrituses, to laugh at everything; the majority of men have faculties to appreciate both classes of emotion; and it would seem, from universal experience, that, as the russian finds a physical delight in leaping from a vapour-bath into the frozen neva, so there is some mental delight in the sudden alternate excitation of the opposite emotions of tragedy and farce. if we had time to philosophise, we might find the source of the delight deeply seated in our nature:--alternate tears and laughter--it is an epitome of human life! in the accompanying woodcut from a late saxon ms. in the british museum (cott. tiberius c. vi.) we have a curious evidence of the way in which custom blinded men to any incongruity there may be in the association of the harper and the juggler, for here we have david singing his psalms and accompanying himself on the harp, the dove reminding us that he sang and harped under the influence of inspiration. he is accompanied by performers who must be levites; and yet the saxon illuminator was so used to see a mime form one of a minstrel band, that he has introduced one playing the common feat of tossing three knives and three balls. [illustration: _saxon band of minstrels._] the saxons were a musical people. we learn from bede's anecdote of the poet cædmon, that it was usual at their feasts to pass the harp round from hand to hand, and every man was supposed to be able to sing in his turn, and accompany himself on the instrument. they had a considerable number of musical instruments. in a ms. in the british museum, tiberius c. vi., folios v., v., , are a few leaves of a formal treatise on the subject, which give us very carefully drawn pictures of different instruments, with their names and descriptions. there are also illustrations of them in the add. , , folios , v., , v., , and in cleopatra e. viii. among them are the psaltery of various shapes, the sambuca or sackbut, the single and double chorus, &c. other instruments we find in saxon mss. are the lyre, viol, flute, cymbals, organ, &c. a set of hand-bells (carillons) which the player struck with two hammers, was a favourite instrument. we often find different instruments played together. at folio v. of the ms. claudius b iv. there is a group of twelve female harpists playing together; one has a small instrument, probably a kind of lyre, the rest have great harps of the same pattern. they probably represent miriam and the women of israel joining in the triumphal song of moses over the destruction of the egyptians in the red sea. [illustration: _saxon organ._] the organ, already introduced into divine service, became, under the hands of st. dunstan, a large and important instrument. william of malmesbury says that dunstan gave many to churches which had pipes of brass and were inflated with bellows. in a ms. psalter in trinity college, cambridge, is a picture of one of considerable size, which has no less than four bellows played by four men. it is represented in the accompanying wood-cut. the northmen who invaded and gave their name to normandy, took their minstrels with them; and the learned assert that it was from them that the troubadours of provence learned their art, which ripened in their sunny clime into _la joyeuse science_, and thence was carried into italy, france, and spain. it is quite certain that minstrelsy was in high repute among the normans at the period of the conquest. every one will remember how taillefer, the minstrel-knight, commenced the great battle of hastings. advancing in front of the norman host, he animated himself and them to a chivalric daring by chanting the heroic tale of charlemagne and his paladins, at the same time showing feats of skill in tossing his sword into the air; and then rushed into the saxon ranks, like a divinely-mad hero of old, giving in his own self-sacrifice an augury of victory to his people. from the period of the conquest, authorities on the subject of which we are treating, though still not so numerous as could be desired, become too numerous to be all included within the limits to which our space restricts us. the reader may refer to wharton's "history of english poetry," to bishop percy's introductory essay to the "reliques of early english poetry," and to the introductory essay to ellis's "early english metrical romances," for the principal published authorities. for a series of learned essays on mediæval musical instruments he may consult m. didron's "annales archæologiques," vol. iii. pp. , , ; vol. iv. pp. , ; vol. vi. p. ; vol. vii. pp. , , , ; vol. viii. p. ; vol. ix. pp. , .[ ] we propose only from these and other published and unpublished materials to give a popular sketch of the subject. throughout this period minstrelsy was in high estimation with all classes of society. the king himself, like his saxon[ ] predecessors, had a king's minstrel, or king of the minstrels, who probably from the first was at the head of a band of royal minstrels.[ ] this fashion of the royal court, doubtless, like all its other fashions, obtained also in the courts of the great nobility (several instances will be observed in the sequel), and in their measure in the households of the lesser nobility. every gentleman of estate had probably his one, two, or more minstrels as a regular part of his household. it is not difficult to discover their duties. in the representations of dinners, which occur plentifully in the mediæval mss., we constantly find musicians introduced; sometimes we see them preceding the servants, who are bearing the dishes to table--a custom of classic usage, and which still lingers to this day at queen's college, oxford, in the song with which the choristers usher in the boar's head on christmas-day, and at our modern public dinners, when the band strikes up "oh the roast beef of old england," as that national dish is brought to table. we give here an illustration of such a scene from a very fine ms. of the early part of the fourteenth century, in the british museum (marked royal b vii., f. v. and ). a very fine representation of a similar scene occurs at the foot of the large flemish brass of robert braunche and his two wives in st. margaret's church, lynn; the scene is intended as a delineation of a feast given by the corporation of lynn to king edward iii. servants from both sides of the picture are bringing in that famous dish of chivalry, the peacock with his tail displayed; and two bands of minstrels are ushering in the banquet with their strains: the date of the brass is about a.d. in the fourteenth-century romance of "richard coeur de lion," we read of some knights who have arrived in presence of the romance king whom they are in quest of; dinner is immediately prepared for them; "trestles," says ellis in his abstract of it, "were immediately set; a table covered with a silken cloth was laid; a rich repast, ushered in by the sound of trumpets and shalms, was served up."[ ] [illustration: _a royal dinner._] having introduced the feast, the minstrels continued to play during its progress. we find numerous representations of dinners in the illuminations, in which one or two minstrels are standing beside the table, playing their instruments during the progress of the meal. in a ms. volume of romances of the early part of the fourteenth century in the british museum (royal e iii.), the title-page of the romance of the "quête du st. graal" (at folio of the ms.) is adorned with an illumination of a royal banquet; a squire on his knee (as in the illustration given on opposite page) is carving, and a minstrel stands beside the table playing the violin; he is dressed in a parti-coloured tunic of red and blue, and wears his hat. in the royal ms. b vii., at folio , is a similar representation of a dinner, in which a minstrel stands playing the violin; he is habited in a red tunic, and is bareheaded. at folio of the same ms. (royal b vii.), is another representation of a dinner, in which two minstrels are introduced; one (wearing his hood) is playing a cittern, the other (bareheaded) is playing a violin: and these references might be multiplied. [illustration: _royal dinner of the time of edward iv._] we reproduce here, in further illustration of the subject, engravings of a royal dinner of about the time of our edward iv., "taken from an illumination of the romance of the compte d'artois, in the possession of m. barrois, a distinguished and well-known collector in paris."[ ] the other is an exceedingly interesting representation of a grand imperial banquet, from one of the plates of hans burgmair, in the volume dedicated to the exploits of the emperor maximilian, contemporary with our henry viii. it represents the entrance of a masque, one of those strange entertainments, of which our ancestors, in the time of henry and elizabeth, were so fond, and of which mr. c. kean some years ago gave the play-going world of london so accurate a representation in his _mise en scene_ of henry viii. at the princess's theatre. the band of minstrels who have been performing during the banquet, are seen in the left corner of the picture. [illustration: _imperial banquet._] so in "the squier's tale" of chaucer, where cambuscan is "holding his feste so solempne and so riche." "it so befel, that after the thridde cours, while that this king sat thus in his nobley,[ ] harking his ministralles her[ ] thinges play, beforne him at his bord deliciously," &c. the custom of having instrumental music as an accompaniment of dinner is still retained by her majesty and by some of the greater nobility, by military messes, and at great public dinners. but the musical accompaniment of a mediæval dinner was not confined to instrumental performances. we frequently find a harper introduced, who is doubtless reciting some romance or history, or singing chansons of a lighter character. he is often represented as sitting upon the floor, as in the accompanying illustration, from the royal ms., b vii., folio b. another similar representation occurs at folio b of the same ms. in the following very charming picture, from a ms. volume of romances of early fourteenth century date in the british museum (additional ms., , , folio ), the harper is sitting upon the table. [illustration: _harper._] gower, in his "confessio amantis," gives us a description of a scene of the kind. appolinus is dining in the hall of king pentapolin, with the king and queen and their fair daughter, and all his "lordes in estate." appolinus was reminded by the scene of the royal estate from which he is fallen, and sorrowed and took no meat; therefore the king bade his daughter take her harp and do all that she can to enliven that "sorry man." "and she to dou her fader's hest, her harpe fette, and in the feste upon a chaire which thei fette, her selve next to this man she sette." [illustration: _royal harper._] appolinus in turn takes the harp, and proves himself a wonderful proficient, and "when he hath harped all his fille, the kingis hest to fulfille, a waie goth dishe, a waie goth cup, doun goth the borde, the cloth was up, thei risen and gone out of the halle." in the sequel, the interesting stranger was made tutor to the princess, and among other teachings, "he taught hir till she was certeyne of harpe, citole, and of riote, with many a tewne and many a note, upon musike, upon measure, and of her harpe the temprure, he taught her eke, as he well couth." another occasion on which their services would be required would be for the dance. thus we read in the sequel of "the squire's tale," how the king and his "nobley," when dinner was ended, rose from table, and, preceded by the minstrels, went to the great chamber for the dance:-- "wan that this tartar king, this cambuscán, rose from his bord ther as he sat ful hie; beforne him goth the loudé minstralcie, til he come to his chambre of parements,[ ] theras they sounden divers instruments, that it is like an heaven for to here. now dauncen lusty venus children dere," &c. in the tale of dido and Æneas, in the legend of "good women," he calls it especially the dancing chamber:-- "to dauncing chambers full of paraments, of riché bedés[ ] and of pavements, this eneas is ledde after the meat." [illustration: _mediæval dance._] but the dance was not always in the great chamber. very commonly it took place in the hall. the tables were only movable boards laid upon trestles, and at the signal from the master of the house, "a hall! a hall!" they were quickly put aside; while the minstrels tuned their instruments anew, and the merry folly at once commenced. in the illustration, of early fourteenth-century date, which we give on the preceding page, from folio of the royal ms., b vii., the scene of the dance is not indicated; the minstrels themselves appear to be joining in the saltitation which they inspire. in the next illustration, reproduced from mr. wright's "domestic manners of the english," we have a curious picture of a dance, possibly in the gallery, which occupied the whole length of the roof of most fifteenth-century houses; it is from m. barrois's ms. of the "compte d'artois," of fifteenth-century date. in all these instances the minstrels are on the floor with the dancers, but in the latter part of the middle ages they were probably--especially on festal occasions--placed in the music gallery over the screens, or entrance-passage, of the hall. [illustration: _a dance in the gallery._] marriage processions were, beyond doubt, attended by minstrels. an illustration of a band consisting of tabor, bagpipes, regal, and violin, heading a marriage procession, may be seen in the roman d'alexandre (bodleian library) at folio ; and at folios and the wedding feast is enlivened by a more numerous band of harp, gittern, violin, regal, tabor, bagpipes, hand-bells, cymbals, and kettle-drums--which are carried on a boy's back.[ ] chapter ii. sacred music. every nobleman and gentleman in the middle ages, we have seen, had one or more minstrels as part of his household, and among their other duties they were required to assist at the celebration of divine worship. allusions occur perpetually in the old romances, showing that it was the universal custom to hear mass before dinner, and even-song before supper, _e.g._: "and so they went home and unarmed them, and so to even-song and supper.... and on the morrow they heard mass, and after went to dinner, and to their counsel, and made many arguments what were best to do."[ ] "the young children's book," a kind of mediæval "chesterfield's letters to his son," published by the early english text society, from a ms. of about a.d., in the bodleian library, bids its pupils-- "aryse be tyme oute of thi bedde, and blysse[ ] thi brest and thi forhede, then wasche thi handes and thi face, keme thi hede and ask god grace the to helpe in all thi workes; thou schalt spede better what so thou carpes. then go to the chyrche and here a massé, there aske mersy for thi trespasse. when thou hast done go breke thy faste with mete and drynk a gode repast." in great houses the service was performed by the chaplain in the chapel of the hall or castle, and it seems probable that the lord's minstrels assisted in the musical part of the service. the organ doubtless continued to be, as we have seen it in saxon times, the most usual church instrument. thus the king of hungary in "the squire of low degree," tells his daughter:-- "then shal ye go to your even song, with tenours and trebles among; * * * * your quere nor organ song shal want with countre note and dyscant; the other half on organs playing, with young children ful fayn synging." and in inventories of church furniture in the middle ages we find organs enumerated:[ ] not only the organ, but all instruments in common use, were probably also used in the celebration of divine worship. we meet with repeated instances in which david singing the psalms is accompanied by a band of musicians, as in the saxon illumination on p. , and again in the initial letter of this chapter, which is taken from a psalter of early thirteenth-century date in the british museum (harl. , ). the men of those days were in some respects much more real and practical, less sentimental and transcendental, than we in religious matters. we must have everything relating to divine worship of different form and fashion from ordinary domestic appliances, and think it irreverent to use things of ordinary domestic fashion for religious uses, or to have domestic things in the shapes of what we call religious art. they had only one art, the best they knew, for all purposes; and they were content to apply the best of that to the service of god. thus to their minds it would not appear at all unseemly that the minstrels who had accompanied the divine service in chapel should walk straight out of chapel into the hall, and tune their instruments anew to play symphonies, or accompany chansons during dinner, or enliven the dance in the great chamber in the evening--no more unseemly than that their master and his family should dine and dance as well as pray. the chapel royal establishment of edward iv. consisted of trumpets, shalms, and pipes, as well as voices; and we may be quite sure that the custom of the royal chapel was imitated by noblemen and gentlemen of estate. a good fifteenth-century picture of the interior of a church, showing the organ in a gallery, is engraved in the "annales archæologiques," vol. xii., p. . a very good representation of an organ of the latter part of the sixteenth century ( ) is in the fine ms. plut. , , folio .[ ] an organ of about this date is still preserved in that most interesting old manor house, igtham mote, in kent. they were sometimes placed at the side of the chancel, sometimes in the rood-loft, which occupied the same relative position in the choir which the music gallery did in the hall. in the mss. we not unfrequently find the ordinary musical instruments placed in the hands of the angels; _e.g._, in the early fourteenth-century ms. royal b. vii., in a representation of the creation, with the morning stars singing together, and all the sons of god shouting for joy, an angelic choir are making melody on the trumpet, violin, cittern, shalm (or psaltery), and harp. there is another choir of angels at p. of the same ms., two citterns and two shalms, a violin and trumpet. similar representations occur very significantly in churches. on the arch of the porta della gloria of saragossa cathedral, of the eleventh century, from which there is a cast at the entrance to the south kensington museum, are a set of angel minstrels with musical instruments. in the bosses of the ceiling of tewkesbury abbey church we find angels playing the cittern (with a plectrum), the harp (with its cover seen enveloping the lower half of the instrument)[ ] and the cymbals. a set of angel musicians is sculptured on the rood loft of york minster. in the triforum of the nave of exeter cathedral is a projecting gallery for the minstrels, with sculptures of them on the front playing instruments.[ ] in the choir of lincoln cathedral, some of the noble series of angels which fill the spandrels of its arcades, and which have given to it the name of the angel choir, are playing instruments, viz., the trumpet, double pipe, pipe and tabret, dulcimer, viol and harp. they represent the heavenly choir attuning their praises in harmony with the human choir below: "therefore with angels and archangels, and with all the company of heaven, we laud and magnify thy glorious name." there is a band of musicians sculptured on the grand portal of the cathedral at rheims; a sculptured capital from the church of st. georges de bocherville, now in the museum at rouen, represents eleven crowned figures playing different instruments.[ ] on the chasse of st. ursula at bruges are angels playing instruments beautifully painted by hemling.[ ] we cannot resist the temptation to introduce here another charming little drawing of an angelic minstrel, playing a psaltery, from the royal ms. e iii.; others occur at folio of the same ms. the band of village musicians with flute, violin, clarinet, and bass-viol, whom most of us have seen occupying the singing-gallery of some country church, are the representatives of the band of minstrels who occupied the rood-lofts in mediæval times. [illustration: _the morning stars singing together._] [illustration: _an angel minstrel._] clerical censors of manners during the middle ages frequently denounce the dissoluteness of minstrels, and the minstrels take their revenge by lampooning the vices of the clergy. like all sweeping censures of whole classes of men, the accusations on both sides must be received cautiously. however, it is certain that the minstrels were patronised by the clergy. we shall presently find a record of the minstrels of the bishop of winchester in the fourteenth century; and the ordinance of edward ii., quoted at p. , tells us that minstrels flocked to the houses of prelates as well as of nobles and gentlemen. in the thirteenth century, that fine sample of an english bishop, grostête of lincoln, was a great patron of minstrel science: he himself composed an allegorical romance, the chasteau d'amour. robert de brunne, in his english paraphrase of grostête's manuel de peches (begun in ), gives us a charming anecdote of the bishop's love of minstrelsy. "y shall yow telle as y have herde, of the bysshope seyut robérde, hys to-name ys grostet. of lynkolne, so seyth the gest he loved moche to here the harpe, for mannys witte hyt makyth sharpe. next hys chaumber, besyde his stody, hys harpers chaumbre was fast therby. many tymes be nyght and dayys, he had solace of notes and layys. one askede hym onys resun why he hadde delyte in mynstralsy? he answered hym on thys manere why he helde the harper so dere. the vertu of the harpe, thurghe skylle and ryght, wyl destroy the fendes myght; and to the croys by gode skylle ys the harpe lykened weyle. tharfor gode men, ye shul lere whan ye any gleman here, to wurschep gode al youre powére, as dauyde seyth yn the sautére." we know that the abbots lived in many respects as other great people did; they exercised hospitality to guests of gentle birth in their own halls, treated them to the diversions of hunting and hawking over their manors and in their forests, and did not scruple themselves to partake in those amusements; possibly they may have retained minstrels wherewith to solace their guests and themselves. it is quite certain at least that the wandering minstrels were welcome guests at the religious houses; and warton records many instances of the rewards given to them on those occasions. we may record two or three examples. the monasteries had great annual feasts, on the ecclesiastical festivals, and often also in commemoration of some saint or founder; there was a grand service in church, and a grand dinner afterwards in the refectory. the convent of st. swithin, in winchester, used thus to keep the anniversary of alwyne the bishop; and in the year a.d. we find that six minstrels, accompanied by four harpers, performed their minstrelsies at dinner, in the hall of the convent, and during supper sang the same gest in the great arched chamber of the prior, on which occasion the chamber was adorned, according to custom on great occasions, with the prior's great dorsal (a hanging for the wall behind the table), having on it a picture of the three kings of cologne. these minstrels and harpers belonged partly to the royal household in winchester castle, partly to the bishop of winchester. similarly at the priory of bicester, in oxfordshire, in the year a.d. , the treasurer of the monastery gave four shillings to six minstrels from buckingham, for singing in the refectory, on the feast of the epiphany, a legend of the seven sleepers. in a.d. the brethren of the holie crosse at abingdon celebrated their annual feast; twelve priests were hired for the occasion to help to sing the dirge with becoming solemnity, for which they received four pence each; and twelve minstrels, some of whom came from the neighbouring town of maidenhead, were rewarded with two shillings and four pence each, besides their share of the feast and food for their horses. at mantoke priory, near coventry, there was a yearly obit; and in the year a.d. , we find that eight priests were hired from coventry to assist in the service, and the six minstrels of their neighbour, lord clinton, of mantoke castle, were engaged to sing, harp, and play, in the hall of the monastery, at the grand refection allowed to the monks on the occasion of that anniversary. the minstrels amused the monks and their guests during dinner, and then dined themselves in the painted chamber (_camera picta_) of the monastery with the sub-prior, on which occasion the chamberlain furnished eight massy tapers of wax to light their table. these are instances of minstrels formally invited by abbots and convents to take part in certain great festivities; but there are proofs that the wandering minstrel, who, like all other classes of society, would find hospitality in the guest-house of the monastery, was also welcomed for his minstrel skill, and rewarded for it with guerdon of money, besides his food and lodging. warton gives instances of entries in monastic accounts for disbursements on such occasions; and there is an anecdote quoted by percy of some dissolute monks who one evening admitted two poor priests whom they took to be minstrels, and ill-treated and turned them out again when they were disappointed of their anticipated gratification. on the next page is a curious illumination from the royal ms. b vii., representing a friar and a nun themselves making minstrelsy. [illustration: _nun and friar with musical instruments._] at tournaments the scene was enlivened by the strains of minstrels, and horses and men inspirited to the charge by the loud fanfare of their instruments. thus in "the knight's tale," at the tournament of palamon and arcite, as the king and his company rode to the lists:-- "up gon the trumpets and the melodie, and to the listés ride the companie." and again:-- "then were the gates shut, and cried was loude now do your devoir youngé knightés proud. the heralds left their pricking up and down, now ringen trumpets loud and clarioun. there is no more to say, but east and west in go the spearés sadly in the rest; in goeth the sharpé spur into the side; there see men who can just and who can ride. men shiveren shaftés upon shieldés thick, he feeleth thro the hearte-spoon the prick." in actual war only the trumpet and horn and tabor seem to have been used. in "the romance of merlin" we read of "trumpés beting, tambours classing" in the midst of a battle; and again, in chaucer's "knight's tale"-- "pipes, trumpets, nakeres,[ ] and clariouns that in the battle blowen bloody sounds;" and again, on another occasion-- "the trumping and the tabouring, did together the knights fling." there are several instances in the royal ms., b vii., in which trumpeters are sounding their instruments in the rear of a company of charging chevaliers. again, when a country knight and his neighbour wished to keep their spears in practice against the next tournament, or when a couple of errant knights happened to meet at a manor-house, the lists were rudely staked out in the base-court of the castle, or in the meadow under the castle-walls; and, while the ladies looked on and waved their scarfs from the windows or the battlements, and the vassals flocked round the ropes, the minstrels gave animation to the scene. in the illustration on p. from the title-page of the royal ms., e iii., a fine volume of romances of early fourteenth-century date, we are made spectators of a scene of the kind; the herald is arranging the preliminaries between the two knights who are about to joust, while a band of minstrels inspire them with their strains. not only at these stated periods, but at all times, the minstrels were liable to be called upon to enliven the tedium of their lord or lady with music and song; the king of hungary (in "the squire of low degree"), trying to comfort his daughter for the loss of her lowly lover by the promise of all kinds of pleasures, says that in the morning-- "ye shall have harpe, sautry, and songe, and other myrthes you among." and again a little further on, after dinner-- "when you come home your menie amonge, ye shall have revell, daunces, and songe; lytle children, great and smale, shall syng as doth the nightingale." and yet again, when she is gone to bed-- "and yf ye no rest can take, all night mynstrels for you shall wake." doubtless many of the long winter evenings, when the whole household was assembled round the blazing wood fire in the middle of the hall, would be passed in listening to those interminable tales of chivalry which my lord's chief harper would chant to his harp, while his fellows would play a symphony between the "fyttes." of other occasions on which the minstrels would have appropriate services to render, an entry in the household book of the percy family in a.d. gives us an indication: there were three of them at their castle in the north, a tabret, a lute, and a rebec; and we find that they had a new-year's gift, "xx_s._ for playing at my lordes chamber doure on new yeares day in the mornynge; and for playing at my lordes sone and heire's chamber doure, the lord percy, ii_s._; and for playing at the chamber dours of my lord's yonger sonnes, my yonge masters, after viii. the piece for every of them." * * * * * but besides the official minstrels of kings, nobles, and gentlemen, bishops, and abbots, and corporate towns, there were a great number of "minstrels unattached," and of various grades of society, who roamed abroad singly or in company, from town to town, from court to camp, from castle to monastery, flocking in great numbers to tournaments and festivals and fairs, and welcomed everywhere. the summer-time was especially the season for the wanderings of these children of song,[ ] as it was of the knight-errant[ ] and of the pilgrim[ ] also. no wonder that the works of the minstrels abound as they do with charming outbursts of song on the return of the spring and summer, and the delights which they bring. all winter long the minstrel had lain in some town, chafing at its miry and unsavoury streets, and its churlish, money-getting citizens; or in some hospitable castle or manor-house, perhaps, listening to the wind roaring through the broad forests, and howling among the turrets overhead, until he pined for freedom and green fields; his host, perchance, grown tired of his ditties, and his only occupation to con new ones; this, from the "percy reliques," sounds like a verse composed at such a time:-- "in time of winter alange[ ] it is! the foules lesen[ ] her bliss! the leves fallen off the tree; rain alangeth[ ] the countree." no wonder they welcomed the return of the bright, warm days, when they could resume their gay, adventurous, open-air life, in the fresh, flowery meadows, and the wide, green forest glades; roaming to town and village, castle and monastery, feast and tournament; alone, or in company with a band of brother minstrels; meeting by the way with gay knights adventurous, or pilgrims not less gay--if they were like those of chaucer's company; welcomed everywhere by priest and abbot, lord and loon. these are the sort of strains which they carolled as they rested under the white hawthorn, and carelessly tinkled an accompaniment on their harps:-- "merry is th' enté of may; the fowles maketh merry play; the time is hot, and long the day. the joyful nightingale singeth, in the grene mede flowers springeth. * * * * "merry it is in somer's tide; fowles sing in forest wide; swaines gin on justing ride, maidens liffen hem in pride." the minstrels were often men of position and wealth. rayer, or raherus, the first of the king's minstrels whom we meet with after the conquest, founded the priory and hospital of st. bartholomew, in smithfield, london, in the third year of henry i., a.d. , and became the first prior of his own foundation. he was not the only minstrel who turned religious. foulquet de marseille, first a merchant, then a minstrel of note--some of his songs have descended to these days--at length turned monk, and was made abbot of tournet, and at length archbishop of toulouse, and is known in history as the persecutor of the albigenses: he died in a.d. it seems to have been no unusual thing for men of family to take up the wandering, adventurous life of the minstrel, much as others of the same class took up the part of knight adventurous; they frequently travelled on horseback, with a servant to carry their harp; flocking to courts and tournaments, where the graceful and accomplished singer of chivalrous deeds was perhaps more caressed than the large-limbed warrior who achieved them; and obtained large rewards, instead of huge blows, for his guerdon. there are some curious anecdotes showing the kind of people who became minstrels, their wandering habits, their facility of access to all companies and places, and the uses which were sometimes made of their privileges. all our readers will remember how blondel de nesle, the minstrel of richard coeur de lion, wandered over europe in search of his master. there is a less known instance of a similar kind and of the same period. ela, the heiress of d'evereux, earl of salisbury, had been carried abroad and secreted by her french relations in normandy. to discover the place of her concealment, a knight of the talbot family spent two years in exploring that province; at first under the disguise of a pilgrim; then, having found where she was confined, in order to gain admittance, he assumed the dress and character of a harper; and being a jocose person, exceedingly skilled in the gests of the ancients, he was gladly received into the family. he succeeded in carrying off the lady, whom he restored to her liege lord the king, who bestowed her in marriage, not upon the adventurous knight-minstrel, as ought to have been the ending of so pretty a novelet, but upon his own natural brother, william longespée, to whom she brought her earldom of salisbury in dower. many similar instances, not less valuable evidences of the manners of the times because they are fiction, might be selected from the romances of the middle ages; proving that it was not unusual for men of birth and station[ ] to assume, for a longer or shorter time, the character and life of the wandering minstrel. but besides these gentle minstrels, there were a multitude of others of the lower classes of society, professors of the joyous science; descending through all grades of musical skill, and of respectability of character. we find regulations from time to time intended to check their irregularities. in king edward ii. issued an ordinance addressed to sheriffs, &c., as follows: "forasmuch as ... many idle persons under colour of mynstrelsie, and going in messages[ ] and other faigned busines, have been and yet be receaved in other men's houses to meate and drynke, and be not therwith contented yf they be not largely considered with gyftes of the lordes of the houses, &c.... we wyllyng to restrayne such outrageous enterprises and idlenes, &c., have ordeyned ... that to the houses of prelates, earls, and barons, none resort to meate and drynke unless he be a mynstrell, and of these mynstrels that there come none except it be three or four mynstrels of honour at most in one day unless he be desired of the lorde of the house. and to the houses of meaner men, that none come unlesse he be desired; and that such as shall come so holde themselves contented with meate and drynke, and with such curtesie as the master of the house wyl shewe unto them of his owne good wyll, without their askyng of any thyng. and yf any one do against this ordinaunce at the first tyme he to lose his minstrelsie, and at the second tyme to forsweare his craft, and never to be received for a minstrell in any house." this curious ordinance gives additional proof of several facts which we have before noted, viz., that minstrels were well received everywhere, and had even become exacting in their expectations; that they used to wander about in bands; and the penalties seem to indicate that the minstrels were already incorporated in a guild. the first positive evidence of such a guild is in the charter (already alluded to) of th king edward iv., a.d. , in which he grants to walter haliday, _marshall_, and seven others, his own minstrels, a charter by which he restores a fraternity or perpetual guild (such as he understands the brothers and sisters of the fraternity of minstrels had in times past), to be governed by a marshall, appointed for life, and by two wardens, to be chosen annually, who are empowered to admit brothers and sisters into the guild, and are authorised to examine the pretensions of all such as affect to exercise the minstrel profession; and to regulate, govern, and punish them throughout the realm--those of chester excepted. it seems probable that the king's minstrel, or the king of the minstrels, had long previously possessed an authority of this kind over all the members of the profession, and that the organization very much resembled that of the heralds. the two are mentioned together in the statute of arms for tournaments, passed in the reign of edward i., a.d. . "e qe nul roy de harraunz ne menestrals[ ] portent privez armez:" that no king of the heralds or of the minstrels shall carry secret weapons. that the minstrels attended all tournaments we have already mentioned. the heralds and minstrels are often coupled in the same sentence; thus froissart tells us that at a christmas entertainment given by the earl of foix, there were many minstrels, as well his own as strangers, "and the earl gave to heraulds and minstrelles the sum of fyve hundred frankes; and gave to the duke of tourayne's mynstreles gowns of cloth of gold furred with ermine, valued at frankes."[ ] chapter iii. guilds of minstrels. it is not unlikely that the principal minstrel of every great noble exercised some kind of authority over all minstrels within his lord's jurisdiction. there are several famous instances of something of this kind on record. the earliest is that of the authority granted by ranulph, earl of chester, to the duttons over all minstrels of his jurisdiction; for the romantic origin of the grant the curious reader may see the introductory essay to percy's "reliques," or the original authorities in dugdale's "monasticon," and d. powel's "history of cambria." the ceremonies attending the exercise of this authority are thus described by dugdale, as handed down to his time:--viz., "that at midsummer fair there, all the minstrels of that countrey resorting to chester, do attend the heir of dutton from his lodging to st. john's church (he being then accompanied by many gentlemen of the countrey), one of the minstrels walking before him in a surcoat of his arms, depicted on taffeta; the rest of his fellows proceeding two and two, and playing on their several sorts of musical instruments. and after divine service ended, gave the like attendance on him back to his lodging; where a court being kept by his (mr. dutton's) steward, and all the minstrels formally called, certain orders and laws are usually made for the better government of that society, with penalties on those that transgress." this court, we have seen, was exempted from the jurisdiction of the king of the minstrels by edward iv., as it was also from the operation of all acts of parliament on the subject down to so late a period as the seventeenth year of george ii., the last of them. in the fourth year of king richard ii., john[ ] of gaunt created a court of minstrels at tutbury, in staffordshire, similar to that at chester; in the charter (which is quoted in dr. plott's "history of staffordshire," p. ) he gives them a king of the minstrels and four officers, with a legal authority over the men of their craft in the five adjoining counties of stafford, derby, notts, leicester, and warwick. the form of election, as it existed at a comparatively late period, is fully detailed by dr. plott. [illustration: _the beverley minstrels._] another of these guilds was the ancient company or fraternity of minstrels in beverley, of which an account is given in poulson's "beverlac" (p. ). when the fraternity originated we do not know; but they were of some consideration and wealth in the reign of henry vi., when the church of st. mary's, beverley, was built; for they gave a pillar to it, on the capital of which a band of minstrels are sculptured, of whom we here re-produce a drawing from carter's "ancient painting and sculpture," to which we shall have presently to ask the reader's further attention. the oldest existing document of the fraternity is a copy of laws of the time of philip and mary. they are similar to those by which all trade guilds were governed: their officers were an alderman and two stewards or sears (_i.e._ seers, searchers); the only items in their laws which throw much additional light upon our subject are the one already partly quoted, that they should not take "any new brother except he be mynstrell to some man of honour or worship (proving that men of honour and worship still had minstrels), or waite[ ] of some towne corporate or other ancient town, or else of such honestye and conyng as shall be thought laudable and pleasant to the hearers there." and again, "no myler, shepherd, or of other occupation, or husbandman, or husbandman servant, playing upon pype or other instrument, shall sue any wedding, or other thing that pertaineth to the said science, except in his own parish." we may here digress for a moment to say that the shepherds, throughout the middle ages, seem to have been as musical as the swains of theocritus or virgil; in the ms. illuminations we constantly find them represented playing upon instruments; we give a couple of goatherds from the ms. royal b vii. folio , of early fourteenth-century date. [illustration: _goatherds playing musical instruments._] [illustration: _shepherd with bagpipes._] besides the pipe and horn, the bagpipe was also a rustic instrument. there is a shepherd playing upon one in folio of the same ms.; and again, in the early fourteenth-century ms. royal b vi., on the reverse of folio , is a group of shepherds, one of whom plays a small pipe, and another the bagpipes. chaucer ( rd book of the "house of fame") mentions-- "pipes made of greené corne, as have these little herd gromes, that keepen beastés in the bromes." it is curious to find that even at so late a period as the time of queen mary, the shepherds still officiated at weddings and other merrymakings in their villages, so as to excite the jealousy of the professors of the joyous science. the accompanying wood-cut, from a ms. in the french national library, may represent such a rustic merry-making. [illustration: _rustic merry-making._] one might, perhaps, have been disposed to think that the good minstrels of beverley were only endeavouring to revive usages which had fallen into desuetude; but we find that in the time of elizabeth the profession of minstrelsy was sufficiently universal to call for the inquiry, in the injunctions of , "whether any minstrells, or any other persons, do use to sing any songs or ditties that be vile or unclean." ben jonson gives us numerous allusions to them: _e.g._, in the "tale of a tub," old turve talks of "old father rosin, the chief minstrel here--chief minstrel, too, of highgate; she has hired him, and all his two boys, for a day and a half." they were to be dressed in bays, rosemary, and ribands, to precede the bridal party across the fields to church and back, and to play at dinner. and so in "epicoene," act iii. sc. :-- "well, there be guests to meat now; how shall we do for music?" [for morose's wedding.] _clerimont._--the smell of the venison going thro' the street will invite one noise of fiddlers or other. _dauphine._--i would it would call the trumpeters hither! _clerimont._--faith, there is hope: they have intelligence of all feasts. there's a good correspondence betwixt them and the london cooks: 'tis twenty to one but we have them. and dryden, so late as the time of william iii., speaks of them-- "these fellows were once the minstrels of a country show, followed the prizes through each paltry town, by trumpet cheeks and bloated faces known." there were also female minstrels throughout the middle ages; but, as might be anticipated from their irregular wandering life, they bore an indifferent reputation. the romance of "richard coeur de lion" says that it was a female minstrel, and, still worse, an englishwoman, who recognised and betrayed the knight-errant king and his companions, on their return from the holy land, to his enemy, the "king of almain." the passage is worth quoting, as it illustrates several of the traits of minstrel habits which we have already recorded. after richard and his companions had dined on a goose, which they cooked for themselves at a tavern-- "when they had drunken well afin, a minstralle com therin, and said 'gentlemen, wittily, will ye have any minstrelsey?' richard bade that she should go. that turned him to mickle woe! the minstralle took in mind,[ ] and saith, 'ye are men unkind; and if i may, ye shall for-think[ ] ye gave neither meat nor drink. for gentlemen should bede[ ] to minstrels that abouten yede[ ] of their meat, wine, and ale; for los[ ] rises of minstrale.' she was english, and well true by speech, and sight, and hide, and hue." stow tells that in , while edward ii. was solemnizing his feast of pentecost in his hall at westminster, sitting royally at table, with his peers about him, there entered a woman adorned like a minstrel, sitting on a great horse, trapped as minstrels then used, who rode round about the tables showing her pastime. the reader will remember the use which sir e. b. lytton has made of a troop of tymbesteres in "the last of the barons," bringing them in at the epochs of his tale with all the dramatic effect of the greek chorus: the description which he gives of their habits is too sadly truthful. the daughter of herodias dancing before herod is scornfully represented by the mediæval artists as a female minstrel performing the tumbling tricks which were part of their craft. we give a representation of a female minstrel playing the tambourine from the ms. royal, b vii. folio . [illustration: _female minstrel._] a question of considerable interest to artists, no less than to antiquaries, is whether the minstrels were or not distinguished by any peculiar costume or habit. bishop percy[ ] and his followers say that they were, and the assertion is grounded on the following evidences: baldulph, the saxon, in the anecdote already related, when assuming the disguise of a minstrel, is described as shaving his head and beard, and dressing himself in the habit of that profession. alfred and aulaff were known at once to be minstrels. the two poor priests who were turned out of the monastery by the dissolute monks were at first mistaken for minstrels. the woman who entered westminster hall at king edward the second's pentecost feast was adorned like a minstrel, sitting on a great horse, trapped as minstrels then used. the knight of la tour-landry (chap. xvii) tells a story which shows that the costume of minstrels was often conspicuous for richness and fashion: "as y have herde telle, sir piere de luge was atte the feste where as were gret foyson of lordes, ladies, knightes, and squieres, and gentilwomen, and so there came in a yonge squier before hem that was sette atte dyner and salued the companie, and he was clothed in a cote-hardy[ ] upon the guyse of almayne, and in this wise he come further before the lordes and ladies, and made hem goodly reverence. and so the said sir piere called this yonge squier with his voys before alle the statis, and saide unto hym and axed hym, where was his fedylle or hys ribible, or suche an instrument as longethe unto a mynstralle. 'syr,' saide the squier, 'i canne not medille me of such thinge, it is not my craft nor science.' 'sir,' saide the knight, 'i canne not trowe that ye saye, for ye be counterfait in youre araye and lyke unto a mynstralle; for i have knowe herebefore alle youre aunsetours, and the knightes and squiers of youre kin, which were alle worthie men; but i sawe never none of hem that were [wore] counterfait, nor that clothed hem in such array.' and thanne the yonge squier answered the knight and saide, 'sir, by as moche as it mislykithe you it shalle be amended,' and cleped a pursevant and gave him the cote-hardy. and he abled hym selff in an other gowne, and come agen into the halle, and thanne the anncyen knight saide openly, 'this yonge squier shalle have worshipe for he hath trowed and do bi the counsaile of the elder withoute ani contraryenge.'" in the time of henry vii. we read of nine ells of _tawny_ cloth for three minstrels; and in the "history of jack of newbury," of "a noise [_i.e._ band] of musicians in _townie_ coats, who, putting off their caps, asked if they would have music." and lastly, there is a description of the person who personated "an ancient mynstrell" in one of the pageants which were played before queen elizabeth at her famous visit to kenilworth, which is curious enough to be quoted. "a person, very meet seemed he for the purpose, of a forty-five years old, apparalled partly as he would himself. his cap off; his head seemly rounded tonsterwise;[ ] fair kembed, that with a sponge daintily dipped in a little capon's grease was finely smoothen, to make it shine like a mallard's wing. his beard smugly shaven; and yet his shirt after the new trick, with ruffs fair starched, sleeked and glistering like a paire of new shoes, marshalled in good order with a setting stick and strut, that every ruff stood up like a wafer. a side (_i.e._ long) gown of kendal green, after the freshness of the year now, gathered at the neck with a narrow gorget, fastened afore with white clasp and keeper close up to the chin; but easily, for heat to undo when he list. seemly begirt in a red caddis girdle: from that a pair of capped sheffield knives hanging a' two sides. out of his bosom drawn forth a lappel of his napkin (_i.e._ handkerchief) edged with a blue lace, and marked with a true love, a heart, and a d. for damian, for he was but a batchelor yet. his gown had side (_i.e._ long) sleeves down to midleg, slit from the shoulder to the hand, and lined with white cotton. his doublet sleeves of black worsted: upon them a pair of paynets (perhaps points) of tawny chamlet laced along the wrist with blue threaden points, a weall towards the hand of fustian-a-napes. a pair of red neather socks. a pair of pumps on his feet, with a cross cut at the toes for corns: not new, indeed, yet cleanly blackt with soot, and shining as a shoeing horn. about his neck a red ribband suitable to his girdle. his harp in good grace dependant before him. his wrest tyed to a green lace, and hanging by; under the gorget of his gown a fair flaggon chain (pewter for) silver, as a squire-minstrel[ ] of middlesex that travelled the country this summer season, unto fairs and worshipful men's houses. from this chain hung a scutcheon, with metal and colour resplendant upon his breast, of the ancient arms of islington," to which place he is represented as belonging. from these authorities percy would deduce that the minstrels were tonsured and apparelled very much after the same fashion as priests. the pictorial authorities do not bear out any such conclusion. there are abundant authorities for the belief that the dress of the minstrels was remarkable for a very unclerical sumptuousness; but in looking through the numerous ancient representations of minstrels we find no trace of the tonsure, and no peculiarity of dress; they are represented in the ordinary costume of their time; in colours blue, red, grey, particoloured, like other civilians; with hoods, or hats, or without either; frequently the different members of the same band of minstrels present all these differences of costume, as in the instance here given, from the title-page of the fourteenth century ms. add., , ; proving that the minstrels did not affect any uniformity of costume whatever. [illustration: _a band of minstrels._] the household minstrels probably wore their master's badge[ ] (liveries were not usual until a late period); others the badge of their guild. thus in the morte arthur, sir dinadan makes a reproachful lay against king arthur, and teaches it an harper, that hight elyot, and sends him to sing it before king mark and his nobles at a great feast. the king asked, "thou harper, how durst thou be so bold to sing this song before me?" "sir," said elyot, "wit you well i am a minstrell, and i must doe as i am commanded of these lords that _i bear the armes of_;" and in proof of the privileged character of the minstrel we find the outraged king replying, "thou saiest well, i charge thee that thou hie thee fast out of my sight." so the squire-minstrel of middlesex, who belonged to islington, had a chain round his neck, with a scutcheon upon it, upon which were blazoned the arms of islington. and in the effigies of the beverley minstrels, which we have given on page , we find that their costume is the ordinary costume of the period, and is not alike in all; but that each of them has a chain round his neck, to which is suspended what is probably a scutcheon, like that of the islington minstrel. in short, a careful examination of a number of illustrations in illuminated mss. of various dates, from saxon downwards, leaves the impression that minstrels wore the ordinary costume of their period, more or less rich in material, or fashionable in cut, according to their means and taste; and that the only distinctive mark of their profession was the instrument which each bore, or, as in the case of the kenilworth minstrel, the tuning wrest hung by a riband to his girdle; and in the case of a household minstrel the badge of the lord whom he served. [illustration: _cymbals and trumpets._] [illustration: _regals and double pipe_ (royal b vii).] [illustration: _regals or organ_ (royal, e iii).] the forms of the most usual musical instruments of various periods may be gathered from the illustrations which have already been given. the most common are the harp, fiddle, cittern or lute, hand-organ, the shalm or psaltery, the pipe and tabor, pipes of various sizes played like clarionets, but called flutes, the double pipe, hand-bells, trumpets and horns, bagpipes, tambourine, tabret, drum, and cymbals. of the greater number of these we have already incidentally given illustrations; we add, on the last page, other illustrations, from the royal ms., b vii., and royal ms. e iii. in the fourteenth century new instruments were invented. guillaume de marhault in his poem of "le temps pastour," gives us an idea of the multitude of instruments which composed a grand concert of the fifteenth century; he says[ ]-- "là je vis tout en un cerne viole, rubebe, guiterne, l'enmorache, le micamon, citole et psalterion, harpes, tabours, trompes, nacaires, orgues, cornes plus de dix paires, cornemuse, flajos et chevrettes douceines, simbales, clochettes, tymbre, la flauste lorehaigne, et le grand cornet d'allemayne, flacos de sans, fistule, pipe, muse d'aussay, trompe petite, buisine, eles, monochorde, ou il n'y a qu'une corde; et muse de blet tout ensemble. et certainment il me semble qu' oncques mais tèle mélodie ne feust oncques vene ne oye; car chascun d'eux, selon l'accort de son instrument sans descort, vitole, guiterne, citole, harpe, trompe, corne, flajole, pipe, souffle, muse, naquaire, taboure et qu cunque ou put faire de dois, de peune et à l'archet, ois et vis en ce porchet." in conclusion we give a group of musical instruments from one of the illustrations of "der weise könig," a work of the close of the fifteenth century. [illustration: _musical instruments of the th century._] the knights of the middle ages. chapter i. saxon arms and armour. we proceed, in this division of our work, to select out of the inexhaustible series of pictures of mediæval life and manners contained in illuminated mss., a gallery of subjects which will illustrate the armour and costume, the military life and chivalric adventures, of the knights of the middle ages; and to append to the pictures such explanations as they may seem to need, and such discursive remarks as the subjects may suggest. for the military costume of the anglo-saxon period we have the authority of the descriptions in their literature, illustrated by drawings in their illuminated mss.; and if these leave anything wanting in definiteness, the minutest details of form and ornamentation may often be recovered from the rusted and broken relics of armour and weapons which have been recovered from their graves, and are now preserved in our museums. saxon freemen seem to have universally borne arms. tacitus tells us of their german ancestors, that swords were rare among them, and the majority did not use lances, but that spears, with a narrow, sharp and short head, were the common and universal weapon, used either in distant or close fight; and that even the cavalry were satisfied with a shield and one of these spears. the law in later times seems to have required freemen to bear arms for the common defence; the laws of gula, which are said to have been originally established by hacon the good in the middle of the eighth century, required every man who possessed six marks besides his clothes to furnish himself with a red shield and a spear, an axe or a sword; he who was worth twelve marks was to have a steel cap also; and he who was worth eighteen marks a byrnie, or shirt of mail, in addition. accordingly, in the exploration of saxon graves we find in those of men "spears and javelins are extremely numerous," says mr. c. roach smith, "and of a variety of shapes and sizes."... "so constantly do we find them in the saxon graves, that it would appear no man above the condition of a serf was buried without one. some are of large size, but the majority come under the term of javelin or dart." the rusty spear-head lies beside the skull, and the iron boss of the shield on his breast; the long, broad, heavy, rusted sword is comparatively seldom found beside the skeleton; sometimes, but rarely, the iron frame of a skull-cap or helmet is found about the head. [illustration: _saxon soldiers._] an examination of the pictures in the saxon illuminated mss. confirms the conclusion that the shield and spear were the common weapons. their bearers are generally in the usual civil costume, and not infrequently are bare-headed. the spear-shaft is almost always spoken of as being of ash-wood; indeed, the word _æsc_ (ash) is used by metonymy for a spear; and the common poetic name for a soldier is _æsc-berend_, or _æsc-born_, a spear-bearer; just as, in later times, we speak of him as a swordsman. we learn from the poets that the shield--"the broad war disk"--was made of linden-wood, as in beowulf:-- "he could not then refrain, but grasped his shield the yellow linden, drew his ancient sword." from the actual remains of shields, we find that the central boss was of iron, of conical shape, and that a handle was fixed across its concavity by which it was held in the hand. the helmet is of various shapes; the commonest are the three represented in our first four wood-cuts. the most common is the conical shape seen in the large wood-cut on p. . [illustration: _saxon horse soldiers._] the phrygian-shaped helmet, seen in the single figure on p. is also a very common form; and the curious crested helmet worn by all the warriors in our first two wood-cuts of saxon soldiers is also common. in some cases the conical helmet was of iron, but perhaps more frequently it was of leather, strengthened with a frame of iron. in the group of four foot soldiers in our first wood-cut, it will be observed that the men wear tunics, hose, and shoes; the multiplicity of folds and fluttering ends in the drapery is a characteristic of saxon art, but the spirit and elegance of the heads is very unusual and very admirable. our first three illustrations are taken from a beautiful little ms. of prudentius in the cottonian library, known under the press mark, cleopatra c. iv. the illuminations in this ms. are very clearly and skilfully drawn with the pen; indeed, many of them are designed with so much spirit and skill and grace, as to make them not only of antiquarian interest, but also of high artistic merit. the subjects are chiefly illustrations of scripture history or of allegorical fable; but, thanks to the custom which prevailed throughout the middle ages of representing all such subjects in contemporary costume, and according to contemporary manners and customs, the jewish patriarchs and their servants afford us perfectly correct representations of saxon thanes and their _cheorls_; goliath, a perfect picture of a saxon warrior, armed _cap-à-pied_; and pharaoh and his nobles of a saxon basileus and his witan. thus, our second wood-cut is an illustration of the incident of lot and his family being carried away captives by the canaanitish kings after their successful raid against the cities of the plain; but it puts before our eyes a group of the armed retainers of a saxon king on a military expedition. it will be seen that they wear the ordinary saxon civil costume, a tunic and cloak; that they are all armed with the spear, all wear crested helmets; and the last of the group carries a round shield suspended at his back. the variety of attitude, the spirit and life of the figures, and the skill and gracefulness of the drawing, are admirable. another very valuable series of illustrations of saxon military costume will be found in a ms. of Ælfric's paraphrase of the pentateuch and joshua, in the british museum (cleopatra b. iv.); at folio , for example, we have a representation of abraham pursuing the five kings in order to rescue lot: in the version of the saxon artist the patriarch and his arab servants are translated into a saxon thane and his house carles, who are represented marching in a long array which takes up two bands of drawing across the vellum page. [illustration: _saxon soldier, in leather armour._] the anglo-saxon poets let us know that chieftains and warriors wore a body defence, which they call a byrnie or a battle-sark. in the illuminations we find this sometimes of leather, as in the wood-cut here given from the prudentius which has already supplied us with two illustrations. it is very usually vandyked at the edges, as here represented. but the epithets, "iron byrnie," and "ringed byrnie," and "twisted battle-sark," show that the hauberk was often made of iron mail. in some of the illuminations it is represented as if detached rings of iron were sewn flat upon it: this may be really a representation of a kind of jazerant work, such as was frequently used in later times, or it may be only an unskilful way of representing the ordinary linked mail. a document of the early part of the eighth century, given in mr. thorpe's anglo-saxon laws, seems to indicate that at that period the mail hauberk was usually worn only by the higher ranks. in distinguishing between the eorl and the cheorl it says, if the latter thrive so well that he have a helmet and byrnie and sword ornamented with gold, yet if he have not five hydes of land, he is only a cheorl. by the time of the end of the saxon era, however, it would seem that the men-at-arms were usually furnished with a coat of fence, for the warriors in the battle of hastings are nearly all so represented in the bayeux tapestry. in Ælfric's paraphrase, already mentioned (cleopatra b. iv.), at folio , there is a representation of a king clothed in such a mail shirt, armed with sword and shield, attended by an armour-bearer, who carries a second shield but no offensive weapon, his business being to ward off the blows aimed at his lord. we should have given a wood-cut of this interesting group, but that it has already been engraved in the "pictorial history of england" (vol. i.) and in hewitt's "ancient armour" (vol. i. p. ). this king with his shield-bearer does not occur in an illustration of goliath and the man bearing a shield who went before him, nor of saul and his armour-bearer, where it would be suggested by the text; but is one of the three kings engaged in battle against the cities of the plain; it seems therefore to indicate a saxon usage. another of the kings in the same picture has no hauberk, but only the same costume as the warrior in the wood-cut on the next page. in the additional ms. , , in the british museum, a work of the eleventh century, there are several representations of warriors thus fully armed, very rude and coarse in drawing, but valuable for the clearness with which they represent the military equipment of the time. at folio there is a large figure of a warrior in a mail shirt, a conical helmet, strengthened with iron ribs converging to the apex, the front rib extending downwards, into what is called a nasal, _i.e._, a piece of iron extending downwards over the nose, so as to protect the face from a sword-cut across the upper part of it. at folio of the same ms. is a group of six warriors, two on horseback and four on foot. we find them all with hauberk, iron helmets, round shields, and various kinds of leg defences; they have spears, swords, and one of the horsemen bears a banner of characteristic shape, _i.e._, it is a right-angled triangle, with the shortest side applied to the spear-shaft, so that the right angle is at the bottom. [illustration: no. .] a few extracts from the poem of beowulf, a curious saxon fragment, which the best scholars concur in assigning to the end of the eighth century, will help still further to bring these ancient warriors before our mind's eye. here is a scene in king hrothgar's hall: "after evening came and hrothgar had departed to his court, guarded the mansion countless warriors, as they oft ere had done, they bared the bench-floor it was overspread with beds and bolsters, they set at their heads their disks of war, their shield-wood bright; there on the bench was over the noble, easy to be seen, his high martial helm, his ringed byrnie and war-wood stout." beowulf's funeral pole is said to be-- "with helmets, war brands, and bright byrnies behung." and in this oldest of scandinavian romances we have the natural reflections-- "the hard helm shall adorned with gold from the fated fall; mortally wounded sleep those who war to rage by trumpet should announce; in like manner the war shirt which in battle stood over the crash of shields the bite of swords shall moulder after the warrior; the byrnie's ring may not after the martial leader go far on the side of heroes; there is no joy of harp no glee-wood's mirth, no good hawk swings through the hall, nor the swift steed tramps the city place. baleful death has many living kinds sent forth." reflections which coleridge summed up in the brief lines-- "their swords are rust, their bones are dust, their souls are with the saints, we trust." the wood-cut on page is taken from a collection of various saxon pictures in the british museum, bound together in the volume marked tiberius c. vi., at folio . our wood-cut is a reduced copy. in the original the warrior is seven or eight inches high, and there is, therefore, ample room for the delineation of every part of his costume. from the embroidery of the tunic, and the ornamentation of the shield and helmet, we conclude that we have before us a person of consideration, and he is represented as in the act of combat; but we see his armour and arms are only those to which we have already affirmed that the usual equipment was limited. the helmet seems to be strengthened with an iron rim and converging ribs, and is furnished with a short nasal. the figure is without the usual cloak, and therefore the better shows the fashion of the tunic. the banding of the legs was not for defence, it is common in civil costume. the quasi-banding of the forearm is also sometimes found in civil costume; it seems not to be an actual banding, still less a spiral armlet, but merely a fashion of wearing the tunic sleeve. we see how the sword is, rather inartificially, slung by a belt over the shoulder; how the shield is held by the iron handle across its hollow spiked umbo; and how the barbed javelin is cast. on the preceding page of this ms. is a similar figure, but without the sword. there were some other weapons frequently used by the saxons which we have not yet had occasion to mention. the most important of these is the axe. it is not often represented in illuminations, and is very rarely found in graves, but it certainly was extensively in use in the latter part of the anglo-saxon period, and was perhaps introduced by the danes. the house carles of canute, we are expressly told, were armed with axes, halberds, and swords, ornamented with gold. in the ship which godwin presented to hardicanute, william of malmesbury tells us the soldiers wore two bracelets of gold on each arm, each bracelet weighing sixteen ounces; they had gilt helmets; in the right hand they carried a spear of iron, and in the left a danish axe, and they wore swords hilted with gold. the axe was also in common use by the saxons at the battle of hastings. there are pictorial examples of the single axe in the cottonian ms., cleopatra c. viii.; of the double axe--the bipennis--in the harleian ms., ; and of various forms of the weapon, including the pole-axe, in the bayeux tapestry. the knife or dagger was also a saxon weapon. there is a picture in the anglo-saxon ms. in the paris library, called the duke de berri's psalter, in which a combatant is armed with what appears to be a large double-edged knife and a shield, and actual examples of it occur in saxon graves. the _seax_, which is popularly believed to have been a dagger and a characteristic saxon weapon, seems to have been a short single-edged slightly curved weapon, and is rarely found in england. it is mentioned in beowulf:--he-- "drew his deadly seax, bitter and battle sharp, that he on his byrnie bore." the sword was usually about three feet long, two-edged and heavy in the blade. sometimes, especially in earlier examples, it is without a guard. its hilt was sometimes of the ivory of the walrus, occasionally of gold, the blade was sometimes inlaid with gold ornaments and runic verses. thus in beowulf-- "so was on the surface of the bright gold with runic letters rightly marked, set and said, for whom that sword, costliest of irons, was first made, with twisted hilt and serpent shaped." the saxons indulged in many romantic fancies about their swords. some swordsmiths chanted magical verses as they welded them, and tempered them with mystical ingredients. beowulf's sword was a-- "tempered falchion that had before been one of the old treasures; its edge was iron tainted with poisonous things hardened with warrior blood; never had it deceived any man of those who brandished it with hands." favourite swords had names given them, and were handed down from father to son, or passed from champion to champion, and became famous. thus, again, in beowulf, we read-- "he could not then refrain, but grasped his shield, the yellow linden, drew his ancient sword that among men was a relic of eanmund, ohthere's son, of whom in conflict was, when a friendless exile, weohstan the slayer with falchions edges, and from his kinsmen bore away the brown-hued helm, the ringed byrnie, the old eotenish[ ] sword which him onela had given." there is a fine and very perfect example of a saxon sword in the british museum, which was found in the bed of the river witham, at lincoln. the sheath was usually of wood, covered with leather, and tipped, and sometimes otherwise ornamented with metal. the spear was used javelin-wise, and the warrior going into battle sometimes carried several of them. they are long-bladed, often barbed, as represented in the woodcut on p. , and very generally have one or two little cross-bars below the head, as in cuts on pp. and . the saxon artillery, besides the javelin, was the bow and arrows. the bow is usually a small one, of the old classical shape, not the long bow for which the english yeomen afterwards became so famous, and which seems to have been introduced by the normans. in the latest period of the saxon monarchy, the armour and weapons were almost identical with those used on the continent. we have abundant illustrations of them in the bayeux tapestry. in that invaluable historical monument, the minutest differences between the saxon and norman knights and men-at-arms seem to be carefully observed, even to the national fashions of cutting the hair; and we are therefore justified in assuming that there were no material differences in the military equipment, since we find none indicated, except that the normans used the long bow and the saxons did not. we have abstained from taking any illustrations from the tapestry, because the whole series has been several times engraved, and is well known, or, at least, is easily accessible, to those who are interested in the subject. we have preferred to take an illustration from a ms. in the british museum, marked harleian , , from folio v. the warrior, who is no less a person than goliath of gath, has a hooded hauberk, with sleeves down to the elbow, over a green tunic. the legs are tinted blue in the drawing, but seem to be unarmed, except for the green boots, which reach half way to the knee. he wears an iron helmet with a nasal, and the hood appears to be fastened to the nasal, so as to protect the lower part of the face. the large shield is red, with a yellow border, and is hung from the neck by a chain. the belt round his waist is red. the well-armed giant leans upon his spear, looking down contemptuously on david, whom it has not been thought necessary to include in our copy of the picture. the group forms a very appropriate filling-in of the great initial letter b of the psalm _benedictus dns. ds. ms. qui docet manus meas ad prælium et digitos meos ad bellum_ (blessed be the lord my god, who teacheth my hands to war and my fingers to fight). in the same ms., at folio , there are two men armed with helmet and sword, and at folio v. a group of armed men on horseback, in sword, shield, and spurs. it may be convenient to some of our readers, if we indicate here where a few other examples of saxon military costume may be found which we have noted down, but have not had occasion to refer to in the above remarks. [illustration] in the ms. of prudentius (cleopatra c. viii.), from which we have taken our first three woodcuts, are many other pictures well worth study. on the same page (folio v.) as that which contains our wood-cut p. , there is another very similar group on the lower part of the page; on folio is still another group, in which some of the faces are most charming in drawing and expression. at folio v. there is a spirited combat of two footmen, armed with sword and round shield, and clad in short leather coats of fence, vandyked at the edges. at folio v. is an allegorical female figure in a short leather tunic, with shading on it which seems to indicate that the hair of the leather has been left on, and is worn outside, which we know from other sources was one of the fashions of the time. in the ms. of Ælfric's paraphrase (claud. b. iv.) already quoted, there are, besides the battle scene at folio v., in which occurs the king and his armour-bearer, at folio two long lines of saxon horsemen marching across the page, behind abraham, who wears a crested phrygian helm. on the reverse of folio there is another group, and also on folios and . on folio is another troop, of esau's horsemen, marching across the page in ranks of four abreast, all bareheaded and armed with spears. at folio v. is another example of a warrior, with a shield-bearer. the pictures in the latter part of this ms. are not nearly so clearly delineated as in the former part, owing to their having been tinted with colour; the colour, however, enables us still more completely to fill in to the mind's eye the distinct forms which we have gathered from the former part of the book. the large troops of soldiers are valuable, as showing us the style of equipment which was common in the saxon militia. there is another ms. of prudentius in the british museum of about the same date, and of the same school of art, though not quite so finely executed, which is well worth the study of the artist in search of authorities for saxon military (and other) costume, and full of interest for the amateur of art and archæology. its press mark is cottonian, titus d. xvi. on the reverse of folio is a group of three armed horsemen, representing the confederate kings of canaan carrying off lot, while abraham, at the head of another group of armed men, is pursuing them. on folio is another group of armed horsemen. after these scripture histories come some allegorical subjects, conceived and drawn with great spirit. at folio v., "_pudicitia pugnat contra libidinem_," pudicitia being a woman armed with hauberk, helmet, spear, and shield. on the opposite page pudicitia--in a very spirited attitude--is driving her spear through the throat of libido. on folio v., "_discordia vulnerat occulte concordium_." concord is represented as a woman armed with a loose-sleeved hauberk, helmet, and sword. discord is lifting up the skirt of concord's hauberk, and thrusting a sword into her side. in the harleian ms. , , is a vulgate bible, of date about a.d.; there are no pictures, only the initial letters of the various books are illuminated. but while the illuminator was engaged upon the initial of the second book of kings, his eye seems to have been caught by the story of saul's death in the last chapter of the first book, which happens to come close by in the parallel column of the great folio page:--_arripuit itaqu, gladium et erruit sup. eum_ (therefore saul took a sword, and fell upon it); and he has sketched in the scene with pen-and-ink on the margin of the page, thus affording us another authority for the armour of a saxon king when actually engaged in battle. he wears a hauberk, with an ornamented border, has his crown on his head, and spurs on his heels; has placed his sword-hilt on the ground, and fallen upon it. in the additional ms. , , on folio v., are four armed men on horseback, habited in hauberks without hoods. two of them have the sleeves extending to the wrist, two have loose sleeves to the elbow only, showing that the two fashions were worn contemporaneously. they all have mail hose; one of them is armed with a bow, the rest with the sword. there are four men in similar armour on folio v. of the same ms. also at folio , armed with spear, sword, and round ornamented shield. at folio v. are soldiers manning a gate-tower. when the soldiers so very generally wore the ordinary citizen costume, it becomes necessary, in order to give a complete picture of the military costume, to say a few words on the dress which the soldier wore in common with the citizen. the tunic and mantle composed the national costume of the saxons. the tunic reached about to the knee: sometimes it was slit up a little way at the sides, and it often had a rich ornamented border round the hem, extending round the side slits, making the garment almost exactly resemble the ecclesiastical tunic or dalmatic. it had also very generally a narrower ornamental border round the opening for the neck. the tunic was sometimes girded round the waist. the saxons were famous for their skill in embroidery, and also in metal-work; and there are sufficient proofs that the tunic was often richly embroidered. there are indications of it in the wood-cut on p. ; and in the relics of costume found in the saxon graves are often buckles of elegant workmanship, which fastened the belt with which the tunic was girt. the mantle was in the form of a short cloak, and was usually fastened at the shoulder, as in the wood-cuts on pp. , , , so as to leave the right arm unencumbered by its folds. the brooch with which this cloak was fastened formed a very conspicuous item of costume. they were of large size, some of them of bronze gilt, others of gold, beautifully ornamented with enamels; and there is this interesting fact about them, they seem to corroborate the old story, that the saxon invaders were of three different tribes--the jutes, angles, and saxons--who subdued and inhabited different portions of britain. for in kent and the isle of wight, the settlements of the jutes, brooches are found of circular form, often of gold and enamelled. in the counties of yorkshire, derby, leicester, nottingham, northampton, and in the eastern counties, a large gilt bronze brooch of peculiar form is very commonly found, and seems to denote a peculiar fashion of the angles, who inhabited east anglia, mercia, and northumbria. still another variety of fashion, shaped like a saucer, has been discovered in the counties of gloucester, oxford, and buckingham, on the border between the mercians and west saxons. it is curious to find these peculiar fashions thus confirming the ancient and obscure tradition about the original saxon settlements. the artist will bear in mind that the saxons seem generally to have settled in the open country, not in the towns, and to have built timber halls and cottages after their own custom, and to have avoided the sites of the romano-british villas, whose blackened ruins must have thickly dotted at least the southern and south-eastern parts of the island. they appear to have built no fortresses, if we except a few erected at a late period, to check the incursions of the danes. but they had the old roman towns left, in many cases with their walls and gates tolerably entire. in the saxon ms. psalter, harleian , are several illuminations in which walled towns and gates are represented. but we do not gather that they were very skilful either in the attack or defence of fortified places. indeed, their weapons and armour were of a very primitive kind, and their warfare seems to have been conducted after a very unscientific fashion. little chance had their rude saxon hardihood against the military genius of william the norman and the disciplined valour of his bands of mercenaries. chapter ii. arms and armour, from the norman conquest downwards. the conquest and subsequent confiscations put the land of england so entirely into the hands of william the conqueror, that he was able to introduce the feudal system into england in a more simple and symmetrical shape than that in which it obtained in any other country of europe. the system was a very intelligible one. the king was supposed to be the lord of all the land of the kingdom. he retained large estates in his own hands, and from these estates chiefly he derived his personal followers and his royal revenues. the rest of the land he let in large lordships to his principal nobles, on condition that they should maintain for the defence of the kingdom a certain number of men armed after a stipulated fashion, and should besides aid him on certain occasions with money payments, with which we have at present no concern. these chief tenants of the crown followed the example of the sovereign. each retained a portion of the land in his own hands, and sub-let the rest in estates of larger or smaller size, on condition that each noble or knight who held of him should supply a proportion of the armed force he was required to furnish to the royal standard, and contribute a proportion of the money payments for which he was liable to be called upon. each knight let the farms on his manor to his copyholders, on condition that they provided themselves with the requisite arms, and assembled under his banner when called upon for military suit and service; and they rendered certain personal services, and made certain payments in money or in kind besides, in lieu of rent. each manor, therefore, furnished its troop of soldiers; the small farmers, perhaps, and the knight's personal retainers fighting on foot, clad in leather jerkins, and armed with pike or bow; two or three of his greater copyholders in skull caps and coats of fence; his younger brothers or grown-up sons acting as men-at-arms and esquires, on horseback, in armour almost or quite as complete as his own; while the knight himself, on his war horse, armed from top to toe--_cap-à-pied_--with shield on arm and lance in hand, with its knight's pennon fluttering from the point, was the captain of the little troop. the troops thus furnished by his several manors made up the force which the feudal lord was bound to furnish the king, and the united divisions made up the army of the kingdom. besides this feudal army bound to render suit and service at the call of its sovereign, the laws of the kingdom also required all men of fit age--between sixteen and sixty--to keep themselves furnished with arms, and made them liable to be called out _en masse_ in great emergencies. this was the _posse comitatus_, the force of the county, and was under the command of the sheriff. we learn some particulars on the subject from an assize of arms of henry ii., made in , which required all his subjects being free men to be ready in defence of the realm. whosoever holds one knight's fee, shall have a hauberk, helmet, shield and lance, and every knight as many such equipments as he has knight's fees in his domain. every free layman having ten marks in chattels shall have a habergeon, iron cap, and lance. all burgesses and the whole community of freemen shall have each a coat of fence (padded and quilted, a _wambeys_), iron cap, and lance. any one having more arms than those required by the statute, was to sell or otherwise dispose of them, so that they might be utilised for the king's service, and no one was to carry arms out of the kingdom. there were two great points of difference between the feudal system as introduced into england and as established on the continent. william made all landowners owe fealty to himself, and not only the tenants _in capite_. and next, though he gave his chief nobles immense possessions, these possessions were scattered about in different parts of the kingdom. the great provinces which had once been separate kingdoms of the saxon heptarchy, still retained, down to the time of the confessor, much of their old political feeling. kentish men, for example, looked on one another as brothers, but essex men, or east anglians, or mercians, or northumbrians, were foreigners to them. if the conqueror had committed the blunder of giving his great nobles all their possessions together, rufus might have found the earls of mercia or northumbria semi-independent, as the kings of france found their great vassals of burgundy, and champagne, and normandy, and bretagne. but, by the actual arrangement, every county was divided; one powerful noble had a lordship here, and another had half-a-dozen manors there, and some religious community had one or two manors between. the result was, that though a combination of great barons was powerful enough to coerce john or henry iii., or a single baron like warwick was powerful enough, when the nobility were divided into two factions, to turn the scale to one side or the other, no one was ever able to set the power of the crown at defiance, or to establish a semi-independence; the crown was always powerful enough to enforce a sufficiently arbitrary authority over them all. the consequence was that there was little of the clannish spirit among englishmen. they rallied round their feudal superior, but the sentiment of loyalty was warmly and directly towards the crown. we must not, however, pursue the general subject further than we have done, in order to obtain some apprehension of the position in the body politic occupied by the class of persons with whom we are specially concerned. of their social position we may perhaps briefly arrive at a correct estimate, if we call to mind that nearly all our rural parishes are divided into several manors, which date from the middle ages, some more, some less remotely; for as population increased and land increased in value, there was a tendency to the subdivision of old manors and the creation of new ones out of them. each of these manors, in the times to which our researches are directed, maintained a family of gentle birth and knightly rank. the head of the family was usually a knight, and his sons were eligible for, and some of them aspirants to, the same rank in chivalry. so that the great body of the knightly order consisted of the country gentlemen--the country _squires_ we call them now, then they were the country _knights_--whose wealth and social importance gave them a claim to the rank; and to these we must add such of their younger brothers and grown-up sons as had ambitiously sought for and happily achieved the chivalric distinction by deeds of arms. the rest of the brothers and sons who had not entered the service of the church as priest or canon, monk or friar, or into trade, continued in the lower chivalric and social rank of squires. when we come to look for authorities for the costume and manners of the knights of the middle ages, we find a great scarcity of them for the period between the norman conquest and the beginning of the edwardian era. the literary authorities are not many; there are as yet few of the illuminated mss., from which we derive such abundant material in the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries;[ ] the sepulchral monuments are not numerous; the valuable series of monumental brasses has not begun; the bayeux tapestry, which affords abundant material for the special time to which it relates, we have abstained from drawing upon; and there are few subjects in any other class of pictorial art to help us out. the figure of goliath, which we gave in our last chapter (p. ), will serve very well for a general representation of a knight of the twelfth century. in truth, from the norman conquest down to the introduction of plate armour at the close of the thirteenth century, there was wonderfully little alteration in the knightly armour and costume. it would seem that the body armour consisted of garments of the ordinary fashion, either quilted in their substance to deaden the force of a blow, or covered with _mailles_ (rings) on the exterior, to resist the edge of sword or point of lance. the ingenuity of the armourer showed itself in various ways of quilting, and various methods of applying the external defence of metal. of the quilted armours we know very little. in the illuminations is often seen armour covered over with lines arranged in a lozenge pattern, which perhaps represents garments stuffed and sewn in this commonest of all patterns of quilting; but it has been suggested that it may represent lozenged-shaped scales, of horn or metal, fastened upon the face of the garments. in the wood-cut here given from the ms. caligula a. vii., we have one of the clearest and best extant illustrations of this quilted armour. in the mail armour there seem to have been different ways of applying the _mailles_. sometimes it is represented as if the rings were sewn by one edge only, and at such a distance that each overlapped the other in the same row, but the rows do not overlap one another. sometimes they look as if each row of rings had been sewn upon a strip of linen or leather and then the strips applied to the garment. sometimes the rings were interlinked, as in a common steel purse, so that the garment was entirely of steel rings. very frequently we find a surcoat or chausses represented, as if rings or little discs of metal were sewn flat all over the garment. it is possible that this is only an artistic way of indicating that the garment was covered with rings, after one of the methods above described; but it is also possible that a light armour was composed of rings thus sparely sewn upon a linen or leather garment. it is possible also that little round plates of metal or horn were used in this way for defence, for we have next to mention that _scale_ armour is sometimes, though rarely, found; it consisted of small scales, usually rectangular, and probably usually of horn, though sometimes of metal, attached to a linen or leather garment. [illustration: _quilted armour._] the shield and helmet varied somewhat in shape at various times. the shield in the bayeux tapestry was kite-shaped, concave, and tolerably large, like that of goliath on p. . the tendency of its fashion was continually to grow shorter in proportion to its width, and flatter. the round saxon target continued in use throughout the middle ages, more especially for foot-soldiers. the helmet, at the beginning of the period, was like the old saxon conical helmet, with a nasal; and this continued in occasional use far into the fourteenth century. about the end of the twelfth century, the cylindrical helmet of iron enclosing the whole head, with horizontal slits for vision, came into fashion. richard i. is represented in one on his second great seal. a still later fashion is seen in the next woodcut, p. . william longespée, a.d. , has a flat-topped helmet. the only two inventions of the time seem to be, first, the surcoat, which began to be worn over the hauberk about the end of the twelfth century. the seal of king john is the first of the series of great seals in which we see it introduced. it seems to have been of linen or silk. the other great invention of this period was that of armorial bearings, properly so called. devices painted upon the shield were common in classical times. they are found ordinarily on the shields in the bayeux tapestry, and were habitually used by the norman knights. in the bayeux tapestry they seem to be fanciful or merely decorative; later they were symbolical or significant. but it was only towards the close of the twelfth century that each knight assumed a fixed device, which was exclusively appropriated to him, by which he was known, and which became hereditary in his family. the offensive weapons used by the knights were most commonly the sword and spear. the axe and mace are found, but rarely. the artillery consisted of the crossbow, which was the most formidable missile in use, and the long bow, which, however, was not yet the great arm of the english yeomanry which it became at a later period; but these were hardly the weapons of knights and gentlemen, though men-at-arms were frequently armed with the crossbow, and archers were occasionally mounted. the sling was sometimes used, as were other very rude weapons, by the half-armed crowd who were often included in the ranks of mediæval armies. we have said that there is a great scarcity of pictorial representations of the military costume of the thirteenth century, and of the few which exist the majority are so vague in their definition of details, that they add nothing to our knowledge of costume, and have so little of dramatic character, as to throw no light on manners and customs. among the best are some knightly figures in the harleian roll, folio , which contains a life of st. guthlac of about the end of the twelfth century. the figures are armed in short-sleeved and hooded hauberk; flat-topped iron helmet, some with, some without, the nasal; heater-shaped shield and spear; the legs undefended, except by boots like those of the goliath on p. . the harleian ms. , , a ms. of the beginning of the thirteenth century, shows at folio a group of soldiers attacking a fortification; it contains hints enough to make one earnestly desire that the subject had been more fully and artistically worked out. the fortification is represented by a timber projection carried on brackets from the face of the wall. its garrison is represented by a single knight, whose demi-figure only is seen; he is represented in a short-sleeved hauberk, with a surcoat over it having a cross on the breast. he wears a flat-topped cylindrical helmet, and is armed with a crossbow. the assailants would seem to be a rabble of half-armed men; one is bareheaded, and armed only with a sling; others have round hats, whether of felt or iron does not appear; one is armed in a hooded hauberk and carries an axe, and a cylindrical helmet also appears amidst the crowd. in the harleian ms. , , of the beginning of the thirteenth century, at folio , there is a representation of the martyrdom of st. thomas of canterbury, which gives us the effigies of the three murderers in knightly costume. they all wear long-sleeved hauberks, which have the peculiarity of being slightly slit up the sides, and the tunic flows from beneath them. fitzurse (known by the bear on his shield) has leg defences fastened behind, like those in our next woodcut, p. , and a circular iron helmet. one of the others wears a flat-topped helmet, and the third has the hood of mail fastened on the cheek, like that in the same woodcut. the drawing is inartistic, and the picture of little value for our present purposes. the harleian ms. , contains several mss. bound together. the second of these works is a penitential, which has a knightly figure on horseback for its frontispiece. it has an allegorical meaning, and is rather curious. the inscription over the figure is _milicia est vita hominis super terram_. (the life of man upon the earth is a warfare.) the knightly figure represents the christian man in the spiritual panoply of this warfare; and the various items of armour and arms have inscriptions affixed to tell us what they are. thus over the helmet is _spes futuri gaudii_ (for a helmet the hope of salvation); his sword is inscribed, _verbum di_; his spear, _persevancia_; its pennon, _regni cælesti desiderium_, &c. &c. the shield is charged with the well-known triangular device, with the enunciation of the doctrine of the trinity, _pater est deus_, &c., _pater non est filius_, &c. the knight is clad in hauberk, with a rather long flowing surcoat; a helmet, in general shape like that in the next woodcut, but not so ornamental; he has chausses of mail; shield, sword, and spear with pennon, and prick spurs; but there is not sufficient definiteness in the details, or character in the drawing, to make it worth while to reproduce it. but there is one ms. picture which fully atones for the absence of others by its very great merit. it occurs in a small quarto of the last quarter of the thirteenth century, which contains the psalter and ecclesiastical hymns. towards the end of the book are several remarkably fine full-page drawings, done in outline with a pen, and partially tinted with colour; large, distinct, and done with great spirit and artistic skill. the first on the verso of folio is a king; on the opposite page is the knight, who is here given on a reduced scale; on the opposite side of the page is st. christopher, and on the next page an archbishop. the figure of the knight before us shows very clearly the various details of a suit of thirteenth-century armour. in the hauberk will be noticed the mode in which the hood is fastened at the side of the head, and the way in which the sleeves are continued into gauntlets, whose palms are left free from rings, so as to give a firmer grasp. the thighs, it will be seen, are protected by haut-de-chausses, which are mailed only in the exposed parts, and not on the seat. the legs have chausses of a different kind of armour. in the ms. drawings we often find various parts of the armour thus represented in different ways, and, as we have already said, we are sometimes tempted to think the unskilful artist has only used different modes of representing the same kind of mail. but here the drawing is so careful, and skilful, and self-evidently accurate, that we cannot doubt that the defence of the legs is really of a different kind of armour from the mail of the hauberk and haut-de-chausses. the surcoat is of graceful fashion, and embroidered with crosses, which appear also on the pennon, and one of them is used as an ornamental genouillière on the shoulder. the helmet is elaborately and very elegantly ornamented. the attitude of the figure is spirited and dignified, and the drawing unusually good. altogether we do not know a finer representation of a knight of this century. [illustration: _knight of the latter part of the thirteenth century._] a few, but very valuable, authorities are to be found in the sculptural monumental effigies of this period. the best of them will be found in stothard's "monumental effigies," and his work not only brings these examples together, and makes them easily accessible to the student, but it has this great advantage, that stothard well understood his subject, and gives every detail with the most minute accuracy, and also elucidates obscure points of detail. those in the temple church, that of william longespée in salisbury cathedral, and that of aymer de valence in westminster abbey, are the most important of the series. perhaps, after all, the only important light they add to that already obtained from the mss. is, they help us to understand the fabrication of the mail-armour, by giving it in fac-simile relief. there are also a few foreign mss., easily accessible, in the library of the british museum, which the artist student will do well to consult; but he must remember that some of the peculiarities of costume which he will find there are foreign fashions, and are not to be introduced in english subjects. for example, the ms. cotton, nero, c. iv., is a french ms. of about a.d., which contains some rather good drawings of military subjects. the additional ms. , , of german execution, written in a.d., contains military subjects; among them is a figure of goliath, in which the philistine has a hauberk of chain mail, and chausses of jazerant work, like the knight in the last woodcut. the royal ms. d. i., is a french ms., very full of valuable military drawings, executed probably at the close of the thirteenth century, belonging, however, in the style of its art and costume, rather to the early part of the next period than to that under consideration. the ms. addit. , , contains fine and valuable german drawings, full of military authorities, of about the same period as the french ms. last mentioned. [illustration: _knight and men-at-arms of the end of the thirteenth century._] the accompanying wood-cut represents various peculiarities of the armour in use towards the close of the thirteenth century. it is taken from the sloane ms. , which is a metrical bible. in the original drawing a female figure is kneeling before the warrior, and there is an inscription over the picture, _abygail placet iram regis david_ (abigail appeases the anger of king david). so that this group of a thirteenth-century knight and his men-at-arms is intended by the mediæval artist to represent david and his followers on the march to revenge the churlishness of nabal. the reader will notice the round plates at the elbows and knees, which are the first _visible_ introduction of plate armour--breastplates, worn under the hauberk, had been occasionally used from saxon times. he will observe, too, the leather gauntlets which david wears, and the curious defences for the shoulders called _ailettes_: also that the shield is hung round the neck by its strap (_guige_), and the sword-belt round the hips, while the surcoat is girded round the waist by a silken cord. the group is also valuable for giving us at a glance three different fashions of helmet. david has a conical bascinet, with a movable visor. the man immediately behind him wears an iron hat, with a wide rim and a raised crest, which is not at all unusual at this period. the other two men wear the globular helmet, the most common head-defence of the time. [illustration: _knight of the end of the thirteenth century._] the next cut is a spirited little sketch of a mounted knight, from the same ms. the horse, it may be admitted, is very like those which children draw nowadays, but it has more life in it than most of the drawings of that day; and the way in which the knight sits his horse is much more artistic. the picture shows the equipment of the knight very clearly, and it is specially valuable as an early example of horse trappings, and as an authority for the shape of the saddle, with its high pommel and croupe. the inscription over the picture is, _tharbis defendit urbem sabea ab impugnanti moysi_; and over the head of this cavalier is his name _moyses_--moses, as a knight of the end of the thirteenth century! chapter iii. armour of the fourteenth century. in arriving at the fourteenth century, we have reached the very heart of our subject. for this century was the period of the great national wars with france and scotland; it was the time when the mercenaries raised in the italian wars first learnt, and then taught the world, the trade of soldier and trained their captains in the art of war; it was the period when the romantic exploits and picturesque trappings of chivalry were in their greatest vogue; the period when gothic art was at its highest point of excellence. it was a period, too, of which we have ample knowledge from public records and serious histories, from romance writers in poetry and prose, from chaucer and froissart, from ms. illuminations and monumental effigies. our difficulty amid such a profusion of material is to select that which will be most serviceable to our special purpose. let us begin with some detailed account of the different kinds and fashions of armour and equipment. in the preceding period, it has been seen, the most approved knightly armour was of mail. the characteristic feature of the armour of the fourteenth century is the intermixture of mail and plate. we see it first in small supplementary defences of plate introduced to protect the elbow and knee-joints. probably it was found that the rather heavy and unpliable sleeve and hose of mail pressed inconveniently upon these joints; therefore the armourer adopted the expedient which proved to be the "thin end of the wedge" which gradually brought plate armour into fashion. he cut the mail hose in two; the lower part, which was then like a modern stocking, protected the leg, and the upper part protected the thigh, each being independently fastened below and above the knee, leaving the knee unprotected. then he hollowed a piece of plate iron so as to form a cap for the knee, called technically a _genouillière_, within which the joint could work freely without chafing or pressure; perhaps it was padded or stuffed so as to deaden the effect of a blow; and it was fashioned so as effectually to cover all the part left undefended by the mail. the sleeve of the hauberk was cut in the same way, and the elbow was defended by a cap of plate-iron called a _coudière_. early examples of these two pieces of plate armour will be seen in the later illustrations of our last chapter, for they were introduced a little before the end of the thirteenth century. the two pieces of plate were introduced simultaneously, and they appear together in the woodcut of david and his men in our last chapter; but we often find the genouillière used while the arm is still defended only by the sleeve of the hauberk, as in the first woodcut in the present chapter, and again in the cut on p. . it is easy to see that the pressure of the chausses of mail upon the knee in riding would be constant and considerable, and a much more serious inconvenience than the pressure upon the elbow in the usual attitude of the arm. [illustration: _men-at-arms, fourteenth century._] next, round plates of metal, called _placates_ or _roundels_, were applied to shield the armpits from a thrust; and sometimes they were used also at the elbow to protect the inner side of the joint where, for the convenience of motion, it was destitute of armour. an example of a roundel at the shoulder will be seen in one of the men-at-arms in the woodcut on p. . another curious fashion which very generally prevailed at this time--that is, at the close of the thirteenth and beginning of the fourteenth century--was the _ailette_. it was a thin, oblong plate of metal, which was attached behind the shoulder. it would to some extent deaden the force of a blow directed at the neck, but it would afford so inartificial and ineffective a defence, that it is difficult to believe it was intended for anything more than an ornament. it is worn by the foremost knight in the cut on p. . perhaps the next great improvement was to protect the foot by a shoe made of plates of iron overlapping, like the shell of a lobster, the sole being still of leather. then plates of iron, made to fit the limb, were applied to the shin and the upper part of the forearm, and sometimes a small plate is applied to the upper part of the arm in the place most exposed to a blow. then the shin and forearm defences were enlarged so as to enclose the limb completely, opening at the side with a hinge, and closing with straps or rivets. then the thigh and the upper arm were similarly enclosed in plate. it is a little difficult to trace exactly the changes which took place in the body defences, because all through this period it was the fashion to wear a surcoat of some kind, which usually conceals all that was worn beneath it. it is however probable that at an early period of the introduction of plate a breastplate was introduced, which was worn over the hauberk, and perhaps fastened to it. then, it would seem, a back plate was added also, worn over the hauberk. next, the breast and back plate were made to enclose the whole of the upper part of the body, while only a skirt of mail remained; _i.e._ a garment of the same shape as the hauberk was worn, unprotected with mail, where the breast and back plate would come upon it, but still having its skirt covered with rings. in an illumination in the ms., is a picture of a knight putting off his jupon, in which the "pair of plates," as chaucer calls them in a quotation hereafter given, is seen, tinted blue (steel colour), with a skirt of mail. at this time the helmet had a fringe of mail, called the _camail_, attached to its lower margin, which fell over the body armour, and defended the neck. it is clearly seen in the hindermost knight of the group in the woodcut on p. , and in the effigy of john of eltham, on p. . it is not difficult to see the superiority of defence which plate afforded over mail. the edge of sword or axe would bite upon the mail; if the rings were unbroken, still the blow would be likely to bruise; and in romances it is common enough to hear of huge cantles of mail being hewn out by their blows, and the doughty champions being spent with loss of blood. but many a blow would glance off quite harmless from the curved and polished, and well-tempered surface of plate; so that it would probably require not only a more dexterous blow to make the edge of the weapon bite at all on the plate, but also a harder blow to cut into it so as to wound. in "prince arthur" we read of sir tristram and sir governale--"they avoided their horses, and put their shields before them, and they strake together with bright swords like men that were of might, and either wounded other wondrous sore, so that the blood ran upon the grass, and of their harness they had hewed off many pieces." and again, in a combat between sir tristram and sir elias, after a course in which "either smote other so hard that both horses and knights went to the earth," "they both lightly rose up and dressed their shields on their shoulders, with naked swords in their hands, and they dashed together like as there had been a flaming fire about them. thus they traced and traversed, and hewed on helms and hauberks, and cut away many pieces and cantles of their shields, and either wounded other passingly sore, so that the hot blood fell fresh upon the earth." we have said that a surcoat of some kind was worn throughout this period, but it differed in shape at different times, and had different names applied to it. in the early part of the time of which we are now speaking, _i.e._ when the innovation of plate armour was beginning, the loose and flowing surcoat of the thirteenth century was still used, and is very clearly seen in the nearest of the group of knights in woodcut on p. . it was usually of linen or silk, sleeveless, reached halfway between the knee and ankle, was left unstiffened to fall in loose folds, except that it was girt by a silk cord round the waist, and its skirts flutter behind as the wearer gallops on through the air. the change of taste was in the direction of shortening the skirts of the surcoat, and making it scantier about the body, and stiffening it so as to make it fit the person without folds; at last it was tightly fitted to the breast and back plate, and showed their outline; and it was not uncommonly covered with embroidery, often of the armorial bearings of the wearer. the former garment is properly called a surcoat, and the latter a jupon; the one is characteristic of the greater part of the thirteenth century, the latter of the greater part of the fourteenth. but the fashion did not change suddenly from the one to the other; there was a transitional phase called the _cyclas_, which may be briefly described. the cyclas opened up the sides instead of in front, and it had this curious peculiarity, that the front skirt was cut much shorter than the hind skirt--behind it reached to the knees, but in front not very much below the hips. the fashion has this advantage for antiquarians, that the shortness of the front skirt allows us to see a whole series of military garments beneath, which are hidden by the long surcoat and even by the shorter jupon, a suit of armour of this period is represented in the roman d'alexandre (bodleian library), at folio v., and elsewhere in the ms. the remainder of the few examples of the cyclas which remain, and which, so far as our observation extends, are all in sepulchral monuments, range between the years and , the shortening of the cyclas enables us to see. we have chosen for our illustration the sepulchral effigy in westminster abbey of john of eltham, the second son of king edward ii., who died in . here we see first and lowest the hacqueton; then the hauberk of chain mail, slightly pointed in front, which was one of the fashions of the time, as we see it also in the monumental brasses of sir john de creke, at westley-waterless, cambridgeshire, and of sir j. d'aubernoun, the younger, at stoke d'abernon, surrey; over the hauberk we see the ornamented gambeson; and over all the cyclas. it is a question whether knights generally wore this whole series of defences, but the monumental effigies are usually so accurate in their representations of actual costume, that we must conclude that at least on occasions of state solemnity they were all worn. in the illustration it will be seen that the cyclas is confined, not by a silk cord, but by a narrow belt, while the sword-belt of the thirteenth century is still worn in addition. the jupon is seen in the two knights tilting, in the woodcut on p. . in the knight on the left will be seen how it fits tightly, and takes the globular shape of the breastplate. it will be noticed that on this knight the skirt of the jupon is scalloped, on the other it is plain. the jupon was not girded with a silk cord or a narrow belt; it was made to fit tight without any such fastening. the sword-belt worn with it differs in two important respects from that worn previously. it does not fall diagonally across the person, but horizontally over the hips; and it is not merely a leather belt ornamented, but the leather foundation is completely concealed by plates of metal in high relief, chased, gilt, and filled with enamels, forming a gorgeous decoration. the general form will be seen in the woodcut on p. , but its elaboration and splendour are better understood on an examination of some of the sculptured effigies, in which the forms of the metal plates are preserved in facsimile, with traces of their gilding and colour still remaining. [illustration: _john of eltham._] it would be easy, from the series of sculptured effigies in relief and monumental brasses, to give a complete chronological view of these various changes which were continually progressing throughout the fourteenth century. but this has already been done in the very accessible works by stothard, the messrs. waller, mr. boutell, and mr. haines, especially devoted to monumental effigies and brasses. it will be more in accordance with the plan we have laid down for ourselves, if we take from the less known illuminations of mss. some subjects which will perhaps be less clear and fine in detail, but will have more life and character than the formal monumental effigies. we must, however, pause to mention some other kinds of armour which were sometimes used in place of armour of steel. and first we may mention leather. leather was always more or less used as a cheap kind of defence, from the saxon leather tunic with the hair left on it, down to the buff jerkin of the time of the commonwealth, and even to the thick leather gauntlets and jack boots of the present life guardsman. but at the time of which we are speaking pieces of armour of the same shape as those we have been describing were sometimes made, for the sake of lightness, of _cuir bouilli_ instead of metal. cuir bouilli was, as its name implies, leather which was treated with hot water, in such a way as to make it assume a required shape; and often it was also impressed, while soft, with ornamental devices. it is easy to see that in this way armour might be made possessing great comparative lightness, and yet a certain degree of strength, and capable, by stamping, colouring, and gilding, of a high degree of ornamentation. it was a kind of armour very suitable for occasions of mere ceremonial, and it was adopted in actual combat for parts of the body less exposed to injury; for instance, it seems to be especially used for the defence of the lower half of the legs. we shall find presently, in the description of chaucer's sire thopas, the knight adventurous, that "his jambeux were of cuirbouly." in external form and appearance it would be so exactly like metal armour that it may be represented in some of the ornamental effigies and mss. drawings, where it has the appearance of, and is usually assumed to be, metal armour. another form of armour, of which we often meet with examples in drawings and effigies, is one in which the piece of armour appears to be studded, at more or less distant regular intervals, with small round plates. there are two suggestions as to the kind of armour intended. one is, that the armour thus represented was a garment of cloth, silk, velvet, or other textile material, lined with plates of metal, which are fastened to the garment with metal rivets, and that the heads of these rivets, gilt and ornamented, were allowed to be seen powdering the coloured face of the garment by way of ornament. another suggestion is that the garment was merely one of the padded and quilted armours which we shall have next to describe, in which, as an additional precaution, metal studs were introduced, much as an oak door is studded with iron bolts. an example of it will be seen in the armour of the forearms of king meliadus in the woodcut on p. . chaucer seems to speak of this kind of defence, in his description of lycurgus at the great tournament in the "knight's tale," under the name of coat armour:-- "instede of cote-armure on his harnais, with nayles yelwe and bryght as any gold, he had a bere's skin cole-blake for old." next we come to the rather large and important series of quilted defences. we find the names of the _gambeson_, _hacqueton_, and _pourpoint_, and sometimes the _jacke_. it is a little difficult to distinguish one from the other in the descriptions; and in fact they appear to have greatly resembled one another, and the names seem often to have been used interchangeably. the gambeson was a sleeved tunic of stout coarse linen, stuffed with flax and other common material, and sewn longitudinally. the hacqueton was a similar garment, only made of buckram, and stuffed with cotton; stiff from its material, but not so thick and clumsy as the gambeson. the pourpoint was very like the hacqueton, only that it was made of finer material, faced with silk, and stitched in ornamental patterns. the gambeson and hacqueton were worn under the armour, partly to relieve its pressure upon the body, partly to afford an additional defence. sometimes they were worn, especially by the common soldiers, without any other armour. the pourpoint was worn over the hauberk, but sometimes it was worn alone, the hauberk being omitted for the sake of lightness. the jacke, or jacque, was a tunic of stuffed leather, and was usually worn by the common soldiers without other armour, but sometimes as light armour by knights. in the first wood-cut on the next page, from the romance of king meliadus, we have a figure which appears to be habited in one of these quilted armours, perhaps the hacqueton. there is another figure in the same group, in a similar dress, with this difference--in the first the skirt seems to fall loose and light, in the second the skirt seems to be stuffed and quilted like the body of the garment. at folio of the same romance is a squire, attendant upon a knight-errant, who is habited in a similar hacqueton to that we have represented; the squires throughout the ms. are usually quite unarmed. in the monumental effigy of sir robert shurland, who was made a knight-banneret in , we seem to have a curious and probably unique effigy of a knight in the gameson. we give a woodcut of it, reduced from stothard's engraving. the smaller figure of the man placed at the feet of the effigy is in the same costume, and affords us an additional example. stothard conjectures that the garment in the effigy of john of eltham ( a.d.), whose vandyked border appears beneath his hauberk, is the buckram of the hacqueton left unstuffed, and ornamentally scalloped round the border. in the ms. of king meliadus, at f. , and again on the other side of the leaf, is a knight, whose red jupon, slit up at the sides, is thrown open by his attitude, so that we see the skirt of mail beneath, which is silvered to represent metal; and beneath that is a scalloped border of an under habit, which is left white, and, if stothard's conjecture be correct, is another example of the hacqueton under the hauberk. but the best representation which we have met with of the quilted armours is in the ms. of the romance of the rose (harleian, , ), at folio , where, in a battle scene, one knight is conspicuous among the blue steel and red and green jupons of the other knights by a white body armour quilted in small squares, with which he wears a steel bascinet and ringed camail. he is engraved on p. . [illustration: _squire in hacqueton._] [illustration: _sir robert shurland._] and now to turn to a description of some of the ms. illuminations which illustrate this chapter. that on p. is a charming little subject from a famous ms. (royal b. vii.) of the beginning of the edwardian period, which will illustrate half-a-dozen objects besides the mere suit of knightly armour. first of all there is the suit of armour on the knight in the foreground, the hooded hauberk and chausses of mail and genouillières, the chapeau de fer, or war helm, and the surcoat, and the shield. but we get also a variety of helmets, different kinds of weapons, falchion and axe, as well as sword and spear, and the pennon attached to the spear; and, in addition, the complete horse trappings, with the ornamental crest which was used to set off the arching neck and tossing head. moreover, we learn that this variety of arms and armour was to be found in a single troop of men-at-arms; and we see the irregular but picturesque effect which such a group presented to the eyes of the monkish illuminator as it pranced beneath the gateway into the outer court of the abbey, to seek the hospitality which the hospitaller would hasten to offer on behalf of the convent. this mixture of armour and weapons is brought before us by chaucer in his description of palamon's party in the great tournament in the "knight's tale:"-- "and right so ferden they with palamon, with him ther wenten knights many one, som wol ben armed in an habergeon, and in a brestplate and in a gipon; and some wol have a pair of plates large; and some wol have a pruce shield or a targe; and some wol ben armed on his legge's wele, and have an axe, and some a mace of stele, ther was no newe guise that it was old, armed they weren, as i have you told, everich after his opinion." the illustration here given and that on p. are from a ms. which we cannot quote for the first time without calling special attention to it. it is a ms. of one of the numerous romances of the king arthur cycle, the romance of the king meliadus, who was one of the companions of the round table. the book is profusely illustrated with pictures which are invaluable to the student of military costume and chivalric customs. they are by different hands, and not all of the same date, the earlier series being probably about , the later perhaps as late as near the end of the century. in both these dates the ms. gives page after page of large-sized pictures drawn with great spirit, and illustrating every variety of incident which could take place in single combat and in tournament, with many scenes of civil and domestic life besides. especially there is page after page in which, along the lower portion of the pages, across the whole width of the book, there are pictures of tournaments. there is a gallery of spectators along the top, and in some of these--especially in those at folio v. and , which are sketched in with pen and ink, and left uncoloured--there are more of character and artistic drawing than the artists of the time are usually believed to have possessed. beneath this gallery is a confused mêlée of knights in the very thickest throng and most energetic action of a tournament. the wood-cut on p. represents one out of many incidents of a single combat. it does not do justice to the drawing, and looks tame for want of the colouring of the original; but it will serve to show the armour and equipment of the time. the victor knight is habited in a hauberk of banded mail, with gauntlets of plate, and the legs are cased entirely in plate. the body armour is covered by a jupon; the tilting helmet has a knight's chapeau and drapery carrying the lion crest. the armour in the illumination is silvered to represent metal. the knight's jupon is red, and the trappings of his helmet red, with a golden lion; his shield bears gules, a lion rampant argent; the conquered knight's jupon is blue, his shield argent, two bandlets gules. we see here the way in which the shield was carried, and the long slender spear couched, in the charge. [illustration: _jousting._] the next wood-cut hardly does credit to the charming original. it represents the royal knight-errant himself sitting by a fountain, talking with his squire. the suit of armour is beautiful, and the face of the knight has much character, but very different from the modern conventional type of a mediæval knight-errant. his armour deserves particular examination. he wears a hauberk of banded mail; whether he wears a breastplate, or pair of plates, we are unable to see for the jupon, but we can see the hauberk which protects the throat above the jupon, and the skirt of it where the attitude of the wearer throws the skirt of the jupon open at the side. it will be seen that the sleeves of the hauberk are not continued, as in most examples, over the hands, or even down to the wrist; but the forearm is defended by studded armour, and the hands by gauntlets which are probably of plate. the leg defences are admirably exhibited; the hose of banded mail, the knee cap, and shin pieces of plate, and the boots of overlapping plates. the helmet also, with its royal crown and curious double crest, is worth notice. in the original drawing the whole suit of armour is brilliantly executed. the armour is all silvered to represent steel, the jupon is green, the military belt gold, the helmet silvered, with its drapery blue powdered with gold fleurs-de-lis, and its crown, and the fleur-de-lis which terminate its crest, gold. the whole dress and armour of a knight of the latter half of the fourteenth century are described for us by chaucer in a few stanzas of his rime of sire thopas:-- "he didde[ ] next his white lere of cloth of lake fine and clere a breche and eke a sherte; and next his shert an haketon, and over that an habergeon, for percing of his herte. and over that a fine hauberk, was all ye wrought of jewes werk, full strong it was of plate; and over that his coat armoure, as white as is the lily floure, in which he could debate.[ ] his jambeux were of cuirbouly,[ ] his swerde's sheth of ivory, his helm of latoun[ ] bright, his sadel was of rewel bone, his bridle as the sonne shone, or as the mone-light[ ] his sheld was all of gold so red, and therein was a bore's hed, a charboncle beside; and then he swore on ale and bred, how that the geaunt shuld be ded, betide what so betide. his spere was of fine cypres, that bodeth warre and nothing pees, the hed ful sharpe yground. his stede was all of dapper gray. it goth an amble in the way, ful softely in londe." [illustration: _a knight-errant._] there is so much of character in his squire's face in the same picture, and that character so different from our conventional idea of a squire, that we are tempted to give a sketch of it on p. , as he leans over the horse's back talking to his master. this ms. affords us a whole gallery of squires attendant upon their knights. at folio v. is one carrying his master's spear and shield, who has a round cap with a long feather, like that in the woodcut. in several other instances the squire rides bareheaded, but has his hood hanging behind on his shoulders ready for a cold day or a shower of rain. in another place the knight is attended by two squires, one bearing his master's tilting helmet on his shoulder, the other carrying his spear and shield. in all cases the squires are unarmed, and mature men of rather heavy type, different from the gay and gallant youths whom we are apt to picture to ourselves as the squires of the days of chivalry attendant on noble knights adventurous. in other cases we see the squires looking on very phlegmatically while their masters are in the height of a single combat; perhaps a knight adventurous was not a hero to his squire. but again we see the squire starting into activity to catch his master's steed, from which he has been unhorsed by an antagonist of greater strength or skill, or good fortune. we see him also in the lists at a tournament, handing his master a new spear when he has splintered his own on an opponent's shield; or helping him to his feet when he has been overthrown, horse and man, under the hoofs of prancing horses. [illustration: _the knight-errant's squire._] chapter iv. the days of chivalry. we have no inclination to deny that life is more safe and easy in these days than it was in the middle ages, but it certainly is less picturesque, and adventurous, and joyous. this country then presented the features of interest which those among us who have wealth and leisure now travel to foreign lands to find. there were vast tracts of primeval forest, and wild unenclosed moors and commons, and marshes and meres. the towns were surrounded by walls and towers, and the narrow streets of picturesque, gabled, timber houses were divided by wide spaces of garden and grove, above which rose numerous steeples of churches full of artistic wealth. the villages consisted of a group of cottages scattered round a wide green, with a village cross in the middle, and a maypole beside it. and there were stately monasteries in the rich valleys; and castles crowned the hills; and moated manor-houses lay buried in their woods; and hermitages stood by the dangerous fords. the high roads were little more than green lanes with a narrow beaten track in the middle, poached into deep mud in winter; and the by-roads were bridle-paths winding from village to village; and the costumes of the people were picturesque in fashion, bright in colour, and characteristic. the gentleman pranced along in silks and velvets, in plumed hat, and enamelled belt, and gold-hilted sword and spurs, with a troop of armed servants behind him; the abbot, in the robe of his order, with a couple of chaplains, all on ambling palfreys; the friar paced along in serge frock and sandals; the minstrel, in gay coat, sang snatches of lays as he wandered along from hall to castle, with a lad at his back carrying his harp or gittern; the traders went from fair to fair, taking their goods on strings of pack horses; a pilgrim, passed now and then, with staff and scrip and cloak; and, now and then, a knight-errant in full armour rode by on his war-horse, with a squire carrying his helm and spear. it was a wild land, and the people were rude, and the times lawless; but every mile furnished pictures for the artist, and every day offered the chance of adventures. the reader must picture to himself the aspect of the country and the manners of the times, before he can appreciate the spirit of knight-errantry, to which it is necessary that we should devote one of these chapters on the knights of the middle ages. the knight-errant was usually some young knight who had been lately dubbed, and who, full of courage and tired of the monotony of his father's manor-house, set out in search of adventures. we could envy him as, on some bright spring morning, he rode across the sounding drawbridge, followed by a squire in the person of some young forester as full of animal spirits and reckless courage as himself; or, perhaps, by some steady old warrior practised in the last french war, whom his father had chosen to take care of him. we sigh for our own lost youth as we think of him, with all the world before him--the mediæval world, with all its possibilities of wild adventure and romantic fortune; with caitiff knights to overthrow at spear-point, and distressed damsels to succour; and princesses to win as the prize of some great tournament; and rank and fame to gain by prowess and daring, under the eye of kings, in some great stricken field. the old romances enable us to follow such an errant knight through all his travels and adventures; and the illuminations leave hardly a point in the history unillustrated by their quaint but naïve and charming pictures. tennyson has taken some of the episodes out of these old romances, and filled up the artless but suggestive stories with the rich detail and artistic finish which adapt them to our modern taste, and has made them the favourite subjects of modern poetry. but he has left a hundred others behind; stories as beautiful, with words and sentences here and there full of poetry, destined to supply material for future poems and new subjects for our painters. it is our business to quote from these romances some of the scenes which will illustrate our subject, and to introduce some of the illuminations that will present them to the eye. in selecting the literary sketches, we shall use almost exclusively the translation which sir thomas mallory made, and caxton printed, of the cycle of prince arthur romances, because it comprises a sufficient number for our purpose, and because the language, while perfectly intelligible and in the best and most vigorous english, has enough of antique style to give the charm which would be wanting if we were to translate the older romances into modern phraseology. in the same way we shall content ourselves with selecting pictorial illustrations chiefly from mss. of the fourteenth century, the date at which many of these romances were brought into the form in which they have descended to us. [illustration: _a squire._] a knight was known to be a knight-errant by his riding through the peaceful country in full armour, with a single squire at his back, as surely as a man is now recognised as a fox-hunter who is seen riding easily along the strip of green sward by the roadside in a pink coat and velvet cap. "fair knight," says sir tristram, to one whom he had found sitting by a fountain, "ye seem for to be a knight-errant by your arms and your harness, therefore dress ye to just with one of us:" for this was of course inevitable when knights-errant met; the whole passage is worth transcribing:--"sir tristram and sir kay rode within the forest a mile or more. and at the last sir tristram saw before him a likely knight and a well-made man, all armed, sitting by a clear fountain, and a mighty horse near unto him tied to a great oak, and a man [his squire] riding by him, leading an horse that was laden with spears. then sir tristram rode near him, and said, 'fair knight, why sit ye so drooping, for ye seem to be an errant knight by your arms and harness, and therefore dress ye to just with one of us or with both.' therewith that knight made no words, but took his shield and buckled it about his neck, and lightly he took his horse and leaped upon him, and then he took a great spear of his squire, and departed his way a furlong." and so we read in another place:--"sir dinadan spake on high and said, 'sir knight, make thee ready to just with me, for it is the custom of all arrant knights one for to just with another.' 'sir,' said sir epinogris, 'is that the rule of your arrant knights, for to make a knight to just whether he will or not?' 'as for that, make thee ready, for here is for me.' and therewith they spurred their horses, and met together so hard that sir epinogris smote down sir dinadan"--and so taught him the truth of the adage "that it is wise to let sleeping dogs lie." but they did not merely take the chance of meeting one another as they journeyed. a knight in quest of adventures would sometimes station himself at a ford or bridge, and mount guard all day long, and let no knight-errant pass until he had jousted with him. thus we read "then they rode forth all together, king mark, sir lamorake, and sir dinadan, till that they came unto a bridge, and at the end of that bridge stood a fair tower. then saw they a knight on horseback, well armed, brandishing a spear, crying and proffering himself to just." and again, "when king mark and sir dinadan had ridden about four miles, they came unto a bridge, whereas hoved a knight on horseback, and ready to just. 'so,' said sir dinadan unto king mark, 'yonder hoveth a knight that will just, for there shall none pass this bridge but he must just with that knight.'" and again: "they rode through the forest, and at the last they were ware of two pavilions by a priory with two shields, and the one shield was renewed with white and the other shield was red. 'thou shalt not pass this way,' said the dwarf, 'but first thou must just with yonder knights that abide in yonder pavilions that thou seest.' then was sir tor ware where two pavilions were, and great spears stood out, and two shields hung on two trees by the pavilions." in the same way a knight would take up his abode for a few days at a wayside cross where four ways met, in order to meet adventures from east, west, north, and south. notice of adventures was sometimes affixed upon such a cross, as we read in "prince arthur": "and so sir galahad and he rode forth all that week ere they found any adventure. and then upon a sunday, in the morning, as they were departed from an abbey, they came unto a cross which departed two ways. and on that cross were letters written which said thus: _now ye knights-errant that goeth forth for to seek adventures, see here two ways_," &c. wherever they went, they made diligent inquiry for adventures. thus "sir launcelot departed, and by adventure he came into a forest. and in the midst of a highway he met with a damsel riding on a white palfrey, and either saluted other: 'fair damsel,' said sir launcelot, 'know ye in this country any adventures?' 'sir knight,' said the damsel, 'here are adventures near at hand, an thou durst prove them.' 'why should i not prove adventures,' said sir launcelot, 'as for that cause came i hither?'" and on another occasion, we read, sir launcelot passed out of the (king arthur's) court to seek adventures, and sir ector made him ready to meet sir launcelot, and as he had ridden long in a great forest, he met with a man that was like a forester.--these frequent notices of "riding long through a great forest" are noticeable as evidences of the condition of the country in those days.--"fair fellow," said sir ector, "knowest thou in this country any adventures which be here nigh at hand?" "sir," said the forester, "this country know i well, and here within this mile is a strong manor and well ditched"--not well walled; it was the fashion of the middle ages to choose low sites for their manor-houses, and to surround them with moats--such moats are still common round old manor-houses in essex--"and by that manor on the left hand is a fair ford for horses to drink, and over that ford there groweth a fair tree, and thereon hangeth many fair shields that belonged some time unto good knights; and at the hole of the tree hangeth a bason of copper and laten; and strike upon that bason with the end of the spear thrice, and soon after thou shalt hear good tidings, and else hast thou the fairest grace that many a year any knight had that passed through this forest." [illustration: _preliminaries of combat in green court of castle._] every castle offered hope, not only of hospitality, but also of a trial of arms; for in every castle there would be likely to be knights and squires glad of the opportunity of running a course with bated spears with a new and skilful antagonist. here is a picture from an old ms. which represents the preliminaries of such a combat on the green between the castle walls and the moat. in many castles there was a special tilting-ground. thus we read, "sir percivale passed the water, and when he came unto the castle gate, he said to the porter, 'go thou unto the good knight within the castle, and tell him that here is came an errant knight to just with him.' 'sir,' said the porter, 'ride ye within the castle, and there shall ye find a common place for justing, that lords and ladies may behold you.'" at carisbrook castle, in the isle of wight, the tilting-ground remains to this day; a plot of level green sward, with raised turfed banks round it, that at the same time served as the enclosure of the lists, and a vantage-ground from which the spectators might see the sport. at gawsworth, also, the ancient tilting-ground still remains. but in most castles of any size, the outer court afforded room enough for a course, and at the worst there was the green meadow outside the castle walls. in some castles they had special customs; just as in old-fashioned country-houses one used to be told it was "the custom of the house" to do this and that; so it was "the custom of the castle" for every knight to break three lances, for instance, or exchange three strokes of sword with the lord--a quondam errant knight be sure, thus creating adventures for himself at home when marriage and cares of property forbade him to roam in search of them. thus, in the romance:--"sir tristram and sir dinadan rode forth their way till they came to some shepherds and herdsmen, and there they asked if they knew any lodging or harbour thereabout." "forsooth, fair lords," said the herdsmen, "nigh hereby is a good lodging in a castle, but such a custom there is that there shall no knight be lodged but if he first just with two knights, and if ye be beaten, and have the worse, ye shall not be lodged there, and if ye beat them, ye shall be well lodged." the knights of the round table easily vanquished the two knights of the castle, and were hospitably received; but while they were at table came sir palomides, and sir gaheris, "requiring to have the custom of the castle." "and now," said sir tristram, "must we defend the custom of the castle, inasmuch as we have the better of the lord of the castle." here is the kind of invitation they were sure to receive from gentlemen living peaceably on their estates, but sympathising with the high spirit and love of adventure which sent young knights a-wandering through their woods and meadows, and under their castle walls:--sir tristram and sir gareth "were ware of a knight that came riding against [towards] them unarmed, and nothing about him but a sword; and when this knight came nigh them he saluted them, and they him again. 'fair knights,' said that knight, 'i pray you, inasmuch as ye are knights errant, that ye will come and see my castle, and take such as ye find there, i pray you heartily.' and so they rode with him to his castle, and there they were brought to the hall that was well appareled, and so they were unarmed and set at a board." we have already heard in these brief extracts of knights lodging at castles and abbeys: we often find them received at manor-houses. here is one of the most graphic pictures:--"then sir launcelot mounted upon his horse and rode into many strange and wild countries, and through many waters and valleys, and evil was he lodged. and at the last, by fortune, it happened him against a night to come to a poor courtilage, and therein he found an old gentleman, which lodged him with a good will, and there he and his horse were well cheered. and when time was, his host brought him to a fair garret over a gate to his bed. there sir launcelot unarmed him, and set his harness by him, and went to bed, and anon he fell in sleep. so, soon after, there came one on horseback, and knocked at the gate in great haste. and when sir launcelot heard this, he arose up and looked out at the window, and saw by the moonlight three knights that came riding after that one man, and all three lashed upon him at once with their swords, and that one knight turned on them knightly again, and defended himself." and sir launcelot, like an errant knight, "took his harness and went out at the window by a sheet," and made them yield, and commanded them at whit sunday to go to king arthur's court, and there yield them unto queen guenever's grace and mercy; for so errant knights gave to their lady-loves the evidences of their prowess, and did them honour, by sending them a constant succession of vanquished knights, and putting them "unto her grace and mercy." very often the good knight in the midst of forest or wild found a night's shelter in a friendly hermitage, for hermitages, indeed, were established partly to afford shelter to belated travellers. here is an example. sir tor asks the dwarf who is his guide, "'know ye any lodging?' 'i know none,' said the dwarf; 'but here beside is an hermitage, and there ye must take such lodging as ye find.' and within a while they came to the hermitage and took lodging, and there was grass and oats and bread for their horses. soon it was spread, and full hard was their supper; but there they rested them all the night till on the morrow, and heard a mass devoutly, and took their leave of the hermit, and sir tor prayed the hermit to pray for him, and he said he would, and betook him to god; and so he mounted on horseback, and rode towards camelot." but sometimes not even a friendly hermitage came in sight at the hour of twilight, when the forest glades darkened, and the horse track across the moor could no longer be seen, and the knight had to betake himself to a soldier's bivouac. it is an incident often met with in the romances. here is a more poetical description than usual:--"and anon these knights made them ready, and rode over holts and hills, through forests and woods, till they came to a fair meadow full of fair flowers and grass, and there they rested them and their horses all that night." again, "sir launcelot rode into a forest, and there he met with a gentlewoman riding upon a white palfrey, and she asked him, 'sir knight, whither ride ye?' 'certainly, damsel,' said sir launcelot, 'i wot not whither i ride, but as fortune leadeth me.'... then sir launcelot asked her where he might be harboured that night. 'ye shall none find this day nor night, but to-morrow ye shall find good harbour.' and then he commended her unto god. then he rode till he came to a cross, and took that for his host as for that night. and he put his horse to pasture, and took off his helm and shield, and made his prayers to the cross, that he might never again fall into deadly sin, and so he laid him down to sleep, and anon as he slept it befel him that he had a vision," with which we will not trouble the reader; but we commend the incident to any young artist in want of a subject for a picture: the wayside cross where the four roads meet in the forest, the gnarled tree-trunks with their foliage touched with autumn tints, and the green bracken withering into brown and yellow and red, under the level rays of the sun which fling alternate bars of light and shade across the scene; and the noble war-horse peacefully grazing on the short sweet forest grass, and the peerless knight in glorious gilded arms, with his helmet at his feet, and his great spear leaned against a tree-trunk, kneeling before the cross, with his grave noble face, and his golden hair gleaming in the sun-light, "making his prayers that he might never again fall into deadly sin." in the old monumental brasses in which pictures of the knightly costume are preserved to us with such wonderful accuracy and freshness, it is very common to find the knight represented as lying with his tilting helm under his head by way of pillow. one would take it for a mere artistic arrangement for raising the head of the recumbent figure, and for introducing this important portion of his costume, but that the romances tell us that knights did actually make use of their helm for a pillow; a hard pillow, no doubt--but we have all heard of the veteran who kicked from under his son's head the snowball which he had rolled together for a pillow at his bivouac in the winter snow, indignant at his degenerate effeminacy. thus we read of sir tristram and sir palomides, "they mounted upon their horses, and rode together into the forest, and there they found a fair well with clear water burbelling. 'fair sir,' said sir tristram, 'to drink of that water have i a lust.' and then they alighted from their horses, and then were they ware by them where stood a great horse tied to a tree, and ever he neighed, and then were they ware of a fair knight armed under a tree, lacking no piece of harness, save his helm lay under his head. said sir tristram, 'yonder lieth a fair knight, what is best to do?' 'awake him,' said sir palomides. so sir tristram waked him with the end of his spear." they had better have let him be, for the knight, thus roused, got him to horse and overthrew them both. again, we read how "sir launcelot bad his brother, sir lionel, to make him ready, for we two, said he, will seek adventures. so they mounted upon their horses, armed at all points, and rode into a deep forest, and after they came into a great plain, and then the weather was hot about noon, and sir launcelot had great lust to sleep. then sir lionel espied a great apple-tree that stood by a hedge, and said, 'brother, yonder is a fair shadow; there may we rest us, and our horses.' 'it is well said, fair brother,' said sir launcelot, 'for all the seven year i was not so sleepy as i am now.' and so they alighted there, and tied their horses unto sundry trees, and so sir launcelot laid him down under an apple-tree, and laid his helm under his head. and sir lionel waked while he slept." [illustration: _knights, damsel, and squire._] the knight did not, however, always trust to chance for shelter, and risk a night in the open air. sometimes we find he took the field in this mimic warfare with a baggage train, and had his tent pitched for the night wherever night overtook him, or camped for a few days wherever a pleasant glade, or a fine prospect, or an agreeable neighbour, tempted him to prolong his stay. and he would picket his horse hard by, and thrust his spear into the ground beside the tent door, and hang his shield upon it. thus we read:--"now turn we unto sir launcelot, that had long been riding in a great forest, and at last came into a low country, full of fair rivers and meadows, and afore him he saw a long bridge, and three pavilions stood thereon of silk and sendal of divers hue, and without the pavilions hung three white shields on truncheons of spears, and great long spears stood upright by the pavilions, and at every pavilion's door stood three fresh squires, and so sir launcelot passed by them, and spake not a word." we may say here that it was not unusual for people in fine weather to pitch a tent in the courtyard or garden of the castle, and live there instead of indoors, or to go a-field and pitch a little camp in some pleasant place, and spend the time in justing and feasting, and mirth and minstrelsy. we read in one of the romances how "the king and queen--king arthur and queen guenever, to wit--made their pavilions and their tents to be pitched in the forest, beside a river, and there was daily hunting, for there were ever twenty knights ready for to just with all them that came in at that time." and here, in the woodcut below, is a picture of the scene. usually, perhaps, there was not much danger in these adventures of a knight-errant. there was a fair prospect of bruises, and a risk of broken bones if he got an awkward fall, but not more risk perhaps than in the modern hunting-field. even if the combat went further than the usual three courses with bated spears, if they did draw swords and continue the combat on foot, there was usually no more real danger than in a duel of german students. but sometimes cause of anger would accidentally rise between two errant knights, or the combat begun in courtesy would fire their hot blood, and they would resolve "worshipfully to win worship, or die knightly on the field," and a serious encounter would take place. there were even some knights of evil disposition enough to take delight in making every combat a serious one; and some of the adventures in which we take most interest relate how these bloodthirsty bullies, attacking in ignorance some knight of the round table, got a well-deserved bloodletting for their pains. [illustration: _king, &c., in pavilion before castle._] we must give one example of a combat--rather a long one, but it combines many different points of interest. "so as they (merlin and king arthur) went thus talking, they came to a fountain, and a rich pavilion by it. then was king arthur aware where a knight sat all armed in a chair. 'sir knight,' said king arthur, 'for what cause abidest thou here, that there may no knight ride this way, but if he do just with thee; leave that custom.' 'this custom,' said the knight, 'have i used, and will use maugre who saith nay, and who is grieved with my custom, let him amend it that will.' 'i will amend it,' saith king arthur. 'and i shall defend it,' saith the knight. anon he took his horse, and dressed his shield, and took a spear; and they met so hard either on other's shield, that they shivered their spears. therewith king arthur drew his sword. 'nay, not so,' saith the knight, 'it is fairer that we twain run more together with sharp spears.' 'i will well,' said king arthur, 'an i had any more spears.' 'i have spears enough,' said the knight. so there came a squire, and brought two good spears, and king arthur took one, and he another; so they spurred their horses, and came together with all their might, that either break their spears in their hands. then king arthur set hand to his sword. 'nay,' said the knight, 'ye shall do better; ye are a passing good juster as ever i met withal; for the love of the high order of knighthood let us just it once again.' 'i assent me,' said king arthur. anon there were brought two good spears, and each knight got a spear, and therewith they ran together, that king arthur's spear broke to shivers. but the knight hit him so hard in the middle of the shield, that horse and man fell to the earth, wherewith king arthur was sore angered, and drew out his sword, and said, 'i will assay thee, sir knight, on foot, for i have lost the honour on horseback.' 'i will be on horseback,' said the knight. then was king arthur wrath, and dressed his shield towards him with his sword drawn. when the knight saw that, he alighted for him, for he thought it was no worship to have a knight at such advantage, he to be on horseback, and the other on foot, and so alighted, and dressed himself to king arthur. then there began a strong battle with many great strokes, and so hewed with their swords that the cantels flew on the field, and much blood they bled both, so that all the place where they fought was all bloody; and thus they fought long and rested them, and then they went to battle again, and so hurtled together like two wild boars, that either of them fell to the earth. so at the last they smote together, that both their swords met even together. but the sword of the knight smote king arthur's sword in two pieces, wherefore he was heavy. then said the knight to the king, 'thou art in my danger, whether me list to slay thee or save thee; and but thou yield thee as overcome and recreant, thou shalt die.' 'as for death,' said king arthur, 'welcome be it when it cometh, but as to yield me to thee as recreant, i had liever die than be so shamed.' and therewithal the king leapt upon pelinore, and took him by the middle, and threw him down, and rased off his helmet. when the knight felt that he was a dread, for he was a passing big man of might; and anon he brought king arthur under him, and rased off his helmet, and would have smitten off his head. therewithal came merlin, and said, 'knight, hold thy hand.'" [illustration: _knights justing._] happy for the wounded knight if there were a religious house at hand, for there he was sure to find kind hospitality and such surgical skill as the times afforded. king bagdemagus had this good fortune when he had been wounded by sir galahad. "i am sore wounded," said he, "and full hardly shall i escape from the death. then the squire fet [fetched] his horse, and brought him with great pain to an abbey. then was he taken down softly and unarmed, and laid in a bed, and his wound was looked into, for he lay there long and escaped hard with his life." so sir tristram, in his combat with sir marhaus, was so sorely wounded, "that unneath he might recover, and lay at a nunnery half a year." such adventures sometimes, no doubt, ended fatally, as in the case of the unfortunate sir marhaus, and there was a summary conclusion to his adventures; and there was nothing left but to take him home and bury him in his parish church, and hang his sword and helmet over his tomb.[ ] many a knight would be satisfied with the series of adventures which finished by laying him on a sick bed for six months, with only an ancient nun for his nurse; and as soon as he was well enough he would get himself conveyed home on a horse litter, a sadder and a wiser man. the modern romances have good mediæval authority, too, for making marriage a natural conclusion of their three volumes of adventures; we have no less authority for it than that of sir launcelot:--"now, damsel," said he, at the conclusion of an adventure, "will ye any more service of me?" "nay, sir," said she at this time, "but god preserve you, wherever ye go or ride, for the courtliest knight thou art, and meekest to all ladies and gentlewomen that now liveth. but, sir knight, one thing me thinketh that ye lack, ye that are a knight wifeless, that ye will not love some maiden or gentlewoman, for i could never hear say that ye loved any of no manner degree, wherefore many in this country of high estate and low make great sorrow." "fair damsel," said sir launcelot, "to be a wedded man i think never to be, for if i were, then should i be bound to tarry with my wife, and leave arms and tournaments, battles and adventures." we have only space left for a few examples of the quaint and poetical phrases that, as we have said, frequently occur in these romances, some of which tennyson has culled, and set like uncut mediæval gems in his circlet of "idyls of the king." in the account of the great battle between king arthur and his knights against the eleven kings "and their chivalry," we read "they were so courageous, that many knights shook and trembled for eagerness," and "they fought together, that the sound rang by the water and the wood," and "there was slain that morrow-tide ten thousand of good men's bodies." the second of these expressions is a favourite one; we meet with it again: "when king ban came into the battle, he came in so fiercely, that the stroke resounded again from the water and the wood." again we read, king arthur "commanded his trumpets to blow the bloody sounds in such wise that the earth trembled and dindled." he was "a mighty man of men;" and "all men of worship said it was merry to be under such a chieftain, that would put his person in adventure as other poor knights did." chapter v. knights-errant. in the british museum are two volumes containing a rather large number of illuminated pictures which have been cut out of mss., chiefly of the early fourteenth century, by some collector who did not understand how much more valuable they would have been, even as pictures, if left each by itself in the appropriate setting of its black letter page, than when pasted half-a-dozen together in a scrap-book. that they are severed from the letterpress which they were intended to illustrate is of the less importance, because they seem all to be illustrations of scenes in romances, and it is not difficult to one who is well versed in those early writings either to identify the subjects or to invent histories for them. each isolated picture affords a subject in which an expert, turning the book over and explaining it to an amateur, would find material for a little lecture on mediæval art and architecture, costume, and manners. in presenting to the reader the subjects which illustrate this chapter, we find ourselves placed by circumstances in the position of being obliged to treat them like those scrap-book pictures of which we have spoken, viz., as isolated pictures, illustrating generally our subject of the knights of the middle ages, needing each its independent explanation. the first subject represents a scene from some romance, in which the good knight, attended by his squire, is guided by a damsel on some adventure. as in the scene which we find in caxton's "prince arthur": "and the good knight, sir galahad, rode so long, till that he came that night to the castle of carberecke; and it befel him that he was benighted in an hermitage. and when they were at rest there came a gentlewoman knocking at the door, and called sir galahad, and so the hermit came to the door to ask what she would. then she called the hermit, sir ulfric, 'i am a gentlewoman that would speak with the knight that is with you.' then the good man awaked sir galahad, and bade him rise and speak 'with a gentlewoman which seemeth hath great need of you.' then sir galahad went to her, and asked what she would. 'sir galahad,' said she, 'i will that you arm you and mount upon your horse and follow me, for i will show you within these three days the highest adventure that ever knight saw.' anon, sir galahad armed him, and took his horse and commended him to god, and bade the gentlewoman go, and he would follow her there as she liked. so the damsel rode as fast as her palfrey might gallop till that she came to the sea." [illustration: _lady, knight, and squire._] here then we see the lady ambling through the forest, and she rides as ladies rode in the middle ages, and as they still ride, like female centaurs, in the sandwich islands. she turns easily in her saddle, though going at a good pace, to carry on an animated conversation with the knight. he, it will be seen, is in hauberk and hood of banded mail, with the curious ornaments called _ailettes_--little wings--at his shoulders. he seems to have _genouillières_--knee-pieces of plate; but it is doubtful whether he has also plate armour about the leg, or whether the artist has omitted the lines which would indicate that the legs were, as is more probably the case, also protected by banded mail. he wears the prick spur; and his body-armour is protected from sun and rain by the surcoat. behind him prances his squire. the reader will not fail to notice the character which the artist has thrown into his attitude and the expression of his features. it will be seen that he is not armed, but wears the ordinary civil costume, with a hood and hat; he carries his master's spear, and the shield is suspended at his back by its guige or strap; its hollow shape and the rampant lion emblazoned on it will not be overlooked. romance writers are sometimes accused of forgetting that their heroes are human, and need to eat and drink and sleep. but this is hardly true of the old romancers, who, in relating knightly adventures, did not draw upon their imagination, but described the things which were continually happening about them; and the illuminators in illustrating the romances drew from the life--the life of their own day--and this it is which makes their pictures so naive and truthful in spite of their artistic defects, and so valuable as historical authorities. in the engraving above is a subject which would hardly have occurred to modern romancer or illustrator. the crowd of tents tells us that the scene is cast in the "tented field," either of real war or of the mimic war of some great tournament. the combat of the day is over. the modern romancer would have dropped the curtain for the day, to be drawn up again next morning when the trumpets of the heralds called the combatants once more to the field. our mediæval illuminator has given us a charming episode in the story. he has followed the good knight to his pavilion pitched in the meadow hard by. the knight has doffed his armour, and taken his bath, and put on his robes of peace, and heard vespers, and gone to supper. the lighted candles show that it is getting dusk. it is only by an artistic license that the curtains of the tent are drawn aside to display the whole interior; in reality they were close drawn; these curtains are striped of alternate breadths of gay colours--gold and red and green and blue. any one who has seen how picturesque a common bell tent, pitched on the lawn, looks from the outside, when one has been tempted by a fine summer evening to stay out late and "have candles," will be able to perceive how picturesque the striped curtains of this pavilion would be, how eminently picturesque the group of such pavilions here indicated, with the foliage of trees overhead and the grey walls and towers of a mediæval town in the background, with the stars coming out one by one among the turrets and spires sharply defined against the fading sky. [illustration: _knight at supper._] the knight, like a good chevalier and humane master, has first seen his war-horse groomed and fed. and what a sure evidence that the picture is from the life is this introduction of the noble animal sharing the shelter of the tent of his master, who waits for supper to be served. the furniture of the table is worth looking at--the ample white table-cloth, though the table is, doubtless, only a board on trestles; and the two candlesticks of massive and elegant shape, show that the candlesticks now called altar-candlesticks are only of the ordinary domestic mediæval type, obsolete now in domestic use, but still retained, like so many other ancient fashions, in ecclesiastical use. there, too, are the wine flagon and cup, and the salt between them; the knife is at the knight's right hand. we almost expect to see the squire of the last picture enter from behind, bearing aloft in both hands a fat capon on an ample pewter platter. the little subject which is next engraved will enable us to introduce from the romance of prince arthur a description of an adventure and a graphic account of the different turns and incidents of a single combat, told in language which is rich in picturesque obsolete words. "and so they rode forth a great while till they came to the borders of that country, and there they found a full fair village, with a strong bridge like a fortress.[ ] and when sir launcelot and they were at the bridge, there start forth before them many gentlemen and yeomen, which said, 'fair lord, ye may not pass over this bridge and this fortress but one of you at once, therefore choose which of you shall enter within this bridge first.' then sir launcelot proffered himself first to enter within this bridge. 'sir,' said sir la cote male taile, 'i beseech you let me enter first within this fortress, and if i speed well i will send for you, and if it happen that i be slain there it goeth; and if so be that i am taken prisoner then may ye come and rescue me.' 'i am loath,' said sir launcelot, 'to let you take this passage.' 'sir,' said he, 'i pray you let me put my body in this adventure.' 'now go your way,' said sir launcelot, 'and god be your speed.' so he entered, and anon there met with him two brethren, the one hight sir pleine de force and that other hight sir pleine de amours; and anon they met with sir la cote male taile, and first sir la cote male taile smote down sir pleine de force, and soon after he smote down sir pleine de amours; and then they dressed themselves to their shields and swords, and so they bade sir la cote male taile alight, and so he did, and there was dashing and foining with swords. and so they began full hard to assay sir la cote male taile, and many great wounds they gave him upon his head and upon his breast and upon his shoulders. and as he might ever among he gave sad strokes again. and then the two brethren traced and traversed for to be on both hands of sir la cote male taile. but by fine force and knightly prowess he got them afore him. and so then when he felt himself so wounded he doubled his strokes, and gave them so many wounds that he felled them to the earth, and would have slain them had they not yielded them. and right so sir la cote male taile took the best horse that there was of them two, and so rode forth his way to that other fortress and bridge, and there he met with the third brother, whose name was sir plenorius, a full noble knight, and there they justed together, and either smote other down, horse and man, to the earth. and then they two avoided their horses and dressed their shields and drew their swords and gave many sad strokes, and one while the one knight was afore on the bridge and another while the other. and thus they fought two hours and more and never rested. then sir la cote male taile sunk down upon the earth, for what for wounds and what for blood he might not stand. then the other knight had pity of him, and said, 'fair young knight, dismay you not, for if ye had been fresh when ye met with me, as i was, i know well i should not have endured so long as ye have done, and therefore for your noble deeds and valiantness i shall show you great kindness and gentleness in all that ever i may.' and forthwith the noble knight, sir plenorius, took him up in his arms and led him into his tower. and then he commended him the more and made him for to search him and for to stop his bleeding wounds. 'sir,' said sir la cote male taile, 'withdraw you from me, and hie you to yonder bridge again, for there will meet you another manner knight than ever i was.' then sir plenorius gat his horse and came with a great spear in his hand galloping as the hurl wind had borne him towards sir launcelot, and then they began to feutre[ ] their spears, and came together like thunder, and smote either other so mightily that their horses fell down under them; and then they avoided their horses and drew out their swords, and like two bulls they lashed together with great strokes and foins; but ever sir launcelot recovered ground upon him, and sir plenorius traced to have from about him, and sir launcelot would not suffer that, but bore him backer and backer, till he came nigh the gate tower, and then said sir launcelot, 'i know thee well for a good knight, but wot thou well thy life and death is in my hands, and therefore yield thou to me and thy prisoners.' the other answered not a word, but struck mightily upon sir launcelot's helm that fire sprang out of his eyes; then sir launcelot doubled his strokes so thick and smote at him so mightily that he made him to kneel upon his knees, and therewith sir launcelot lept upon him, and pulled him down grovelling; then sir plenorius yielded him and his tower and all his prisoners at his will, and sir launcelot received him and took his troth." we must tell briefly the chivalrous sequel. sir launcelot offered to sir la cote male taile all the possessions of the conquered knight, but he refused to receive them, and begged sir launcelot to let sir plenorius retain his livelihood on condition he would be king arthur's knight,--"'full well,' said sir launcelot, 'so that he will come to the court of king arthur and become his man and his three brethren. and as for you, sir plenorius, i will undertake, at the next feast, so there be a place void, that ye shall be knight of the round table.' then sir launcelot and sir la cote male taile rested them there, and then they had merry cheer and good rest and many good games, and there were many fair ladies." in the woodcut we see sir la cote male taile, who has just overthrown sir pleine de force at the foot of the bridge, and the gentlemen and yeomen are looking on out of the windows and over the battlements of the gate tower. [illustration: _defending the bridge._] the illuminators are never tired of representing battles and sieges; and the general impression which we gather from them is that a mediæval combat must have presented to the lookers-on a confused _melée_ of rushing horses and armoured men in violent action, with a forest of weapons overhead--great swords, and falchions, and axes, and spears, with pennons fluttering aloft here and there in the breeze of the combat. we almost fancy we can see the dust caused by the prancing horses, and hear the clash of weapons and the hoarse war-cries, and sometimes can almost hear the shriek which bursts from the maddened horse, or the groan of the man who is wounded and helpless under the trampling hoofs. the woodcut introduced represents such a scene in a very spirited way. but it is noticeable among a hundred similar scenes for one incident, which is very unusual, and which gives us a glimpse of another aspect of mediæval war. it will be seen that the combat is taking place outside a castle or fortified town; and that, on a sudden, in the confusion of the combat, a side gate has been opened, and the bridge lowered, and a solid column of men-at-arms, on foot, is marching in military array across the bridge, in order to turn the flank of the assailant chivalry. we do not happen to know a representation of this early age of anything so thoroughly soldierly in its aspect as this sally. the incident itself indicates something more like regular war than the usual confused mingling of knights so well represented on the left side of the picture. the fact of men-at-arms, armed _cap-a-pied_, acting on foot, is not very usual at this period; their unmistakable military order, as they march two and two with shields held in the same attitude and spears sloped at the same angle, speaks of accurate drill. the armorial bearings on the shield of one of the foremost rank perhaps point out the officer in command. [illustration: _a sally across the drawbridge._] it seems to be commonly assumed that the soldiers of the middle ages had little, if anything, like our modern drill and tactics; that the men were simply put into the field in masses, according to some rude initial plan of the general, but that after the first charge the battle broke up into a series of chance-medley combats, in which the leaders took a personal share; and that the only further piece of generalship consisted in bringing up a body of reserve to strengthen a corps which was giving ground, or to throw an overwhelming force upon some corps of the enemy which seemed to waver. it is true that we find very little information about the mediæval drill or tactics, but it is very possible that there was more of both than is commonly supposed. any man whose duty it was to marshal and handle a body of troops would very soon, even if left to his own wit, invent enough of drill to enable him to move his men about from place to place, and to put them into the different formations necessary to enable them effectively to act on the offensive or defensive under different circumstances. a leader whose duty it was to command several bodies of troops would invent the elements of tactics, enough to enable him to combine them in a general plan of battle, and to take advantage of the different turns of the fight. experience would rapidly ripen the knowledge of military men, and of experience they had only too much. it is true that the armies of mediæval england consisted chiefly of levies of men who were not professional soldiers, and the officers and commanders were marked out for leadership by their territorial possessions, not by their military skill. but the men were not unaccustomed to their weapons, and were occasionally mustered for feudal display; and the country gentlemen who officered them were trained to military exercises as a regular part of their education, and, we may assume, to so much of military skill as was necessary to fulfil their part as knights. then there were mercenary captains, who by continuous devotion to war acquired great knowledge and experience in all military affairs; and the men who had to do with them, either as friends or foes, learnt from them. we need only glance down the line of our kings to find abundance of great captains among them--william the conqueror, and stephen, and richard i., and edward i. and iii., and henry iv. and v., and edward iv., and richard iii. and military skill equal to the direction of armies was no less common among the nobility; and ability to take command of his own contingent was expected of every one who held his lands on condition of being always ready and able to follow his lord's banner to the field. in the saxon days the strength of the army seems to have consisted of footmen, and their formation was generally in close and deep ranks, who, joining their shoulders together, formed an impenetrable defence; wielding long heavy swords and battle-axes, they made a terrible assault. some insight into the tactics of the age is given by william of malmesbury's assertion that at hastings the normans made a feigned flight, which drew the saxons from their close array, and then turning upon them, took them at advantage; and repeated this manoeuvre more than once at the word of command. the strength of the norman armies, on the other hand, consisted of knights and mounted men-at-arms. the military engines were placed in front, and commenced the engagement with their missiles; the archers and slingers were placed on the wings. the crowd of half-armed footmen usually formed the first line; the mounted troops were drawn up behind them in three lines, whose successive charges formed the main attack of the engagement. occasionally, however, dismounted men-at-arms seem to have been used by some skilful generals with great effect. in several of the battles of stephen's reign, this unusual mode appears to have been followed, under the influence of the foreign mercenary captains in the king's pay. generals took pains to secure any possible advantage from the nature of the ground, and it follows that the plan of the battle must have turned sometimes on the defence or seizure of some commanding point which formed the key of the position. ambuscades were a favourite device of which we not unfrequently read, and night surprises were equally common. we read also occasionally of stratagems, especially in the capture of fortresses, which savour rather of romance than of the stem realities of war. in short, perhaps the warfare of that day was not so very inferior in military skill to that of our own times as some suppose. in our last war the charge at balaklava was as chivalrous a deed as ever was done in the middle ages, and inkerman a fight of heroes; but neither of them displayed more military science than was displayed by the norman chivalry who charged at hastings, or the saxon billmen whose sturdy courage all but won the fatal day. chapter vi. military engines. to attempt to represent the knights in their manor-houses and castles would be to enter upon an essay on the domestic and military architecture of the middle ages, which would be beyond the plan of these sketches of the mediæval chivalry. the student may find information on the subject in mr. parker's "domestic architecture," in grose's "military antiquities," in viollet le duc's "architecture du moyen age," and scattered over the publications of the various antiquarian and architectural societies. we must, however, say a few words as to the way in which the knight defended his castle when attacked in it, and how he attacked his neighbour's castle or his enemy's town, in private feud or public war. it seems to be a common impression that the most formidable aspect of mediæval war was a charge of knights with vizor down and lance in rest; and that these gallant cavaliers only pranced their horses round and round the outer margin of the moat of a mediæval castle, or if they did dismount and try to take the fortress by assault, would rage in vain against its thick walls and barred portcullis; as in the accompanying woodcut from a ms. romance of the early part of the th century (add. , , f. v., date a.d. ), where the king on his curveting charger couches his lance against the castle wall, and has only his shield to oppose to the great stone which is about to be hurled down upon his head. the impression is, no doubt, due to the fact that many people have read romances, ancient and modern, which concern themselves with the personal adventures of their heroes, but have not read mediæval history, which tells--even more than enough--of battles and sieges. they have only had the knight put before them--as in the early pages of these chapters--in the pomp and pageantry of chivalry. they have not seen him as the captain and soldier, directing and wielding the engines of war. suppose the king and his chivalry in the following woodcut to be only summoning the castle; and suppose them, on receiving a refusal to surrender, to resolve upon an assault. they retire a few hundred yards and dismount, and put their horses under the care of a guard. presently they return supported by a strong body of archers, who ply the mail-clad defenders with such a hail of arrows that they are driven to seek shelter behind the battlements. seizing that moment, a party of camp followers run forward with a couple of planks, which they throw over the moat to make a temporary bridge. they are across in an instant, and place scaling-ladders against the walls. the knights, following close at their heels, mount rapidly, each man carrying his shield over his head, so that the bare ladder is converted into a covered stair, from whose shield-roof arrows glint and stones roll off innocuous. it is easy to see that a body of the enemy might thus, in a few minutes, effect a lodgment on the castle-wall, and open a way for the whole party of assailants into the interior. [illustration: _summoning the castle._] but the assailed may succeed in throwing down the ladders; or in beating the enemy off them by hurling down great stones ready stored against such an emergency, or heaving the coping-stones off the battlements; or they may succeed in preventing the assailants from effecting a lodgment on the wall by a hand to hand encounter; and thus the assault may be foiled and beaten off. still our mediæval captain has other resources; he will next order up his "gyns," _i.e._ engines of war. the name applies chiefly to machines constructed for the purpose of hurling heavy missiles. the ancient nations of antiquity possessed such machines, and the knowledge of them descended to mediæval times. there seems, however, to be this great difference between the classical and the mediæval engines, that the former were constructed on the principle of the bow, the latter on the principle of the sling. the classical _ballista_ was, in fact, a huge cross-bow, made in a complicated way and worked by machinery. the mediæval _trebuchet_ was a sling wielded by a gigantic arm of wood. in mediæval latin the ancient name of the ballista is sometimes found, but in the mediæval pictures the principle of the engines illustrated is always that which we have described. we meet also in mediæval writings with the names of the _mangona_ and _mangonella_ and the _catapult_, but they were either different names for the same engine, or names for different species of the same genus. the woodcut here introduced from the ms. add. , , f. v., gives a representation of a trebuchet. a still earlier representation--viz., of the thirteenth century--of machines of the same kind is to be found in the arabic ms. quoted in a treatise, "du feu grégois," by mm. favé and reinaud, and leads to the supposition that the sling principle in these machines may have been introduced from the east. there are other representations of a little later date than that in the text (viz., about a.d. ) in the royal ms. g. vi., which are engraved in shaw's "dresses and decorations." we also possess a contemporary description of the machine in the work of gilles colonne (who died a.d. ), written for philip the fair of france.[ ] "of _perriers_," he says, "there are four kinds, and in all these machines there is a beam which is raised and lowered by means of a counterpoise, a sling being attached to the end of the beam to discharge the stone. sometimes the counterpoise is not sufficient, and then they attach ropes to it to move the beam." this appears to be the case in our illustration. the rope seems to be passed through a ring in the platform of the engine, so that the force applied to the rope acts to the greater advantage in aid of the weight of the beam. "the counterpoise may either be fixed or movable, or both at once. in the fixed counterpoise a box is fastened to the end of the beam, and filled with stones or sand, or any heavy body." one would not, perhaps, expect such a machine to possess any precision of action, but according to our author the case was far otherwise. "these machines," he continues, "anciently called _trabutium_, cast their missiles with the utmost exactness, because the weight acts in a uniform manner. their aim is so sure, that one may, so to say, hit a needle. if the gyn carries too far, it must be drawn back or loaded with a heavier stone; if the contrary, then it must be advanced or a smaller stone supplied; for without attention to the weight of the stone, one cannot hope to reach the given mark." "others of these machines have a movable counterpoise attached to the beam, turning upon an axis. this variety the romans called _biffa_. the third kind, which is called _tripantum_, has two weights, one fixed to the beam and the other movable round it. by this means it throws with more exactness than the _biffa_, and to a greater distance than the trebuchet. the fourth sort, in lieu of weights fixed to the beam, has a number of ropes, and is discharged by means of men pulling simultaneously at the cords. this last kind does not cast such large stones as the others, but it has the advantage that it may be more rapidly loaded and discharged than they. in using the perriers by night it is necessary to attach a lighted body to the projectile. by this means one may discover the force of the machine, and regulate the weight of the stone accordingly."[ ] this, then, is the engine which our captain, repulsed in his attempt to take the place by a _coup de main_, has ordered up, adjusting it, no doubt, like a good captain, with his own eye and hand, until he has got it, "so to say, to hit a needle," on the weak points of the place. it was usual in great sieges to have several of them, so that a whole battery might be set to work to overmaster the defence. [illustration: _the assault._] we must bear in mind that similar engines were, it is probable, usually mounted on the towers of the castle. we should judge from the roundness of the stones which the defenders in both the preceding woodcuts are throwing down by hand upon the enemy immediately beneath, that they are the stones provided for the military engines. we find that, as in modern times cannon is set to silence the cannon of the enemy, so that a battle becomes, for a time at least, an artillery duel, so engine was set to silence engine. in the account which guillaume des ormes gives of his defence of the french town of carcasonne in a.d., he says: "they set up a mangonel before our barbican, when we lost no time in opposing to it from within an excellent turkish petrary, which played upon the mangonel and those about it, so that when they essayed to cast upon us, and saw the beam of our petrary in motion, they fled, utterly abandoning their mangonel." there was also an engine called an _arbalast_, or _spurgardon_, or _espringale_, which was a huge cross-bow mounted on wheels, so as to be movable like a field-piece; it threw great pointed bolts with such force as to pass successively through several men. if the engines of the besiegers were silenced, or failed to produce any decisive impression on the place, the captain of the assailants might try the effect of the ram. we seldom, indeed, hear of its use in the middle ages, but one instance, at least, is recorded by richard of devizes, who says that richard i., at the siege of messina, forced in the gates of the city by the application of the battering-ram, and so won his way into the place, and captured it. the walls of mediæval fortifications were so immensely thick, that a ram would be little likely to break them. the gates, too, of a castle or fortified gate-tower were very strong. if the reader will look at the picture of a siege of a castle, given on page , he will see a representation of a castle-gate, which will help him to understand its defences. first he will see that the drawbridge is raised, so that the assailant has to bridge the moat before he can bring his battering-ram to bear. suppose the yawning gulf bridged with planks or filled in with fascines, and the ram brought into position, under fire from the loops of the projecting towers of the gate as well as from the neighbouring battlements, then the bridge itself forms an outer door which must first be battered down. behind it will be found the real outer-door, made as strong as oak timber and iron bolts can make it. that down, there is next the grated portcullis seen in two previous woodcuts, against which the ram would rattle with a great clang of iron; but the grating, with its wide spaces, and having plenty of "play" in its stone groove, would baffle the blows by the absence of a solid resistance, and withstand them by the tenacity of wrought-iron. even if the bars were bent and torn till they afforded a passage, the assailants would find themselves in the narrow space within the gate-tower confronted by another door, and exposed to missiles poured upon them from above. it is, perhaps, no wonder that we hear little of the use of the ram in mediæval times; though it might be useful occasionally to drive in some ill-defended postern. the use of the regular mine for effecting a breach in the wall of a fortified place was well known, and often brought to bear. the miners began their work at some distance, and drove a shaft underground towards the part of the fortifications which seemed most assailable; they excavated beneath the foundations of the wall, supporting the substructure with wooden props until they had finished their work. then they set fire to the props, and retired to see the unsupported weight of the wall bringing it down in a heap of ruins. the operation of mining was usually effected under the protection of a temporary pent-house, called a _cat_ or _sow_. william of malmesbury describes the machine as used in the siege of jerusalem, at the end of the eleventh century. "it is constructed," he says, "of slight timbers, the roof covered with boards and wicker-work, and the sides protected with undressed hides, to protect those who are within, who proceed to undermine the foundations of the walls." our next woodcut gives a very clear illustration of one of these machines, which has been moved on its wheels up to the outer wall of a castle, and beneath its protection a party of men-at-arms are energetically plying their miner's tools, to pick away the foundation, and so allow a portion of the wall to settle down and leave an entrance. the methods in which this mode of attack was met were various. we all remember the border heroine, who, when her castle was thus attacked, declared she would make the sow farrow, viz., by casting down a huge fragment of stone upon it. that this was one way of defence is shown in the woodcut, where one of the defenders, with energetic action, is casting down a huge stone upon the sow. that the roof was made strong enough to resist such a natural means of offence is shown by the stones which are represented as lodged all along it. another more subtle counteraction, shown in the woodcut, was to pour boiling water or boiling oil upon it, that it might fall through the interstices of the roof, and make the interior untenable. no doubt means were taken to make the roof liquid-tight, for the illustration represents another mode of counteraction (of which we have met with no other suggestion), by driving sharp-pointed piles into the roof, so as to make holes and cracks through which the boiling liquid might find an entrance. if these means of counteracting the work of the cat seemed likely to be unavailing, it still remained to throw up an inner line of wall, which, when the breach was made, should extend from one side to the other of the unbroken wall, and so complete the circumvallation. this, we have evidence, was sometimes done with timber and planks, and a sort of scaffolding was erected on the inner side, which maintained the communication along the top of the walls, and enabled the soldiers to man the top of this wooden wall and offer a new resistance to the besiegers as they poured into the breach. the mine was also, in ancient as in modern times, met by a counter-mine. [illustration: _the cat._ (royal, g vi.)] another usual machine for facilitating the siege of fortified places was a movable tower. such an engine was commonly prepared beforehand, and taken to pieces and transported with the army as a normal part of the siege-train. when arrived at the scene of operations, it was put together at a distance, and then pushed forward on wheels, until it confronted the walls of the place against which it was to operate. it was intended to put the besiegers on a level and equality with the besieged. from the roof the assailants could command the battlements and the interior of the place, and by their archers could annoy the defence. a movable part of the front of the tower suddenly let fall upon the opposite battlements, at once opened a door and formed a bridge, by which the besiegers could make a rush upon the walls and effect a lodgment if successful, or retreat if unsuccessful to their own party. such a tower was constructed by richard i. in cyprus, as part of his preparation for his crusade. an illustration of a tower thus opposed to a castle--not a very good illustration--is to be found in the royal ms., g. vi., at folio v. another, a great square tower, just level with the opposing battlements, with a kind of sloping roof to ward off missiles, is shown in the ms. _chroniques d'angleterres_ (royal , e. iv.), which was illuminated for edward iv. again, at f. of the same ms., is another representation of wooden towers opposed to a city. if the besieged could form a probable conjecture as to the point of the walls towards which the movable tower, whose threatening height they saw gradually growing at a bow-shot from their walls, would be ultimately directed, they sometimes sent out under cover of night and dug pitfalls, into which, as its huge bulk was rolled creaking forward, its fore wheels might suddenly sink, and so the machine fall forward, and remain fixed and useless. as it approached, they also tried to set it on fire by missiles tipped with combustibles. if it fairly attained its position, they assailed every loop and crevice in it with arrows and crossbow bolts, and planted a strong body of men-at-arms on the walls opposite to it, and in the neighbouring towers, to repel the "boarders" in personal combat. a bold and enterprising captain did not always wait for the approach of these engines of assault, but would counter-work them as he best could from the shelter of his walls. he would sometimes lower the drawbridge, and make a sudden sally upon the unfinished tower or the advancing sow, beat off the handful of men who were engaged about it, pile up the fragments and chips lying about, pour a few pots of oil or tar over the mass, and set fire to it, and return in triumph to watch from his battlements how his fiery ally would, in half an hour, destroy his enemy's work of half a month. in the early fourteenth century ms. add. , , at fol. , we have a small picture of a fight before a castle or town, in which we see a column of men-at-arms crossing the drawbridge on such an expedition. and again, in the plates in which hans burgmaier immortalised the events of the reign of the emperor maximilian, a very artistic representation of a body of men-at-arms, with their long lances, crowding through the picturesque gate and over the drawbridge, brings such an incident vividly before us. the besiegers on their part did not neglect to avail themselves of such shelter as they could find or make from the shot and from the sallies of the enemy, so as to equalise as much as practicable the conditions of the contest. the archers of the castle found shelter behind the merlons of the battlements, and had the windows from which they shot screened by movable shutters; as may be seen in the next woodcut of the assault on a castle. it would have put the archers of the assailants at a great disadvantage if they had had to stand out in the open space, exposed defenceless to the aim of the foe; all neighbouring trees which could give shelter were, of course, cut down, in order to reduce them to this defenceless condition, and works were erected so as to command every possible coigne of vantage which the nooks and angles of the walls might have afforded. but the archers of the besiegers sought to put themselves on more equal terms with their opponents by using the _pavis_ or _mantelet_. the pavis was a tall shield, curved so as partly to envelop the person of the bearer, broad at the top and tapering to the feet. we sometimes see cross-bowmen carrying it slung at their backs (as in harl. , , and julius e. iv., f. , engraved on p. ), so that after discharging a shot they could turn round and be sheltered by the great shield while they wound up their instrument for another shot. sometimes this shield seems to have been simply three planks of wood nailed together, which stood upright on the ground, and protected the soldier effectively on three sides. there are illustrations of it in the ms. royal c vii. (temp. rich. ii.), at f. , f. v., and f. v., and in the ms. harl. , , f. v. and f. v. the mantelet was a shield still more ample, and capable of being fixed upright by a prop, so that it formed a kind of little movable fort which the bowman, or man-at-arms, could carry out and plant before the walls, and thence discharge his missiles, or pursue any other operation, in comparative safety from the smaller artillery of the enemy. the most interesting example which we have met of the employment of the pavis and mantelet, is in a picture in the harl. ms. , , at f. . the woodcut on the previous page represents only a portion of the picture, the whole of which is well worth study. the reader will see at once that we have here the work of a draughtsman of far superior skill to that of the limners of the rude illuminations which we have previously given. the background really gives us some adequate idea of the appearance of an edwardian castle with its barbican and drawbridge, its great tower with the heads of the defenders just peeping over the battlements. we must call attention to the right-hand figure in the foreground, who is clad in a _pourpoint_, one of the quilted armours which we have formerly described, because it is the best illustration of this species of armour we have met with. but the special point for which we give the woodcut here, is to illustrate the use of the mantelet. it will be seen--though somewhat imperfectly, from the fragment of the engraving introduced--that these defences have been brought up to the front of the attacking party in such numbers as to form an almost continuous wall, behind which the men-at-arms are sheltered; on the right are great fixed mantelets, with a hole in the middle of each, through which the muzzle of a gun is thrust; while the cannoniers work their guns as behind the walls of a fort. [illustration: _use of the pavis, etc._] [illustration: _cannon and mortar._] similar movable defences, variously constructed, continued to be used down to a very late period. for example, in some large plans of the array of the army of henry viii., preserved in the british museum (cottonian ms., augustus iii., f. v.), the cannon are flanked by huge mantelets of timber, which protect the cannoniers. in the one engraved between pp. and , we see a representation of the commencement of the battle, showing some of the mantelets overthrown by the assault of soldiers armed with poleaxes. in modern warfare the sharpshooter runs out into the open, carrying a sand-bag by way of pavis, behind which he lies and picks off the enemy, and the artillery throw up a little breastwork, or mantelet, of sand-bags. sometimes the besieging army protected itself by works of a still more permanent kind. it threw up embankments with a pallisade at top, or sometimes constructed a breastwork, or erected a fort, of timber. for example, in the royal ms. e. iv., at f. , we have a picture of an assault upon a fortified place, in which the besiegers have strengthened their position by a timber breastwork. it is engraved at p. ; the whole picture is well worth study. again, in the cottonian ms., augustus v., at folio , is a camp with a wooden fence round it. an army in the field often protected its position in a similar way. so far back as the eleventh century the historians tell us that william the conqueror brought over a timber fort with him to aid his operations. the plan of surrounding the camp with the waggons and baggage of the army is perhaps one of the most primitive devices of warfare, and we find it used down to the end of the period which is under our consideration. in the ms. already mentioned, augustus iii., on the reverse of folio , is a picture of an army of the time of henry viii. encamped by a river, and enclosed on the open sides by the baggage, and by flat-bottomed boats on their carriages, which we suppose have been provided for the passage of the stream. the siege of bedford castle, as described by roger wendover, in the year , gives a good historical instance of the employment of these various modes of attacking a stronghold at that period. the castle was being held against the king, who invested it in person. two towers of wood were raised against the walls, and filled with archers; seven mangonels cast ponderous stones from morning to night; sappers approached the walls under the cover of the cat. first the barbican, then the outer bailey was taken. a breach in the second wall soon after gave the besiegers admission to the inner bailey. the donjon still held out, and the royalists proceeded to approach it by means of their sappers. a sufficient portion of the foundations having been removed, the stancheons were set on fire, one of the angles sank deep into the ground, and a wide rent laid open the interior of the keep. the garrison now planted the royal standard on the walls, and sent the women to implore mercy. but a severe example was made of the defenders, in order to strike terror among the disaffected in other parts of the realm.[ ] [illustration: _cannon._] among the occasional warlike contrivances, stinkpots were employed to repel the enemy, and the greek fire was also occasionally used. a representation of the use of stinkpots, and also of the mode of using the greek fire, may be seen in the royal ms. e. v., at f. (date a.d.). those more terrible engines of war which ultimately revolutionised the whole art of warfare, which made the knight's armour useless, and the trebuchet and arbalest the huge toys of an unscientific age, were already introduced; though they were yet themselves so immature, that for a time military men disputed whether the old long bow or the new fire-arm was the better weapon, and the trebuchet still held its place beside the cannon. in the old illuminations we find mediæval armour and fire-arms together in incongruous conjunction. the subject of the use of gunpowder is one of so much interest, that it deserves to be treated in a separate chapter. chapter vii. armour of the fifteenth century. in former papers we have seen the characteristic feature of the armour of saxon, norman, and early english times, down to the latter part of the thirteenth century, was that of mail armour--_i.e._ composed of rings sewn upon garments of something like the ordinary shape--tunic, hose, and hood--or linked together into the shape of such garments. the fourteenth century was a period of transition from mail armour to plate. first it was found convenient to protect the elbow and knee with conical caps made out of a plate of steel; then the upper arm and fore arm, the thigh and leg, were encased in separate pieces of armour made to fit to the limbs; in place of the old helmet worn over the mail hood, a globular bascinet of plate was used, with a fringe of mail attached to it, falling over the shoulders; in place of the hauberk of mail, a globular plate to protect the breast, and another the back, connected at the sides, with a deep skirt of mail attached to them, falling over the hips. in the old days of mail armour a flowing surcoat was worn over it, to protect it from wet, dust, and the heat of the sun; in the fourteenth century the body-armour was covered with a close-fitting jupon of rich material and colour, embroidered with the arms of the wearer, and girded by a rich enamelled horizontal belt. the characteristic of the armour of the fifteenth century was that it consisted of a complete suit of plate; the fringe of the bascinet being replaced by a gorget of plate, the skirt of mail by horizontal overlapping plates; and for some time no covering was worn over the armour, but the knightly vanity of the time delighted in the glittering splendour of the burnished steel. later in the century, however, mail came again into considerable use, in short sleeves for the protection of the upper arm, and in skirts, which were doubtless found more convenient to the horseman than the solid plates of overlapping steel. it also seems to have been found practically inconvenient to dispense with some textile covering over the armour; and a considerable variety of such coverings was used, according to the caprice of the wearer. numerous diversified experiments in the construction of armour were tried, and we commonly find in pictures of the time a great variety of fashions, both of armour and weapons, brought together in the same troop of warriors. it is a matter of interest to the antiquary to trace out the rise of all these various fashions and to determine when they went out of fashion again; but for our present purpose it is enough to point out the salient features of the military costume of the century, and, as varieties are brought before us in the illustrations from ancient mss. which we proceed to introduce to our readers, to point out their meaning and interest. let us begin, then, with a picture which will afford us, in the left-hand figure, a typical illustration of the complete plate-armour of the century, and proceed to describe the various pieces of which it is composed. his head is protected by a bascinet of steel, without visor to protect the face, though the picture represents him as actually engaged in the thick of a battle; but the steel gorget is brought up so as to protect the lower part of the face. it is not unfrequent to find the knights of this period with the face similarly exposed. probably the heat and the difficulty of breathing caused by the visor were considered to outweigh the additional safety which it afforded. the neck is protected by a gorget of plate; and instead of the globular breastplate and skirt of mail worn under the gay jupon of the fourteenth century, the body is cased in two pairs of plates, which open with hinges at the sides, the lower plates coming to a point at the back and breast. in this illustration the whole suit of armour presents an unrelieved surface of burnished steel, the outlines of the various pieces of armour being marked by a narrow line of gold. but it was very usual for one of the two breastplates to be covered with silk or velvet embroidered. this will be seen in the armour of the archer from the same picture, in which the upper plate is covered with blue, powdered with gold spots arranged in trefoils. so in the woodcut on p. the upper breastplate of the knight nearest to the spectator is blue with gold spots, while in the further knight the upper plate is red. turning again to the knight before us, his shoulders are protected by pauldrons. these portions of the armour differ much in different examples; they were often ridged, so as to prevent a blow from glancing off to the neck, and sometimes they have a kind of standing collar to protect the neck from a direct stroke. sometimes the pauldron of the left shoulder is elaborately enlarged and strengthened to resist a blow, while the right shoulder is more simply and lightly armed, so as to offer as little hindrance as possible to the action of the sword arm. the upper arm is protected by brassarts, and the fore arm by vambraces, the elbows by coudières, while the gussets at the armpit and elbow are further guarded by roundels of plate. it will be seen that the gauntlets are not divided into fingers, but three or four plates are attached, like the plates of a lobster, to the outside of a leathern gauntlet, to protect the hand without interfering with the tenacity of its grasp of the weapon. the lower part of the body is protected by a series of overlapping plates, called taces. in most of the examples which we give of this period, the taces have a mail skirt or fringe attached to the lowest plate. sometimes the taces came lower down over the thighs and rendered any further defence unnecessary; sometimes, as in the example before us, separate plates, called tuilles, were attached by straps to the lowest tace, so as to protect the front of the thigh without interfering with the freedom of motion. the legs are cased in cuissarts and jambarts, and the knee protected by genouillières; and as the tuilles strengthen the defence of the thigh, the shin has an extra plate for its more efficient defence. the feet seem in this example to be simply clothed with shoes, like those of the archer, instead of being defended by pointed sollerets of overlapping plates, like those seen in our other illustrations. [illustration: _man-at-arms and archer of the fifteenth century._] it will be noticed that in place of the broad military belt of the fourteenth century, enriched with enamelled plates, the sword is now suspended by a narrow strap, which hangs diagonally across the body. the knight is taken from a large picture in the ms. _chroniques d'angleterre_ (royal , e. iv., f. v.), which represents a party of french routed by a body of portuguese and english. in front of the knight lies his horse pierced with several arrows, and the dismounted rider is preparing to continue the combat on foot with his formidable axe. the archer is introduced from the same picture, to show the difference between his half armour and the complete panoply of the knight. in the archer's equipment the body is protected by plates of steel and a skirt of mail, the upper arm by a half-sleeve of mail, and the head by a visored helmet; but the rest of the body is unarmed. our next illustration is from a fine picture in the same ms. (at f. ccxv.), which represents how the duke of lancaster and his people attacked the forts that defended the harbour of brest. the background represents a walled and moated town--brest--with the sea and ships in the distance; on the left of the picture the camp of the duke, defended by cannon; and in the foreground a skirmish of knights. it is a curious illustration of the absence of rigid uniformity in the military equipment of these times, that each suit of armour in this picture differs from every other; so that this one picture supplies the artist with fourteen or fifteen different examples of military costume, all clearly delineated with a gorgeous effect of colouring. some of these suits are sufficiently represented in others of our illustrations. we have again selected one which stands in contrast with all the rest from the absence of colour; most of the others have the upper breastplate coloured, and the helmet unvisored, or with the visor raised. this gives us a full suit of armour unrelieved by colour, except in the helmet-feather, sword-belt, and sheath, which are all gilt. the unusual shape of the helmet will be noticed, and it will be seen that there is a skirt or fringe of mail below the taces. the horse is a grey, with trappings of red and gold, his head protected by a steel plate. in the cut on p. one of the horses will be found to have the neck also defended by overlapping plates of steel. the shape of the deep military saddle is also well seen in this illustration. [illustration: _knight of the fifteenth century._] the next woodcut is also only a part of a large picture which forms the frontispiece of the second book of the same ms. (f. lxii.). it represents a sally of the garrison of nantes on the english, who are besieging it. like the preceding picture, it is full of interesting examples of different armours. our illustration selects several of them. the knight nearest to us has the upper plate of his breastplate covered with a blue covering powdered with gold spots, and riveted to the steel plate beneath by the two steel studs on the shoulder-blades. between the series of narrow taces and the vandyked fringe of mail is a skirt of blue drapery, which perhaps partially hides the skirt of mail, allowing only its edge to appear. the gorget is also of mail; and the gusset of mail at the armpit is left very visible by the action of the arm. the further knight has his upper breastplate and skirt red. the horses are also contrasted in colour; the nearer horse is grey, with red and gold trappings; the further horse black, with blue and gold trappings. the man-at-arms who lies prostrate under the horse-hoofs is one of the garrison, who has been pierced by the spear whose truncheon lies on the ground beside him. his equipment marks him out as a man of the same military grade as the archer on p. , though the axe which he wields indicates that he is a man-at-arms. his body-armour is covered by a surcoat of blue, laced down the front; he wears a gorget and skirt of mail. his feet, like those of the men on p. , seem not to be covered with armour, and his hands are undefended by gloves. [illustration: _group of english knights and french men-at-arms._] the unarmed man on the left is one of the english party, in ordinary civil costume, apparently only a spectator of the attack. his hose are red, his long-pointed shoes brown, his short-skirted but long-sleeved gown is blue, worn over a vest of embroidered green and gold, which is seen at the sleeves and the neck; the cuffs are red, and he wears a gold chain and gilded sword-belt and sheath, and carries a walking staff. the contrast which he affords to the other figures adds interest and picturesqueness to the group. the illustration on the next page from the royal ms., e. v., f. v., forms the frontispiece to a chapter of roman history, and is a mediæval representation of no less a personage than julius cæsar crossing the rubicon. the foremost figure is cæsar. he is in a complete suit of plate-armour; over his armour he wears a very curious drapery like a short tabard without sleeves; it is of a yellow brown colour, but of what material it is not possible to determine. there is great diversity in the fashion of the surcoat worn over the armour at this time. one variety is seen in the fallen man-at-arms in the preceding woodcut; and a similar surcoat, loosely fastened by three or four buttons down the front, instead of tightly laced all the way down, is not uncommon. in another picture, a knight in full plate-armour wears a short gown, with hanging sleeves, of the ordinary civilian fashion, like that worn by the gentleman on the left-hand side of the preceding cut. out of a whole troop of roman soldiers who follow cæsar, we have taken only two as sufficient for our purpose of showing varieties of equipment. the first has the fore arm protected by a vambrace, but instead of pauldrons and brassarts the shoulders and arms are protected by sleeves of mail. the taces also are short, with a deep skirt of mail below them. the head defence looks in the woodcut like one of the felt hats that knights frequently wore when travelling, to relieve the head of the weight of the helmet, which was borne behind by a squire; but it is coloured blue, and seems to be of steel, with a white bandeau round it. the reader will notice the "rest" in which the lance was laid to steady it in the charge, screwed to the right breast of the breastplate; he will notice also the long-pointed solleret, the long neck of the spur, and the triangular stirrup, and the fashion of riding with a long stirrup, the foot thrust home into the stirrup, and the toe pointed downwards. the third figure wears a gorget with a chin-piece, and a visored bascinet; the whole of his body armour is covered by a handsome pourpoint, which is red, powdered with gold spots; the pauldrons are of a different fashion from those of cæsar, and the coudière is finished with a spike. [illustration: _julius cæsar crossing the rubicon._] the next woodcut does less justice than usual to the artistic merits of the illumination from which it is taken. it is from a fine ms. of the romance of the rose (harl. , , folio cxxx. v.); the figures are allegorical. the great value of the painting is in the rounded form of the breastplates and helmets, and the play of light and shade, and variety of tint, upon them; the solid heavy folds of the mail skirts and sleeves are also admirably represented; and altogether the illuminations of this ms give an unusually life-like idea of the actual pictorial effect of steel armour and the accompanying trappings. the arms and legs of these two figures are unarmed; those of the figure in the foreground are painted red, those of the other figure blue; the shield is red, with gold letters. the deep mail skirts, with taces and tuilles, were in common wear at the close of the fifteenth century, and on into the sixteenth. [illustration: _allegorical figures._] [illustration: _a knight at the hall-door._] the little woodcut of a knight at the hall-door illustrates another variety of skirt; in place of taces and mail skirt, we have a skirt covered with overlapping plates, probably of horn or metal. this knight wears gloves of leather, undefended by armour. the last illustration in this chapter is from the valuable ms. life and acts of richard beauchamp, earl of warwick (julius e. iv.), from which we shall hereafter give some other more important subjects. the present is part of a fight before calais, in which philip duke of burgundy was concerned on one side, and humphrey duke of gloucester, richard earl of warwick, and humphrey earl of stafford on the other. in the background of the picture is a view of calais, with its houses, walls, and towers, washed by the sea. the two figures are taken from the foreground of the battle-scene, which occupies the major part of the picture. the helmets, it will be seen, are iron hats with a wide brim which partially protects the face; they have a considerable amount of ornament about them. both warriors are armed in a single globular breastplate (the combination of two plates went out of fashion towards the end of the fifteenth century); one has short taces and a deep mail skirt, the other has deeper taces and tuilles besides. the knight on the left side has his left shoulder protected by a pauldron, which covers the shoulder and partially overlaps the breastplate, and has a high collar to protect the neck and face from a sweeping horizontal blow. it will be seen that the sollerets have lost the long-pointed form, though they have not yet reached the broad-toed shape which became fashionable with henry viii. the equipment of the horses deserves special examination. they are fully caparisoned, and armed on the face and neck, with plumes of feathers and magnificent bridles; it will be seen, also, that the point of the saddle comes up very high, and is rounded so as partly to enclose the thigh, and form a valuable additional defence. at a period a little later, this was developed still further in the construction of the tilting saddles, so as to make them a very important part of the system of defence. [illustration: _the duke of gloucester and the earl of warwick._] how perfect the armour at length became may be judged from the fact that in many battles very few of the completely armed knights were killed--sometimes not one; their great danger was in getting unhorsed and ridden over and stifled in the press. another danger to the unhorsed knight is pointed out in a graphic passage of the history of philip de comines, with which we will conclude this chapter. after one of the battles at which he was himself present, he says: "we had a great number of stragglers and servants following us, all of which flocked about the men-of-arms being overthrown, and slew the most of them. for the greatest part of the said stragglers had their hatchets in their hands, wherewith they used to cut wood to make our lodgings, with the which hatchets they brake the vizards of their head-pieces and then clave their heads; for otherwise they could hardly have been slain, they were so surely armed, so that there were ever three or four about one of them." it is not necessary to infer that these unfortunate men-at-arms who were thus cracked, as if they were huge crustaceans, were helpless from wounds, or insensible from their fall. it was among the great disadvantages of plate-armour, that when a man was once in it he could not get out again without help; nay, he was sometimes so securely fastened in it that the aid must come in the shape of an armourer's tools; and the armour was sometimes so cumbrous that when he was once down he could not get up again--a castle of steel on his war-horse, a helpless log when overthrown. chapter viii. the knight's education. the manner of bringing up a youth of good family in the middle ages was not to send him to a public school and the university, nor to keep him at home under a private tutor, but to put him into the household of some nobleman or knight of reputation to be trained up in the principles and practices of chivalry.[ ] first, as a page, he attended on the ladies of the household, and imbibed the first principles of that high-bred courtesy and transcendental devotion to the sex which are characteristic of the knight. from the chaplain of the castle he gained such knowledge of book-learning as he was destined to acquire--which was probably more extensive than is popularly supposed. he learnt also to sing a romance, and accompany himself on the harp, from the chief of the band of minstrels who wore his lord's livery. as a squire he came under the more immediate supervision of his lord; was taught by some experienced old knight or squire to back a horse and use his weapons; and was stirred to emulation by constant practice with his fellow-squires. he attended upon his lord in time of peace, carved his meat and filled his cup, carried his shield or helmet on a journey, gave him a fresh lance in the tournament, raised him up and remounted him when unhorsed, or dragged him out of the press if wounded; followed him to battle, and acted as subaltern officer of the troop of men-at-arms who followed their lord's banner. it is interesting to see how the pictures in the illuminated mss. enable us to follow the knight's history step by step. in the following woodcut we see him as a child in long clothes, between the knight his father, and his lady mother, who sit on a bench with an embroidered _banker_[ ] thrown over its seat, making an interesting family group. [illustration] the woodcut on the next page shows us a group of pages imbibing chivalrous usages even in their childish sports, for they are "playing at jousting." it is easy to see the nature of the toy. a slip of wood forms the foundation, and represents the lists; the two wooden knights are movable on their horses by a pin through the hips and saddle; when pushed together in mimic joust, either the spears miss, and the course must be run again, or each strikes the other's breast, and one or other gives way at the shock, and is forced back upon his horse's back, and is vanquished. this illustration is from hans burgmair's famous illustrations of the life of the emperor maximilian. a similar illustration is given in strutt's "sports and pastimes." a third picture, engraved in the _archæological journal_, vol. ii. p. , represents a squire carving before his lord at a high feast, and illustrates a passage in chaucer's description of his squire among the canterbury pilgrims, which we here extract (with a few verbal alterations, to make it more intelligible to modern ears) as a typical picture of a squire, even more full of life and interest than the pictorial illustrations:-- "with him ther was his son, a younge squire, a lover and a lusty bacheler; his lockes crull as they were laide in presse, of twenty yere of age he was i guess. of his stature he was of even lengthe, and wonderly deliver, and grete of strengthe. he hadde be some time in chevachie, in flanders, in artois, and in picardie, and borne him wel, as of so litel space, in hope to standen in his ladies grace. embroidered was he, as it were a mede alle ful of freshe flowres, white and rede. singing he was or floyting alle the day, he was as freshe as is the moneth of may. short was his gowne, with sleves long and wide, wel coude he sitte on hors, and fayre ride. he coude songes make, and wel endite, juste and eke dance, and wel poutraie and write. so hot he loved that by nightertale he slep no more than doth a nightingale. curteis he was, lowly and servisable, and carf before his fader at the table." [illustration] young noblemen and eldest sons of landed gentlemen were made knights, as a matter of course, when they had attained the proper age. many others won for themselves this chivalric distinction by their deeds of arms in the field, and sometimes in the lists. the ceremony was essentially a religious one, and the clergy used sometimes to make a knight. in the royal . e. iv. f. , we see a picture of lancelot being made a knight, in which an abbess even is giving him the accolade by a stroke of the hand. but usually, though religious ceremonies accompanied the initiation, and the office for making a knight still remains in the roman office book, some knight of fame actually conferred "the high order of knighthood." it was not unusual for young men of property who were entitled to the honour by birth and heirship to be required by the king to assume it, for the sake of the fine which was paid to the crown on the occasion. let us here introduce, as a pendant to chaucer's portrait of the squire already given, his equally beautiful portrait of a knight; not a young knight-errant, indeed, but a grave and middle-aged warrior, who has seen hard service, and is valued in council as well as in field:-- "a knight ther was, and that a worthy man, that from the time that he firste began to riden out, he loved chivalry, trouthe and honour, fredom and curtesie. ful worthie was he in his lorde's werre, and thereto hadde he ridden, no man ferre, as wel in christendom as in hethenesse, and ever honoured for his worthinesse. at alesandre he was when it was wonne, ful oftentime he hadde the bord begonne, aboven all nations in pruce. * * * * * at many a noble army hadde he be, at mortal batailles had he been fiftene, and foughten for our faith in tramisene in listes thries, and ever slaine his fo. * * * * * and tho that he was worthy he was wise, and of his port as meke as is a mayde: he never yet no vilanie had sayde in alle his lif unto any manere wyht. he was a very parfit gentle knight. but for to tellen you of his arraie, his hors was good, but he was not gaie; of fustian he wered a jupon, all besmotred with his habergeon. for he was late ycom fro his viage, and wente for to don his pilgrimage." men who are in the constant habit of bearing arms are certain to engage in friendly contests with each other; it is the only mode in which they can acquire skill in the use of their weapons, and it affords a manly pastime. that such men should turn encounters with an enemy into trials of skill, subject to certain rules of fairness and courtesy, though conducted with sharp weapons and in deadly earnest, is also natural.[ ] and thus we are introduced to a whole series of military exercises and encounters, from the mere holiday pageant in which the swords are of parchment and the spears headless, to the wager of battle, in which the combatants are clad in linen, while their weapons are such as will lop off a limb, and the gallows awaits the vanquished. homer shows us how the greek battles were little else than a series of single combats, and roman history furnishes us with sufficient examples of such combats preluding the serious movements of opposing armies, and affording an augury, it was believed, of their issue. sacred history supplies us with examples of a similar kind. in the story of goliath we have the combat of two champions in the face of the hosts drawn up in battle array. a still more striking incident is that where abner and the servants of ishbosheth, and joab and the servants of david, met accidentally at the pool of gibeon. "and they sat down the one on the one side of the pool, and the other on the other. and abner said to joab, let the young men now arise and play before us. and joab said, let them arise." so twelve men on each side met, "and they caught every one his fellow by the head, and thrust his sword in his fellow's side, so they fell down together." and afterwards the lookers-on took to their arms, and "there was a very sore battle that day; and abner was beaten, and the men of israel, before the servants of david."[ ] our own history contains incidents enough of the same kind, from tailefer the minstrel-warrior, who rode ahead of the army of duke william at hastings, singing the song of roland and performing feats of dexterity in the use of horse and weapons, and then charging alone into the ranks of the saxon men, down to the last young aide-de-camp who has pranced up to the muzzle of the guns to "show the way" to a regiment to which he had brought an order to carry a battery. in the middle ages these combats, whether they were mere pageants[ ] or sportive contests with more or less of the element of danger, or were waged in deadly earnest, were, in one shape or other, of very common occurrence, and were reduced to system and regulated by legislation. when only two combatants contended, it was called jousting. if only a friendly trial of skill was contemplated, the lances were headed with a small coronal instead of a sharp point; if the sword were used at all it was with the edge only, which would very likely inflict no wound at all on a well-armed man, or at most only a flesh wound, not with the point, which might penetrate the opening of the helmet or the joints of the armour, and inflict a fatal hurt. this was the _joute à plaisance_. if the combatants were allowed to use sharp weapons, and to put forth all their force and skill against one another, this was the _joute à l'outrance_, and was of common enough occurrence. when many combatants fought on each side, it was called a tournament. such sports were sometimes played in gorgeous costumes, but with weapons of lath, to make a spectacle in honour of a festal occasion. sometimes the tournament was with bated weapons, but was a serious trial of skill and strength. and sometimes the tournament was even a mimic battle, and then usually between the adherents of hostile factions which sought thus to gratify their mutual hatreds, or it was a chivalrous incident in a war between two nations. with these general introductory remarks, we shall best fulfil our purpose by at once proceeding to bring together a few illustrations from ancient sources, literary and pictorial, of these warlike scenes. a ms. in the egerton collection, in the british museum, gives us a contemporary account of the mode in which it was made known to knights ambitious of honour and their ladies' praise when and where opportunities of winning them were to be found. the heralds-at-arms of the king, or lord, or noble, or knight, or lady who designed to give a joust, went forth on horseback to castle and town, and sometimes from court to court of foreign countries, clad in their gay insignia of office, attended by a trumpeter; and in every castle court they came to, and at every market cross, first the trumpeter blew his blast and then the herald-at-arms made his proclamation as follows:--"wee herawldes of armes beryng shields of devise, here we yeve in knowledge unto all gentilmen of name and of armys, that there bee vi gentilmen of name and of armes that for the gret desire and woorship that the seide vi gentilmen have, have taken upon them to bee the third day of may next coomyng before the high and mighty redowtid ladyes and gentilwoomen in this high and most honourable court. and in their presence the seide six gentilmen there to appear at ix of the clock before noone, and to juste aginst all coomers without, the seide day unto vi of the clok at aftir noone, and then, by the advyse of the seide ladyes and gentel women, to give unto the best juster withoute[ ] a dyamaunde of xl{li}, and unto the nexte beste juster a rubie of xx{li}, and to the third well juster a saufir of x{li}. and on the seide day there beyng officers of armys shewyng their mesure of theire speris garneste, that is, cornal, vamplate, and grapers all of acise, that they shall just with. and that the comers may take the length of the seide speirs with the avise of the seide officers of armes that shall be indifferent unto all parties unto the seide day."[ ] then we have a description of the habiliments required for a knight's equipment for such an occasion, which includes a suit of armour and a horse with his trappings; an armourer with hammer and pincers to fasten the armour; two servants on horseback well beseen, who are his two squires; and six servants on foot all in one suit. as the day approaches knights and ladies begin to flock in from all points of the compass. some are lodged in the castle, some find chambers in the neighbouring town, and some bring tents with them and pitch them under the trees in the meadows without the castle. at length the day has arrived, and the knights are up with sunrise and bathe, and then are carefully armed by their squires and armourers. this is so important a matter that it is no wonder we find several minute descriptions of the way in which every article of clothing and armour is to be put on and fastened, illustrated with pictures of the knight in the several stages of the process. two such descriptions with engravings are given in the twenty-ninth volume of the "archæologia," taken from the work of a master of fence, of date . another description, "how a man shall be armyed at his ease when he shall fight on foot," is given in the lansdowne ms. under our notice. the same description is given in the tenth volume of the _archæological journal_, p. , from a ms. in the possession of lord hastings of the date of henry vi., accompanied by an engraving from an illumination in the ms. showing the knight with his legs fully armed, his body clothed in the undergarment on which the gussets of mail are sewed, while the rest of his armour and his weapons are arranged on a bench beside him. the weapons are a glaive and a pole-axe, which were the usual weapons assigned to the combatants in serious duels on foot. when all is ready, and the company are assembled, the ms. tells us what next takes place:--"the vi gentilmen must come into the felde unharnsyd, and their helmys borne before them, and their servants on horseback berying either of them a spere garneste, that is the vi speres which the seide vi servaunts shall ride before them into the felde, and as the seide vi gentilmen be coomyn before the ladyes and gentilwoomen. then shall be sent an herowde of armys up unto the ladyes and gentilwoomen, saying on this wise: high and mighty, redowtyd, and right worchyfull ladyes and gentilwoomen, theis vi gentilmen hav coome into your presence and recommende them all unto your gode grace in as lowly wise as they can, besechyng you for to geve unto the iii best justers without a diamonde, and a rubie, and a saufir unto them that ye think best can deserve it. then this message is doone. then the vi gentilmen goth into the tellwys[ ] and doth on their helmys." [illustration: _preliminaries of a combat._] [illustration: _termination of the combat._] then comes the jousting. probably, first of all, each of the six champions in turn runs one or more courses with a stranger knight; then, perhaps, they finish by a miniature tournament, all six together against six of the strangers. each strange knight who comes into the field has to satisfy the officer-at-arms that he is a "gentilman of name and of arms," and to take oath that he has no secret weapons or unfair advantage. the woodcut represents this moment of the story. this being ascertained, they take their places at the opposite ends of the lists, the presiding herald cries to let go, and they hurl together in the midst, with a clang of armour, and a crash of broken spears, amidst the shouts of the spectators and the waving of kerchiefs and caps. if the course be successfully run, each breaks his lance full on the breastplate or helm of his adversary, but neither is unhorsed; they recover their steeds with rein and spur, and prance away amidst applause. if one knight is unhorsed, or loose his stirrup, he is vanquished, and retires from the game. if the jousting were not the mere sport which the ms. puts before us, but were a _joute à l'outrance_, the next woodcut represents a very probable variation in this point of the game. at length, when all have run their courses, the ms. resumes its directions: "and when the heraldes cry _à lóstel! à lóstel!_ then shall all the vi. gentlemen within unhelme them before the seide ladies, and make their obeisaunce, and goo home unto their lodgings and change them." then, continues the ms.: "the gentilmen[ ] without comyn into the presence of the ladies. then comys foorth a lady by the advise of all the ladyes and gentilwomen, and gives the diamounde unto the best juster withoute, saying in this wise:--'sir, theis ladyes and gentilwomen thank you for your disporte and grete labour that ye have this day in their presence. and the saide ladyes and gentilwomen seyn that ye have best just this day; therefore the seide ladyes and gentilwomen geven you this diamounde, and send you much joy and worship of your lady.' thus shall be doone with the rubie and with the saufre unto the other two next the best justers. this doon, then shall the heralde of armys stande up all on hygh, and shall sey withall in high voice:--'john hath well justed, ric. hath justed better, and thomas hath justed best of all.' then shall he that the diamound is geve unto take a lady by the hande and bygene the daunce, and when the ladyes have dauncid as long as them liketh, then spyce wyne and drynk, and then avoide."[ ] [illustration: _spectators of a tournament._] the last woodcut, greatly reduced from one of the fine tournament scenes in the ms. history of the roi meliadus, already several times quoted in this work, shows the temporary gallery erected for the convenience of the ladies and other spectators to witness the sports. the tent of one of the knights is seen in the background, and an indication of the hurly-burly of the combat below. a larger illustration of a similar scene from this fine ms. will be given hereafter. the next woodcut is from the ms. life and acts of richard beauchamp, earl of warwick (julius e. iv., folio ). it represents "howe a mighty duke chalenged erle richard for his lady sake, and in justyng slewe the duke and then the empresse toke the erle's staff and bear from a knight shouldre, and for great love and fauv{r} she sette it on her shouldre. then erle richard made one of perle and p'cious stones, and offered her that, and she gladly and lovynglee reseaved it." the picture shows the duke and earl in the crisis of the battle. it would seem from the pieces of splintered spears, which already lie on the ground, that a previous course had been run with equal fortune; but in this second course the doughty earl has just driven his lance half a yard through his unfortunate challenger's breast. in the background we see the emperor sigismund, and the empress taking the earl's badge from the neck of the earl's knight. the whole incident, so briefly told and so naïvely illustrated, is very characteristic of the spirit of chivalry. as we close the page the poor nameless duke's life-blood seems to be smeared, not only over his own magnificent armour, but over the hand of the empress and the emperor's purple who presided over the scene; and while we seem to hear the fanfaronade with which the trumpeters are cracking their cheeks, we hear mingling with it the groan of the mighty duke thus slain "for his lady sake." [illustration: _how a mighty duke fought earl richard for his lady's sake._] a whole chapter might be well dedicated to the special subject of judicial combats. we must, however, content ourselves with referring the reader to authorities both literary and artistic, and to some anecdotes illustrative of the subject. in the lansdowne ms. , copied for sir john paxton, will be found directions for the complete arming of a man who is to engage on foot in a judicial combat, with a list of the things, such as tent, table, chair, &c., which he should take into the field with him. the same ms. contains (article ) the laws of the combat--"the ordinance and forme of fighting within listes," as settled by thomas duke of gloucester, constable of england, in the time of richard ii. also in tiberius e. viii. there are directions for making a duel before the king. there are other similar documents in the same book, _e.g._ of the order of knighthood, justs and prizes to be given thereat: the earl of worcester's orders for jousts and triumphs: declaration of a combat within lists. the ms. tiberius b. viii. contains the form of benediction of a man about to fight, and of his shield, club, and sword. for a picture of a combat on foot in lists see royal e. iv. (ms. "chronique d'angleterre," written for king edward iv.) at f. .[ ] in the "archæologia," vol. xxix., p. - , will be found a paper on judicial duels in germany, with a series of curious drawings of about the year a.d., representing the various phases of the combat. plate , fig. , shows the combatant in the act of being armed; fig. , receiving holy communion in church before the combat. plate , fig. , the oath in the lists, the combatant seated armed in an arm-chair with his attendants about him, his weapons around, and--ominously enough--a bier standing by, covered with a pall, ready to carry him off the ground if slain. plate , fig. , shows the vanquished actually being laid in his coffin; and fig. shows the victor returning thanks in church for his victory. plate is another series of subjects showing the different positions of attack and defence with the pole-axe. several very good and spirited representations of these duels of the time of our henry viii. may be found in the plates of hans burgmaier's der weise könige. as an example of the wager of battle we will take an account of one related by froissart between a squire called jaques de grys and a knight, sir john of carougne. it is necessary to the understanding of some of the incidents of the narrative to state what was the origin of the duel. the knight and the squire were friends, both of the household of the earl of alençon. sir john de carougne went over sea for the advancement of his honour, leaving his lady in his castle. on his return his lady informed him that one day soon after his departure his friend jaques de grys paid a visit to her, and made excuses to be alone with her, and then by force dishonoured her. the knight called his and her friends together, and asked their counsel what he should do. they advised that he should make his complaint to the earl. the earl called the parties before him, when the lady repeated her accusation; but the squire denied it, and called witnesses to prove that at four o'clock on the morning of the day on which the offence was stated to have been committed he was at his lord the earl's house, while the earl himself testified that at nine o'clock he was with himself at his levée. it was impossible for him between those two hours--that is, four hours and a half--to have ridden twenty-three leagues. "whereupon the erl sayd to the lady that she dyd but dreame it, wherefore he wolde maynteyne his squyre, and commanded the lady to speke noe more of the matter. but the knyght, who was of great courage, and well trusted and byleved his wife, would not agree to that opinion, but he wente to parys and shewed the matter there to the parlyament, and there appeled jaques de grys, who appered and answered to his appele." the plea between them endured more than a year and a half. at length "the parlyament determined that there shold be batayle at utterance between them.... and the kynge sent to parys, commandynge that the journey and batayle bytwene the squyer and the knight sholde be relonged tyl his comynge to parys: and so his commaundement was obeyed.... "then the lystes were made in a place called saynt katheryne, behynde the temple. there was so moche people that it was mervayle to beholde; and on the one syde of the lystes there was made grete scaffoldes, that the lordes myght the better se the battayle of the ij champions; and so they bothe came to the felde, armed at all places, and there eche of them was set in theyr chayre."[ ] "the erie of saynt poule governed john of carougne, and the erle of alanson's company with jaques de guys. and when the knyght entered into the felde, he came to his wyfe who was there syttinge in a chayre, covered in blacke, and he seyd to her thus,--dame, by your enformacyon and in your quarele i do put my lyfe in adventure as to fyght with jaques le grys; ye knowe if the cause be just and true. syr, sayd the lady, it is as i have sayd; wherfore ye may fyght surely, the cause is good and true. with those wordes the knyghte kyssed the lady and toke her by the hande, and then blessyd her, and so entered into the felde. the lady sate styll in the blacke chayre in her prayers to god and to the vyrgyne mary, humbly prayenge them, by theyr specyall grace, to sende her husbande the vyctory accordynge to the ryght he was in. the lady was in grete hevynes, for she was not sure of her lyfe; for yf her husbande sholde have been discomfyted she was judged without remedy to be brente and her husbande hanged. i cannot say whether she repented her or not yt the matter was so forwarde, that bothe she and her husbande were in grete peryle; howbeit fynally she must as then abyde the adventure. then these two champyons were set one agaynst another, and so mounted on theyr horses and behaved them nobly, for they knew what pertayned to deades of armes. there were many lordes and knyghtes of france that were come thyder to se that batayle: ye two champyons parted at theyr first metyng, but none of them dyd hurte other; and upon the justes they lyghted on foote to performe their batayle, and soe fought valyauntly; and fyrst john of carougne was hurt in the thyghe, whereby al his friendes were in grete fear; but after that he fought so valyauntly that he bette down his adversary to the erthe, and thruste his sworde in his body, and so slew hym on the felde; and then he demaunded yf he had done his devoyre or not; and they answered that he had valyauntly acheved his batayle. then jaques le grys was delyvered to the hangman of parys, and he drew him to the gybet of mount faucon and there hanged hym up. then john of carougne came before the kynge and kneeled downe and ye kynge made hym to stand up before hym, and the same day the kynge caused to be delyvered to hym a thousand frankes, and reteyned hym to be of his chambre with a pencyon of ij hundred poundes by the yere durynge the term of his lyfe; then he thanked the kynge and the lordes, and wente to his wyfe and kyssed her, and then they wente togyder to the churche of our lady in parys, and made theyr offerynge and then retourned to theyr lodgynges. then this syr john of carougne taryed not long in france, but wente to vysyte the holy sepulture." chapter ix. on tournaments. the romances, confirmed as they are by such documents as we have referred to in our last paper, may be taken as perfectly safe authorities on all that relates to the subject of tournaments, and they seize upon their salient features, and offer them in a picturesque form very suitable to our purpose. we will take all our illustrations, as in former chapters, from malory's "history of prince arthur." here is a statement of the way in which a tournament was arranged and published: "so it befel, that sir galahalt the haughty prince was lord of the country of surluse, whereof came many good knights. and this noble prince was a passing good man of arms, and ever he held a noble fellowship together. and he came unto king arthur's court, and told him all his intent, how he would let do cry a justs in the country of surluse, the which country was within the lands of king arthur, and that he asked leave for to let cry a justs. 'i will well give you leave,' said king arthur, 'but wot you well that i may not be there.' so in every good town and castle of this land was made a cry, that in the country of surluse sir galahalt the haughty prince should make justs that should last eight days, and how the haughty prince, with the help of queen guenever's knights, should just against all manner of men that would come. when the cry was known kings, princes, dukes, and earls, barons, and many noble knights made them ready to be at that justs." so we read in another place how as sir tristram was riding through the country in search of adventures, "he met with pursevants, and they told him that there was made a great cry of a tournament between king carados of scotland and the king of northgales, and either should just against other at the castle of maidens. and these pursevants sought all the country for the good knights, and in especial king carados let seek for sir launcelot, and the king of northgales let seek for sir tristram." then we find how all the reckless knights-errant suddenly become prudent, in order to keep themselves fresh and sound for this great tournament. thus: "sir kay required sir tristram to just; and sir tristram in a manner refused him, because he would not go hurt nor bruised to the castle of maidens; and therefore he thought to have kept him fresh and to rest him." but his prudence was not proof against provocation, for when sir kay persisted, he rode upon him and "smote down sir kay, and so rode on his way." so sir palomides said, "sir, i am loth to do with that knight, and the cause why for as to-morrow the great tournament shall be, and therefore i will keep me fresh, by my will." but being urged he consented: "sir, i will just at your request, and require that knight to just with me, and often i have seen a man have a fall at his own request;" a sage reflection which was prophetic. it was sir launcelot in disguise whom he was moved thus to encounter; and sir launcelot "smote him so mightily that he made him to avoid his saddle, and the stroke brake his shield and hawberk, and had he not fallen he had been slain." no doubt a great company would be gathered on the eve of the tournament, and there would be much feasting and merriment, and inquiry what knights were come to just, and what prospects had this man and the other of honour and lady's grace, or of shame and a fall. here is such an incident:--"then sir palomides prayed queen guenever and sir galahalt the haughty prince to sup with him, and so did both sir launcelot and sir lamorake and many good knights; and in the midst of their supper in came sir dinadan, and he began to rail. 'well,' said sir dinadan unto sir launcelot, 'what the devil do you in this country, for here may no mean knights win no worship for thee; and i ensure thee that i shall never meet thee no more, nor thy great spear, for i may not sit in my saddle when that spear meet me; i shall beware of that boisterous spear that thou bearest.' then laughed queen guenever and the haughty prince that they might not sit at table. thus they made great joy till the morrow; and then they heard mass, and blew to the field. and queen guenever and all their estates were set, and judges armed clean with their shields for to keep the right." [illustration: _state carriage of the fourteenth century._] it would take up too much space to transcribe the account of the tournament; the romancers and chroniclers dwell on every stroke, and prolong the narrative through page after page. we leave the reader to imagine to himself the crowd of meaner knights "hurtling together like wild boars," and "lashing at each other with great strokes"; and can only tell one or two unusual deeds which caused most talk among the knights and ladies, and supplied new matter for the heralds and minstrels to record. how sir launcelot rushed against sir dinadan with the "boisterous spear" he had deprecated, and bore him back on his horse croup, that he lay there as dead, and had to be lifted off by his squires; and how sir lamorake struck sir kay on the helm with his sword, that he swooned in the saddle; and how sir tristram avoided sir palomides' spear, and got him by the neck with both his hands, and pulled him clean out of his saddle, and so bore him before him the length of ten spears, and then, in the presence of them all, let him fall at his adventure; "until at last the haughty prince cried 'hoo!' and then they blew to lodging, and every knight unarmed him and went to the great feast." we may, however, quote one brief summary of a tournament which gives us several pictures worth adding to our story:--"sir launcelot mounted his horse and rode into a forest and held no high way. and as he looked afore him he saw a fair plain, and beside that plain stood a fair castle, and before that castle were many pavilions of silk and of divers hue; and him seemed that he saw there five hundred knights riding on horseback; and there was two parties; they that were of the castle were all in black, their horses and their trappings black; and they that were without were all upon white horses with white trappours. and every each hurled to other, whereof sir launcelot marvelled greatly. and at the last him thought that they of the castle were put unto the worst; and then thought sir launcelot for to help the weaker part in increasing of his chivalry. and so sir launcelot thrust in among the parties of the castle, and smote down a knight, both horse and man, to the earth: and then he rushed here and there and did marvellous deeds of arms; but always the white knights held them nigh about sir launcelot, for to weary him and win him. and at the last, as a man may not ever endure, sir launcelot waxed so faint of fighting, and was so weary of great deeds, that he might not lift up his arms for to give one stroke." [illustration: _cabriolet of the fourteenth century._] now for some extracts to illustrate the prize of the tournament: "turn we unto ewaine, which rode westward with his damsel, and she brought him there as was a tournament nigh the march of wales. and at that tournament sir ewaine smote down thirty knights, wherefore the prize was given him, and the prize was a jerfawcon and a white steed trapped with a cloth of gold." sir marhaus was equally fortunate under similar circumstances:--"he departed, and within two days his damsel brought him to where as was a great tournament, that the lady de vaux had cried; and who that did best should have a rich circlet of gold worth a thousand besants. and then sir marhaus did so nobly that he was renowned to have smitten down forty knights, and so the circlet of gold was rewarded to him." again:--"there was cried in this country a great just three days. and all the knights of this country were there, and also the gentlewomen. and who that proved him the best knight should have a passing good sword and a circlet of gold, and the circlet the knight should give to the fairest lady that was at those justs. and this knight sir pelleas was the best knight that was there, and there were five hundred knights, but there was never man that sir pelleas met withal but that he struck him down or else from his horse. and every day of the three days he struck down twenty knights; therefore they gave him the prize. and forthwithal he went there as the lady ettarde was, and gave her the circlet, and said openly that she was the fairest lady that was there, and that he would prove upon any knight that would say nay." [illustration: _a tournament._] the accompanying woodcut is a reduced copy of the half of one of the many tournament scenes which run along the lower part of the double page of the ms. romance of "le roi meliadus," already so often alluded to. they are, perhaps, the most spirited of all the contemporary pictures of such scenes, and give every variety of incident, not out of the imagination of a modern novelist, but out of the memory of one who had frequented deeds of arms and noted their incidents with an artist's eye. for an actual historical example of the tournament in which a number of knights challengers undertake to hold the field against all comers, we will take the passage of arms at st. inglebert's, near calais, in the days of edward iii., because it is very fully narrated by froissart, and because the splendid ms. of froissart in the british museum (harl. , ) supplies us with a magnificent picture of the scene. froissart tells that it happened in this wise:--"in ye dayes of king charles there was an englisshe knyght called sir peter courteney, a valyaunt knight in armes, came out of englande into fraunce to paris, and demanded to do armes with sir guy of tremoyle[ ] in the presence of the king or of suche as wolde se them. sir guy wolde not refuce his offre, and in the presence of the kyng and of other lordes they were armed on a daye and ran togeyder one course; and then the kyng wolde not suffre them to ryn agayne togeyther, wherwith the english knyght was ryt evyl content, for, as he shewed, he wolde have furnysshed his chalenge to the uttrance; but he was apeased with fayre wordes, and it was sayde to hym that he had done ynough and ought to be content therewith. the kyng and the duke of burgoyne gave hym fayre gyftes and presentes. than he returned agayne towardes calays, and the lorde of clary, who was a friscay and a lusty knyght, was charged to convey hym." one night they lodged at lucen, where lived the countess of st. paul, sister to king richard of england, whose first wife had been a cousin of sir peter's, and who therefore received them gladly. in the course of the evening the countess asked sir peter whether he was content with the entertainment he had met with in france. whereupon the knight complained of the interruption of his combat, swore he should say wherever he went that he could find none in france to do armes with him; that had a french knight, for example the lord of clary then present, come into england and desired to do armes, he would have found enough to answer his challenge. the lord of clary having sir peter then placed under his safe conduct by the king, held his tongue till he had brought him within the english territory about calais; then he challenged sir peter, and next day they met. "then they toke their speares with sharpe heades wel fyled, and spurred their horses and rune togeyder. the fyrst course fayled, wherwith they were bothe sore displeased. at the seconde juste they mette so togeyder, that the lord of clary struke the englysshe knyght throughe the targe and throughe the shoulder a handfull, and therwith he fell from his horse to the erthe.... then the lord of clary departed with his company, and the englysshemen led sir peter courtney to calays to be healed of his hurtes." this incident stirred up several young french knights to undertake some feat of arms. "there was thre gentylmen of highe enterprise and of great valure, and that they well shewed as ye shall here. fyrst there was the yonge sir bouciquaut, the other sir raynold of roy, and the thirde the lorde of saynt pye. these thre knyghtes were chamberleyns with the kyng, and well-beloved of hym. these thre being at mountpellier among the ladyes and damosels, they toke on them to do armes on the fronter beside calais the next somer after ... abyding all knyghtes and squiers straungers the terme of xxx dayes whosoever wolde juste with them in justes of peace or of warre. and because the enterprise of these thre knyghtes seemed to the french kyng and his counsalye to be an high enterprice, then it was said to them that they shulde putte it into writyng, because the kyng wolde se the artycles thereof, that if they were to high or to outraygous that the kyng might amende them; bycause the kyng nor his counsalye wolde not sustayne any thynge that shoulde be unresonable. these thre knyghtes answered and said, 'it is but reson that we do this; it shall be done.' then they toke a clerk and caused him to write as forthwith:--'for the great desyre that we have to come to the knowledge of noble gentlemen, knights and squires, straungers as well of the realme of france, as elsewhere of farre countreys, we shall be at saynt inglebertes, in the marches of calays, the twenty day of the month of may next commying, and there contynewe thirtye dayes complete, the frydayes onely excepte; and to delyver all manner of knyghtes and squyers, gentlemen, straungers of any manner of nacyon whatsoever they be, that wyll come thyder for the breakynge of fiyve speares, outher sharpe or rokettes at their pleasure,'" &c. the challenge was "openly declared and publyshed, and especially in the realme of englande," for it was in truth specially intended at english knights, and they alone appear to have accepted the challenge. "for in england knyghtes and squiers were quyckened to the mater, and ware in gret imagynacions to know what they might best do. some said it shulde be greatly to their blame and reproche such an enterprise taken so nere to calays without they passed the see and loke on those knyghtes that shulde do arms there. such as spake most of the mater was, first, syr johan of holande erle of huntyngdon, who had great desyre to go thyder, also sir johan courtney ... and dyvers others, more than a hundred knyghtes and squiers, all then sayed, 'let us provyde to go to calays, for the knyghtes of fraunce hath not ordayned that sporte so nere our marches but to the entent to see us there; and surely they have done well and do lyke good companions, and we shall not fayle them at their busynes.' this mater was so publisshed abrode in englande, that many such as had no desyn to do dedes of armes ther on self, yet they sayd they wolde be there to loke on them that shulde. so at the entryng in of ye joly fresshe month of may these thre young knyghtes of fraunce come to the abbay of saynt ingilbertes, and they ordayned in a fayre playne between calays and saynt ingilbertes thre fresh grene pavilyons to be pyght up, and at the entre of every pavylyon there hanged two sheldes with the armes of the knyghtes, one shelde of peace, another of warre; and it was ordayned that such as shulde ryn and do dedes of armes shulde touche one of the sheldes or cause it to be touched. and on the xxi day of the moneth of may, accordyng as it had been publisshed, there the french knyghtes were redy in the place to furnish their enterprise. and the same day knyghtes and squiers issued out of calays, suche as wolde just, and also such other as had pleasure to regarde that sporte; and they came to the place appoynted and drew all on the one parte: the place to juste in was fayre green and playne. sir johan hollande first sent to touche the shelde of warre of syr bociquaut, who incontinent issued out of his pavylyon redy mounted, with shelde and speare: these two knyghtes drew fro other a certayne space, and when each of them had well advysed other, they spurred their horses and came together rudely, and bociquaut struke the erle of huntingdon through the shelde, and the speare head glente over his arme and dyd hym no hurt; and so they passed further and turned and rested at their pease. this course was greatly praysed. the second course they met without any hurt doygne; and the third course their horses refused and wolde not cope." and so froissart goes on to describe, in page after page, how the english knights, one after another, encountered the three challengers with various fortune, till at last "they ran no more that day, for it was nere night. then the englysshmen drew togeder and departed, and rode to calays, and there devysed that night of that had been done that day; in likewyse the frenchmen rode to saint ingilbertes and communed and devysed of yt had been done ye same day." "the tuesday, after masse, all suche as shulde just that day or wolde gyve the lookyng on, rode out of calis and came to the place appoynted, and the frenchmen were redy there to recyve them: the day was fayre and hot." and so for four days the sports continued. in many cases the course failed through fault of horse or man; the commonest result of a fair course was that one or both the justers were unhelmed; a few knights were unhorsed; one knight was wounded, the spear passing through the shield and piercing the arm, where "the spere brake, and the trunchon stucke styll in the shelde and in the knyhte's arme; yet for all yt the knyght made his turn and came to his place fresshly." the illuminator has bestowed two large and beautiful pictures on this famous deed of arms. one at folio represents the knights parading round the lists to show themselves before the commencement of the sports. our woodcut on page is reduced from another picture at folio , which represents the actual combat. there are the three handsome pavilions of the knights challengers, each with its two shields--the shield of peace and the shield of war--by touching which each juster might indicate whether he chose to fight "in love or in wrath." there are the galleries hung with tapestries, in which sit the knights and ladies "as had pleasure to regard that sporte." there are the groups of knights, and the judges of the field; and there in the foreground are two of the gallant knights in full career, attended by their squires. it will be interesting to the artist to know something of the colours of the knightly costumes. the knight on this side the barrier has his horse trapped in housings of blue and gold, lined with red, and the bridle to match; the saddle is red. the knight is in armour of steel, his shield is emblazoned _or_, three hearts _gules_; he bears as a crest upon his helmet two streamers of some transparent material like lawn. his antagonist's horse is trapped with red and gold housings, and bridle to match. he wears a kind of cape on his shoulders of cloth of gold; his shield is blue. of the knights on the (spectator's) left of the picture, one has horse trappings of gold and red embroidery lined with plain red, his shield yellow (not gold) with black bearings; another has blue and gold trappings, with shield red, with white bearings. of the knights on the right, one has horse-trappings blue and gold laced with red, and shield red and white; the other trappings red and gold, shield yellow. the squires are dressed thus: the limbs encased in armour, the body clothed in a jupon, which is either green embroidery on red ground or red embroidery on green ground. the pavilions are tinted red, with stripes of a darker red. the shields of the challengers are--on the left tent, _azure_, three hearts _argent_; on the middle, _vert_, three hearts _or_; on the right, _or_, three hearts _gules_. [illustration: _the feat of arms at st. inglebert's._] we have drawn upon the romancer and the historian to illustrate the subject; we have cited ancient documents, and copied contemporary pictures; we will call upon the poet to complete our labour. chaucer, in the knight's tale, gives a long account of a just _à l'outrance_ between palamon and arcite and a hundred knights a-side, which came to pass thus: palamon and arcite, two cousins and sworn brothers-in-arms, had the misfortune both to fall in love with emily, the younger sister of ipolyta, the queen of theseus duke-regnant of athens. theseus found the two young men, one may morning, in the wood engaged in a single combat. "this duke his courser with his spurres smote, and at a start he was betwixt them two, and pulled out his sword and cried ho! no more, up pain of losing of your head." after discovering the cause of their enmity, the duke ordained that that day fifty weeks each should bring a hundred knights ready to fight in the lists on his behalf-- "and whether he or thou shall with his hundred as i speak of now slay his contrary or out of listes drive, him shall i given emilie to wive." each of the rivals rode through the country far and near during the fifty weeks, to enlist valiant knights to make up his hundred; and on the eve of the appointed day each party rode into athens; and, says chaucer, "never did so small a band comprise so noble a company of knights":-- "for every wight that loved chevalrie, and wolde, his thankes, have a lasting name, hath praied that he might ben of that game, and well was he that thereto chosen was." and the poet goes on with this testimony to the chivalrous feeling of his own time:-- "for if there fell to-morrow such a case, ye knowen well that every lusty knyght that loveth par amour, and hath his might, were it in engleland or elleswhere, they wolde, hir thankes, willen to be there." at length the day arrives:-- "gret was the feste in athens thilke day. * * * * * and on the morrow when the day gan spring, of horse and harness, noise and clattering there was in all the hostelries about: and to the palace rode there many a rout of lordes upon stedes and palfries. there mayst thou see devising of harness so uncouth and so riche, and wrought so well, of goldsmithry, of brouding, and of steel; the shieldes bright, testeres, and trappours; gold-hewen helms, hawberks, cote-armures; lordes in parements on their coursers, knyghts of retenue and eke squires, nailing the speares and helms buckeling, gniding of shields with lainers lacing; there, as need is, they were nothing idle. the foaming steedes on the golden bridle gnawing, and fast the armourers also with file and hammer pricking to and fro; yeomen on foot, and commons many a one, with shorte staves thick as they may gon; pipes, trompes, nakeres, and clariouns, that in the battaille blowen bloody sounes. the palais full of people up and down. * * * * * duke theseus is at a window sette, arraied right as he were a god in throne; the people presseth thitherward full soon him for to see, and do him reverence, and eke to hearken his heste and his sentence. an herauld on a scaffold made an o[ ] till that the noise of the people was ydo; and when he saw the people of noise all still, thus shewed he the mighty dukes will." the duke's will was, that none of the combatants should use any shot (_i.e._ any missile), or poleaxe, or short knife, or short pointed sword, but they were to run one course with sharp spears and then-- "with long sword or with mace to fight their fill." however, any one who was forcibly drawn to a stake--of which one was planted at each end of the lists--should be _hors de combat_; and if either of the leaders was slain or disabled or drawn to the stake, the combat should cease. "up goe the trumpets and the melodie and to the listes rode the compaynie. by ordinance throughout the city large hanged with cloth of gold, and not with serge. * * * * * and thus they passen through the citie and to the listes comen they be-time it was not of the day yet fully prime, when set was theseus full rich and high, ipolita the queen and emilie, and other ladies in degrees about, unto the seates presseth all the rest." then arcite and his hundred knights enter through the western side of the lists under a red banner, and palamon and his company at the same moment, under a white banner, enter by the eastern gates. "and in two ranges fayre they hem dresse, when that their names read were every one, that in their number guile were there none. then were the gates shut, and cried was loud, 'do now your devoir, young knyghtes proud.' the herauldes left there pricking up and down; then ringen trompes loud and clarioun; there is no more to say, but east and west, in go the speres quickly into rest, in goeth the sharpe spur into the side; there see men who can juste and who can ride; there shiver shafts upon sheldes thick, he feeleth through the herte-spoon the prick. up springen speres, twenty foot in hyhte, out go the swords as the silver bright the helmes they to-hewen and to-shred; out bursts the blood with sterne streames red. with mighty maces the bones they to-brest. he through the thickest of the throng gan thrust, there stumble steedes strong, and down goth all. he rolleth under foot as doth a ball! he foineth on his foe with a truncheon, and he him hurteth, with his horse adown; he through the body is hurt and sith ytake, maugre his head, and brought unto the stake." at last it happened to palamon-- "that by the force of twenty is he take unyolden, and drawen to the stake. and when that theseus had seen that sight, unto the folk that foughten thus eche one he cried 'ho! no more, for it is done!' the troumpors with the loud minstralcie, the herauldes that so loude yell and crie, been in their joy for wele of don arcite. * * * * * this fierce arcite hath off his helm ydone, and on a courser, for to show his face, he pusheth endilong the large place, looking upward upon this emilie, and she towards him cast a friendly eye;" when, alas! his horse started, fell, and crushed the exulting victor, so that he lay bruised to death in the listes which had seen his victory. after a decent time of mourning, by theseus's good offices, emily accepts her surviving lover: "and thus with alle blisse and melodie hath palamon ywedded emelie." the two curious woodcuts[ ] on pages and show the style of carriage associated--grotesquely associated, it seems to our eyes--with the armour and costume of the middle ages. no. might represent duke theseus going in state through the streets of athens, hung with tapestry and cloth of gold, to the solemn deed of arms of palamon and arcite. no. may represent to us the merry sir dinadan driving to the tournament of the castle of maidens. chapter x. mediÆval bowmen. the archers of england were so famous during the middle ages that we feel special interest in knowing something about them. as early as the conquest we find the norman archers giving the invader a great advantage over the saxons, who had not cultivated this arm with success. their equipment and appearance may be seen in the bayeux tapestry; most of them are evidently unarmed, but some are in armour like that of the men-at-arms. usually the quiver hangs at the side; yet occasionally at the back, so that the arrows are drawn out over the shoulder; both fashions continued in later times. in one case, at least, an archer, in pursuit of the flying saxons, is seen on horseback; but it may be doubted whether at this period, as was the case subsequently, some of the archers were mounted, or whether an archer has leaped upon a riderless horse to pursue the routed enemy. the bow was of the simplest construction, not so long as it afterwards became; the arrows were barbed and feathered. each archer--in later times, at least--commonly carried two dozen arrows "under his belt." he also frequently bore a stake sharpened at both ends, so that in the field, when the front ranks fixed their stakes in the ground with their points sloping outward, and the rear rank fixed theirs in the intermediate spaces, they formed a _cheval de frise_ against cavalry, and, with the flanks properly cared for, they could hold their ground even against the steel-clad chivalry. latterly also the archers were sometimes protected by a great movable shield; this they fixed upright by a rest, and behind it were sheltered from the adverse bowmen. the archer also carried a sword, so that he could defend himself, if attacked, hand to hand; or act on the offensive with the main body of foot when his artillery was expended. by the twelfth century there are stories on record which show that the english bowmen had acquired such skill as to make their weapon a very formidable one. richard of devizes tells us that at the siege of messina the sicilians were obliged to leave their walls unmanned, "because no one could look abroad but he would have an arrow in his eye before he could shut it." in the thirteenth century the archer became more and more important. he always began the battle at a distance, as the artillery do in modern warfare, before the main bodies came up to actual hand-to-hand fighting. we find in this century a regular use of mounted corps of bowmen and cross-bowmen; and the knights did not scorn to practise the use of this weapon, and occasionally to resort to it on a special occasion in the field. some of the bowmen continue to be found, in the ms. illustrations, more or less fully armed, but the majority seem to have worn only a helmet of iron, and perhaps half armour of leather, or often nothing more than a woollen jerkin. the cross-bow, or arbalest, does not appear to have been used in war until the close of the twelfth century. it was not equal to the long-bow in strong and skilful hands, because a powerful and skilful bowman, while he could probably send his shaft with as much force as a cross-bow, could shoot half-a-dozen arrows while the cross-bow was being wound up to discharge a second bolt; but still, once introduced, the mechanical advantage which the cross-bow gave to men of ordinary strength and of inferior skill caused it to keep its ground, until the invention of fire-arms gradually superseded both long-bow and arbalest. the bow of the cross-bow seems to have been usually of steel; some of them were strung by putting the foot into a loop at the end of the stock, and pulling the cord up to its notch by main force: an illustration of this early form appears in the arbalester shooting from the battlement of the castle in the early fourteenth-century illumination on p. , and another at p. ; but the more powerful bows required some mechanical assistance to bring the string to its place. in a picture in the national gallery of the martyrdom of st. sebastian, by antonio pollajuolo, of florence, a.d. , an arbalester has a cord attached to his belt, and a pulley running on it, with a hook to catch the bow-string, so that, putting his foot into the loop at the end of the stock, looping the end of the cord on to a hook at its butt, and catching the bow-string by the pulley, he could, by straightening himself, apply the whole force of his body to the stringing of his weapon. more frequently, however, a little winch was used, by which the string was wound into its place with little expenditure of strength. one of the men in the cut on the next page is thus stringing his bow, and it is seen again in the cut on p. . the arrow shot by the cross-bow was called a bolt or quarrel; it was shorter and stouter than an ordinary arrow, with a heavier head. the arbalester seems to have carried fifty bolts into the field with him; the store of bolts was carried by waggons which followed the army. we have already said that there were, from the thirteenth century, bodies of mounted arbalesters. but the far larger proportion of archers, of both arms, were footmen, who were usually placed in front of the array to commence the engagement. the arbalest, however, was more used on the continent than in england; and hence the long-bow came to be especially considered the national arm of the english, while the genoese became famous as arbalesters. the superior rapidity of fire gave the english archer the same advantage over his foemen that the needle-gun gave to the prussians in the late war. later on, in the fourteenth century, the battle seems to have been usually begun by the great machines for throwing stones and darts which then played the part of modern cannon, while the bowmen were placed on the flanks. frequently, also, archers were intermixed with the horsemen, so that a body of spearmen with archers among them would play the part which a body of dragoons did in more modern warfare, throwing the opposing ranks into confusion with missiles, before charging upon them hand to hand. in the fourteenth century the bow had attained the climax of its reputation as a weapon, and in the french wars many a battle was decided by the strength and skill and sturdy courage of the english bowmen. edward iii. conferred honour on the craft by raising a corps of archers of the king's guard, consisting of men, the most expert who could be found in the kingdom. about the same period the french kings enrolled from their allies of scotland the corps of scottish archers of the guard, who were afterwards so famous. we have already given a good illustration of the long-bowman from the royal ms. , e. iv., a folio volume illustrated with very fine pictures executed for our king edward iv. from the same ms. we now take an illustration of the cross-bow. the accompanying cut is part of a larger picture which represents several interesting points in a siege. on the right is a town surrounded by a moat; the approach to the bridge over the moat is defended by an outwork, and the arbalesters in the cut are skirmishing with some bowmen on the battlements and angle-turrets of this outwork. on the left of the picture are the besiegers. they have erected a wooden castle with towers, surrounded by a timber breast-work. in front of this breast-work is an elaborate cannon of the type of that represented in the cut on page . at a little distance is a battery of one cannon elevated on a wooden platform, and screened by a breast-work of basket-work, which was a very usual way of concealing cannon down to the time of henry viii. [illustration: _bowmen and arbalesters._] the man on the right of the cut wears a visored helmet, but it has no amail; his body is protected by a skirt of mail, which appears at the shoulders and hips, and at the openings of his blue surcoat; the legs are in brown hose, and the feet in brown shoes. the centre figure has a helmet and camail, sleeves of mail, and iron breastplate of overlapping plates; the upper plate and the skirt are of red spotted with gold; his hose and shoes are of dark grey. the third man has a helmet with camail, and the body protected by mail, which shows under the arm, but he has also shoulder-pieces and elbow-pieces of plate; his surcoat is yellow, and his hose red. the artist has here admirably illustrated the use of the crossbow. in one case we see the archer stringing it by help of a little winch; in the next he is taking a bolt out of the quiver at his side with which to load his weapon; in the third we have the attitude in which it was discharged. [illustration: _arbalesters._] the illustration above, from a fourteenth-century ms. (cott. julius, e. iv. f. ), represents a siege. a walled town is on the right, and in front of the wall, acting on the part of the town, are the cross-bowmen in the cut, protected by great shields which are kept upright by a rest. the men seem to be preparing to fire, and the uniformity of their attitude, compared with the studied variety of attitude of groups of bowmen in other illustrations, suggests that they are preparing to fire a volley. on the left of the picture is sketched a group of tents representing the camp of the besiegers, and in front of the camp is a palisade which screens a cannon of considerable length. the whole picture is only sketched in with pen and ink. the woodcut here given (royal , e. iv. f. xiv.) forms part of a large and very interesting picture. in the middle of the picture is a castle with a bridge, protected by an advanced tower, and a postern with a drawbridge drawn up. archers, cross-bowmen, and men-at-arms man the battlements. in front is a group of men-at-arms and tents, with archers and cross-bowmen shooting up at the defenders. on the right is a group of men-at-arms who seem to be meditating an attack by surprise upon the postern. on the left, opposed to the principal gate, is the timber fort shown in the woodcut. its construction, of great posts and thick slabs of timber strengthened with stays and cross-beams, is well indicated. there seem to be two separate works: one is a battery of two cannon, the cannon having wheeled carriages; the other is manned by archers. it is curious to see the mixture of arms--long-bow, cross-bow, portable fire-arm, and wheeled cannon, all used at the same time; indeed, it may be questioned whether the earlier fire-arms were very much superior in effect to the more ancient weapons which they supplanted. no doubt many an archer preferred the long-bow, with which he could shoot with truer aim than with a clumsy hand-gun; and perhaps a good catapult was only inferior to one of the early cannon in being a larger and heavier engine. [illustration: _timber fort._] at fol. l v. of the same ms., a wooden tower and lofty breast-work have been thrown up in front of a town by the defenders as an additional protection to the usual stone tower which defends the approach to the bridge. the assailants are making an assault on this breast-work, and need ladders to scale it; so that it is evident the defenders stand on a raised platform behind their timber defence. see a similar work at f. xlviij., which is mounted with cannon. the practice of archery by the commonalty of england was protected and encouraged by a long series of legislation. as early as henry i. we find an enactment--which indicates that such accidents happened then as do unhappily in these days, when rifle-shooting is become a national practice--that if any one practising with arrows or with darts should by accident slay another, it was not to be punished as a crime. in the fourteenth century, when the archer had reached the height of his importance in the warfare of the time, many enactments were passed on the subject. some were intended to encourage, and more than encourage, the practice by the commonalty of what had become the national arm. in , and again in , statutes were passed calling upon the people to leave their popular amusements of ball and coits and casting the stone and the like, on their festivals and sundays, and to practise archery instead. "servants and labourers shall have bows and arrows, and use the same the sundays and holidays, and leave all playing at tennis or foot-ball, and other games called coits, dice, casting the stone, kailes, and other such inopportune games." in a statute says that the dearness of bows has driven the people to leave shooting, and practise unlawful games, though the king's subjects are perfectly disposed to shoot; and it therefore regulates the price of bows. this crude legislation, of course, failed to remedy the evil, for if the bowyers could not sell them at a profit, they would cease to make them, or rather to import the wood of which they were made, since the best yew for bows came from abroad, english yew not supplying pieces sufficiently long without knots. accordingly, in , another statute required all merchants sending merchandise to england from any place from which bow-staves were usually exported, to send four bow-staves for every ton of merchandise, and two persons were appointed at each port to inspect the staves so sent, and mark and reject those which were not good and sufficient. still later the erection of butts was encouraged in every parish to prevent the accidents which the statute of henry i. had directed justice to wink at; and traces of them still remain in the names of places, as in newington butts; and still more frequently in the names of fields, as the "butt-field." our history of ancient artillery would be imperfect without a few words on the modern artillery of metal balls propelled from hollow tubes by the explosive force of gunpowder, which superseded the slings and bows and darts, the catapults and trebuchets and mangonels and battering-rams, which had been used from the beginning of warfare in the world, and also drove out of use the armour, whether of leather, bone, or steel, which failed to pay in security of person against shot and cannon-ball for its weight and encumbrance to the wearer. a good deal of curious inquiry has been bestowed upon the origin of this great agent in the revolution of modern warfare. the chinese and arabs are generally regarded as the first inventors of gunpowder; among europeans its invention has been attributed to marcus graecus, albertus magnus, barthold schwaletz, and roger bacon. the first written evidence relating to the existence of cannon is in the ordinances of florence, in the year , wherein authority is given to the priors gonfalionieri and twelve good men to appoint persons to superintend the manufacture of cannons and iron balls for the defence of the commune camp and territory of the republic. j. barbour, the poet, is usually quoted as an authority for the use of cannon "crakeys of war," by edward iii., in his scottish campaign, in the year . but since barbour was not born till about that year, and did not write till , his authority was not contemporary and may be doubted, especially since there is strong negative evidence to the contrary: _e.g._ that all the army accounts of this campaign still remain, and no mention of guns or gunpowder is to be found in them. in , however, there is unquestionable evidence that cannon of both iron and brass were employed on board english ships of war. in an inventory of things delivered that year by john starling, formerly clerk of the king's vessels, to helmyng, keeper of the same, are noted "un canon de fer ov ii chambers, un autre de bras ove une chamber, iii canons de fer of v chambres, un handgonne," &c. in explanation of the two and five chambers, it appears that these earliest cannon were breechloaders, and each cannon had several movable chambers to contain the charges. the same year, , gives the first french document relating to cannon. it is doubly interesting; first because it relates to the provision made for an expedition against southampton in that year, and secondly because it was a curious attempt to combine the cannon and the arbalest, in other words, to make use of the force of gunpowder for propelling the old short quarrel. it was an iron fire-arm provided with forty-eight bolts (carreaux) made of iron and feathered with brass. we learn that a tube received the arrow, which was wrapped round with leather at the butt to make it fit closely, and this tube fitted to a box, or chamber, which contained the charge and was kept in its place by a wedge.[ ] in it is recorded that the english used cannon at the siege of cambray. in experiments on improved cannon were made by peter of bruges, a famous maker, before the consuls of tournay. at the siege of calais, in , the english built a castle of wood, and armed it with bombards. in the household expenses of edward iii., commencing , are payments to "engyners lvii., artillers vi., gunners vi.," who each received sixpence a day. the date of the first appearance of cannon in the field is still disputed; some say they were used at crecy in the year . certainly, in , the men of ghent carried guns into the field against the brugeois; and at the combat of pont-de-comines, in the same year, we read _bombardes portatives_ were used. [illustration: _long-bow, arquebus, cannon, and greek fire._] we have already given several illustrations of cannon. siege cannon for throwing heavy balls which did not need very great accuracy of aim, soon superseded entirely the more cumbrous military engines which were formerly used for the same purpose. but hand-guns were not at first so greatly superior to bows, and did not so rapidly come into exclusive use. and yet a good deal of inventive ingenuity was bestowed upon their improvement and development. the "brown bess" of our great continental war was a clumsy weapon after all, and it may fairly be doubted whether a regiment armed with it could have stood against a row of robin hood's men with their long-bows. it was really left to our day to produce a portable fire-arm which would fire as rapidly, as far, and with as accurate an aim as robin hood's men could shoot their cloth-yard shafts six hundred years ago; and yet it is curious to find some of the most ingenious inventions of the present day anticipated long since: there are still preserved in the tower armoury breech-loaders and revolving chambers and conical shot of the time of henry viii. the woodcut on the preceding page, which is from the ms. royal , e. iv., contains several figures taken from one of the large illuminations that adorn the ms.; it affords another curious illustration of the simultaneous use of various forms of projectiles. on the right side is an archer, with his sheaf at his belt and his sword by his side. on the left is a man-at-arms in a very picturesque suit of complete armour, firing a hand-gun of much more modern form than those in the former woodcut. a small wheeled cannon on the ground shows the contemporary form of that arm, while the pikes beside it help to illustrate the great variety of weapons in use. the cross-bowman here introduced is from the same illumination; he is winding up his weapon with a winch, like the cross-bowman on p. ; his shield is slung at his back. [illustration: _cross-bow._] but we have specially to call attention to the two men who are throwing shells, which are probably charged with greek fire. this invention, which inspired such terror in the middle ages, seems to have been discovered in the east of europe, and to have been employed as early as the seventh century. we hear much of its use in the crusades, by the greeks, who early possessed the secret of its fabrication. they used it either by ejecting it through pipes to set fire to the shipping or military engines, or to annoy and kill the soldiers of the enemy; or they cast it to a distance by means of vessels charged with it affixed to javelins; or they hurled larger vessels by means of the great engines for casting stones; or they threw the fire by hand in a hand-to-hand conflict; or used hollow maces charged with it, which were broken over the person of the enemy, and the liquid fire poured down, finding its way through the crevices of his armour. it was, no doubt, a terrible sight to see a man-at-arms or a ship wrapped in an instant in liquid flames; and what added to the terror it inspired was that the flames could not be extinguished by water or any other available appliance. on the introduction of the use of gunpowder in european warfare, greek fire seems also to have been experimented upon, and we find several representations of its use in the ms. drawings where it is chiefly thrown by hand to set fire to shipping; in the present example, however, it is used in the field. [illustration: _battering-ram._] lastly, in the above cut we give a representation of the battering-ram from an interesting work which illustrates all the usual military engines.[ ] it contains curious contrivances for throwing up scaling-ladders and affixing them to the battlements, from which the inventors of our fire-escapes may have borrowed suggestions; and others for bridging wide moats and rivers with light scaffolding, which could be handled and fixed as easily and quickly as the scaling-ladders. the drawing of the ram only indicates that the machine consists of a heavy square beam of timber, provided, probably, with a metal head, which is suspended by a rope from a tall frame, and worked by manual strength. the cut is especially interesting as an illustration of the style of armour of the latter part of the fifteenth century. it gives the back as well as the front of the figure, and also several varieties of helmet. chapter xi. fifteenth century armour. as the fifteenth century advanced the wars of the roses gave urgent reason for attention to the subject of defensive armour; and we find, accordingly, that the fashions of armour underwent many modifications, in the attempt to give the wearer more perfect protection for life and limb. it would be tedious to enter into the minute details of these changes, and the exact date of their introduction; we must limit ourselves to a brief history of the general character of the new fashions. the horizontal bands of armour called _taces_, depending from the corslet, became gradually narrower; while the pieces which hung down in front of the thighs, called _tuilles_, became proportionately larger. in the reigns of richard iii. and henry vii. the knightly equipment reached its strangest forms. besides the usual close-fitting pieces which protected the arms, the elbow-piece was enlarged into an enormous fan-like shape that not only protected the elbow itself, but overlapped the fore arm, and by its peculiar shape protected the upper arm up to the shoulder. the shoulder-pieces also were strengthened, sometimes by several super-imposed overlapping plates, sometimes by hammering it out into ridges, sometimes by the addition of a _passe garde_--a kind of high collar which protected the neck from a sweeping side blow. the breastplate is globular in shape, and often narrow at the waist; from it depend narrow _taces_ and _tuilles_, and under the _tuilles_ we often find a deep skirt of mail. when broad-toed shoes came into fashion, the iron shoes of the knight followed the fashion; and at the same time, in place of the old gauntlet in which the fingers were divided, and each finger protected by several small plates of metal, the leather glove was now furnished at the back of the hand with three or four broad over-lapping plates, like those of a lobster, each of which stretched across the whole hand. these alterations may have added to the strength of the armour, but it was at the cost of elegance of appearance. a suit of armour embossed with ornamental patterns, partially covered with a blue mantle, may be seen in the fifteenth-century book of hours, harl. , , f. . in the time of henry viii., in place of the _taces_ and _tuilles_ for the defence of the body and thighs, a kind of skirt of steel, called _lamboys_, was introduced, which was fluted and ribbed vertically, so as to give it very much the appearance of a short petticoat. henry viii. is represented in this costume in the equestrian figure on his great seal. and a suit of armour of this kind, a very magnificent one, which was presented to the king by the emperor maximilian on the occasion of his marriage to katharine of arragon, is preserved in the tower armoury. a good sketch of a suit of this kind will be seen in one of the pikemen--the fifth from the right hand--in the nearest rank of the army in the engraving of king henry viii.'s army, which faces page . the armour of this reign was sometimes fashioned in exact imitation of the shape of the ordinary garments of a gentleman of the time, and engraved and inlaid in imitation of their woven or embroidered ornamentation. in the tournament armour of the time the defences were most complete, but unwieldy and inelegant. the front of the saddle had a large piece of armour attached, which came up to protect the trunk, and was bent round to encase each thigh. a clearly drawn representation of this will be found in a tilting scene in the illumination on f. v. of the ms. add. , , date _circa_ a.d. there are several examples of it in the tower armoury. the shield was also elaborately shaped and curved, to form an outer armour for the defence of the whole of the left side. instead of the shield there was sometimes an additional piece of armour, called the _grand garde_, screwed to the breastplate, to protect the left side and shoulder; while the great spear had also a piece of armour affixed in front of the grasp, which not only protected the hand, but was made large enough to make a kind of shield for the right arm and breast. there was also sometimes a secondary defence affixed to the upper part of the breastplate, which stood out in front of the face. these defences for thigh and breast will be observed in the woodcut of the "playing at tournament," on p. ; and in the combat of the earl of warwick, p. , will be seen how the _grande garde_ is combined with the _volante_ piece which came in front of the face. behind such defences the tilter must have been almost invulnerable. on the other hand, his defences were so unwieldy that he must have got into his saddle first, and then have been packed securely into his armour; and when there, he could do nothing but sit still and hold his spear in rest--it seems impossible for him even to have struck a single sword stroke. james i.'s remark on armour was especially true of such a suit: "it was an admirable invention which preserved a man from being injured, and made him incapable of injuring any one else." [illustration: _combat on foot._] there are several very good authorities for the military costume of the reign of henry viii. easily accessible to the student and artist. the roll preserved in the college of arms which represents the tournament held at westminster, a.d. , in honour of the birth of the son of henry and katharine of arragon, has been engraved in the "vetusta monumenta." the painting of the field of the cloth of gold at hampton court is another contemporary authority full of costumes of all kinds. the engravings of hans burgmaier, in the _triumphs of maximilian_ and the _weise könige_ contain numerous authorities very valuable for the clearness and artistic skill with which the armour is depicted. we have given an illustration, on the preceding page, reduced from one of the plates of the latter work, which represents a combat of two knights, on foot. the armour is partly covered by a surcoat; in the left-hand figure it will be seen that it is fluted. the shields will be noticed as illustrating one of the shapes then in use. but our best illustration is from a contemporary drawing in the british museum (aug. iii., f. ), which represents henry viii.'s army, and gives us, on a small scale, and in very sketchy but intelligible style, a curious and valuable picture of the military equipment of the period. we have two armies drawn up in battle array, and the assault is just commenced. the nearer army has its main body of pikemen, who, we know from contemporary writers, formed the main strength of an army at this time, and for long after. in front of them are two lines of arquebusiers. their front is protected by artillery, screened by great _mantelets_ of timber. the opposing army has similarly its main body of pikemen, and its two lines of arquebusiers; the first line engaged in an assault upon the enemy's artillery. on the left flank of its main body is the cavalry; and there seems to be a reserve of pikemen a little distance in the rear, behind a rising ground. tents pitched about a village represent the head-quarters of the army, and baggage waggons on the left of the picture show that the artist has overlooked nothing. a fortress in the distance seems to be taking part in the engagement with its guns. there are other similar pictures in the same volume, some of which supply details not here given, or not so clearly expressed. at folio are two armies, each with a van of musketeers three deep, a main body of pikemen eleven deep, and a third line of musketeers three deep. the cavalry are more distinctly shown than in the picture before us, as being men-at-arms in full armour, with lances. at folio the drummers, fifers, and baggage and camp followers are shown. in the _weise könige_,[ ] on plate , is a representation of a camp surrounded by the baggage waggons; on plates and a square fort of timber in the field of battle; on plates , , &c., are cannons surrounded by mantelets, some of wicker probably filled with earth; on plate is a good representation of a column of troops defiling out of the gate of a city. the following account, from grafton's chronicle, of the array in which henry viii. took the field when he marched to the siege of boulogne, will illustrate the picture:-- "the xxj. day of july ( ), when all thinges by counsayle had bene ordered concernyng the order of battaile, the king passed out of the town of calice in goodly array of battaile, and toke the field. and notwithstandyng that the forewarde and the rerewarde of the kinges great armye were before tyrwin, as you have heard, yet the king of his own battaile made three battailes after the fassion of the warre. the lord lisle, marshall of the hoste, was captain of the foreward, and under him three thousand men; sir rychard carew, with three hundred men, was the right-hand wing to the foreward; and the lord darcy, with three hundred men, was wing on the left hande; the scowrers and fore-ryders of this battaile were the northumberland men on light geldings. the erle of essex was lieutenaunt-generall of the speres, and sir john pechy was vice-governour of the horsemen. before the king went viij. hundred almaynes, all in a plump by themselves. after them came the standard with the red dragon, next the banner of our ladie, and next after the banner of the trinitie: under the same were all the kinges housholde servauntes. then went the banner of the armes of englande, borne by sir henry guilforde, under which banner was the king himselfe, with divers noblemen and others, to the number of three thousand men. the duke of buckyngham, with sixe hundred men, was on the kinges left hande, egall with the almaynes; in like wise on the right hande was sir edward pournynges, with other sixe hundred men egall with the almaynes. the lord of burgoynie, with viij. hundred men, was wing on the right hande; sir william compton, with the retinue of the bishop of winchester, and master wolsey, the king's almoner,[ ] to the number of viij. hundred, was in manner of a rereward. sir anthony oughtred and sir john nevell, with the kinges speres that followed, were foure hundred; and so the whole armie were xj. thousand and iij. hundred men. the mayster of the ordinaunce set forth the kinges artillerie, as fawcons, slinges, bombardes, cartes with powder, stones, bowes, arrowes, and suche other thinges necessary for the fielde; the whole number of the carriages were xiij. hundreth; the leaders and dryvers of the same were xix hundreth men; and all these were rekened in the battaile, but of good fightyng men there were not full ix. thousande. thus in order of battayle the king rode to sentreyla." [illustration: _pikeman._] a little after we have a description of the king's camp, which will illustrate the other pictures above noted. "thursedaie, the fourth daye of auguste, the king, in good order of battaile, came before the city of tyrwyn, and planted his siege in most warlike wise; his camp was environed with artillerie, as fawcons, serpentines, crakys, hagbushes, and tryed harowes, spien trestyles, and other warlike defence for the savegard of the campe. the king for himselfe had a house of timber, with a chimney of iron; and for his other lodgings he had great and goodlye tents of blewe waterworke, garnished with yellow and white, and divers romes within the same for all officers necessarie. on the top of the pavalions stoode the kinges bestes, holding fanes, as the lion, the dragon, the greyhound, the antelope, the done kowe.[ ] within, all the lodginge was paynted full of the sunnes rising: the lodginge was a hundred xxv. foote in length." at folio of the ms. already referred to (aug. iii.) is a connected arrangement of numerous tents, as if to form some such royal quarters. but at folio are two gorgeous _suites_ of tents, which can hardly have been constructed for any other than a very great personage. one _suite_ is of red, watered, with gold ornamentation; the other is of green and white stripes (or rather gores), with a gilded cresting along the ridge, and red and blue fringe at the eaves. our next engravings are from coloured drawings at f. , in the same ms., and respectively represent very clearly the half-armour worn by the pikeman and the arquebusier, and the weapons from which they took their name. in the reign of elizabeth and james i. armour was probably very little worn; but every country knight and esquire possessed a suit of armour, which usually hung in his hall over his chair of state, surrounded by corslets and iron hats, pikes and halberts, cross-bows and long-bows, wherewith to arm his serving-men and tenants, if civil troubles or foreign invasion should call the fighting-men of the country into the field.[ ] the knights and esquires of these times are also commonly represented in armour, kneeling at the prayer-desk, in their monumental effigies. the fashion of the armour differs from that of preceding reigns. the elaborate ingenuities of the latter part of the fifteenth century have been dispensed with, and the extravagant caprices also by which the armour of henry viii.'s time imitated in steel the fashion of the ordinary costume of the day are equally abandoned. the armour is simply made to fit the breast, body, arms, and legs; the thighs being protected by a modification of the _tuilles_ in the form of a succession of overlapping plates (_tassets_ or _cuisses_) which reach from the corslet to the knee. [illustration: _arquebusier._] the civil war of the great rebellion offers a tempting theme, but we must limit ourselves to the notice that few, except great noblemen when acting as military leaders, ever wore anything like a complete suit of armour. a beautiful suit, inlaid with gold, which belonged to charles i., is in the tower armoury. but knights are still sometimes represented in armour in their monumental effigies. a breast and back-plate over a leather coat, and a round iron cap, were commonly worn both by cavalry and infantry. in the time of charles ii. and james ii., and william and mary, officers still wore breastplates, and military leaders were sometimes painted in full armour, though it may be doubted whether they ever actually wore it. as late as the present century, officers, in some regiments at least, wore a little steel gorget, rather as a distinction than a defence. but even yet our horse-guards remain with their breast and back-plates and helmets, and their thick leather boots, to show us how bright steel and scarlet, waving plumes and embroidered banners, trained chargers and gay trappings, give outward bravery and chivalric grace to the holiday aspect of the sanguinary trade of war. the merchants of the middle ages. chapter i. the beginnings of british commerce. in the remotest antiquity, before european civilisation dawned in greece, britain was already of some commercial importance. in those days, before the art of tempering iron was discovered, copper occupied the place which iron now fills. but an alloy of tin was requisite to give to copper the hardness and edge needed to fit it for useful tools for the artisan, for arrow and spear heads for the hunter, and for the warrior's sword and shield; and there were only two places known in the world where this valuable metal could be obtained--spain and britain. for ages the phoenician merchants and their carthaginian colonists had a monopoly of this commerce, as they only had the secret of the whereabouts of the "isles of tin." it is very difficult for us to realise to ourselves how heroic was the daring of those early adventurers. we, who have explored the whole earth, and by steam and telegraph brought every corner of it within such easy reach; we, to whom it is a very small matter to make a voyage with women and children to the other side of the world; we, who walk down to the pier to see the ships return from the under world, keeping their time as regularly as the minster clock--we cannot comprehend what it was to them, to whom the tideless sunny mediterranean was "the great sea," about which they groped cautiously from one rocky headland to another in fine weather, and laid up in harbour for the winter; to whom the pillars of hercules were the western boundary of the world, beyond which the weird ocean with its great tides and mountain-waves stretched without limit towards the sunset; we cannot comprehend the heroic daring of the men who, in those little ships, without compass, came from the easternmost shores of the great sea, ventured through its western portal into this outer waste, and steered boldly northwards towards the unknown regions of ice and darkness. our readers will remember that strabo tells us how, when rome became the rival of carthage, the romans tried to discover the route to these mysterious islands. he relates how the master of a carthaginian vessel, finding himself pursued by one whom the romans had appointed to watch him, purposely ran his vessel aground, and thus sacrificing ship and cargo to the preservation of the national secret, was repaid on his return out of the public treasury. the trade, which included lead and hides as well as tin, when it left the hands of the phoenicians, did not, however, fall into those of the romans, but took quite a different channel. the greek colony of marseilles became then the emporium from which the world was supplied; but the scanty accounts we have received imply that it was not conveyed there direct on ship-board, but that the native ships and traders of the gallic towns on the coasts of the continent conveyed the british commerce across the channel, and thence transported it overland to marseilles. the britons, however, had ships, and it is interesting to know of what kind were the prototypes of the vast and magnificent vessels which in later days have composed the mercantile navy of great britain. they were a kind of large basket of wickerwork, in shape like a walnut shell, strengthened by ribs of wood, covered on the outside with hides.[ ] such constructions seem very frail, but they were capable of undertaking considerable voyages. pliny quotes the old greek historian timæus as affirming that the britons used to make their way to an island at the distance of six days' sail in boats made of osiers and covered with skins. solinus states that in his time the communication between britain and ireland was kept up on both sides by means of these vessels. two passages in adamson, quoted by macpherson,[ ] tell us that the people sailed in them from ireland as far as orkney, and on one occasion we hear of one of these frail vessels advancing as far into the northern ocean as fourteen days with full sail before a south wind. the common use of such vessels, and the fact of this intercommunication between england and ireland and the islands farther north, seem to imply, at least, some coasting and inter-insular traffic: ships are the instruments either of war or commerce. the invasion of julius cæsar opened up the island to the knowledge of the civilised world, and there are indications that in the interval of a hundred years between his brief campaign and the actual conquest under claudius, a commerce sprang up between the south and south-east of britain and the opposite coasts of the continent. in this interval the first british coinage was struck, and london became the chief emporium of britain. when the island became a province of the roman empire, active commercial intercourse was carried on between it and the rest of the empire. its chief production was corn, of which large quantities were exported, so that britain was to the northern part of the empire what sicily was to the southern. besides, the island exported cattle, hides, and slaves; british hunting dogs were famous, and british oysters and pearls. the imports would include all the articles of convenience and luxury used by the civilised inhabitants. we do not know with certainty whether this foreign commerce was carried on by british vessels or not. history has only preserved the record of the military navy. but when we know that the british fleet, which had been raised to control the piratical enterprises of the saxons and northmen, was so powerful that its admiral, carausius, was able to seize upon a share of the empire, and that his successor in command, allectus, was able, though for a shorter period, to repeat the exploit, we may conclude that the natives of the island must have acquired considerable knowledge and experience of maritime affairs, and were very likely to turn their acquirements in the direction of commerce. many of the representations of roman ships, to be found in works on roman antiquities, would illustrate this part of the subject; we may content ourselves with referring the reader to a representation, in witsen's "sheeps bouw," of a roman ship being laden with merchandise: a half-naked porter is just putting on board a sack, probably of corn, which is being received by a man in roman armour; it brings the salient features of the trade at once before our eyes. the saxon invasion overwhelmed the civilisation which was then widely spread over britain; and of the history of the country for a long time after that great event we are profoundly ignorant. it appears that the saxons after their settlement in england completely neglected the sea, and it was not until the reign of alfred, towards the end of the ninth century, that they again began to build ships, and not until some years later that foreign commerce was carried on in english vessels. in these later saxon times, however, considerable intercourse took place with the continent. there was a rage among saxon men, and women too, for foreign pilgrimages; and thousands of persons were continually going and coming between england and the most famous shrines of europe, especially those of rome, the capital city of western christendom. among these travellers were some whose object was traffic, probably in the portable articles of jewellery for which the saxon goldsmiths were famous throughout europe. it seems probable that some of these merchants were accustomed to adopt the pilgrims' character and habit in order to avail themselves of the immunities and hospitalities accorded to them; and, perhaps, on the other hand, some of those whose first object was religion, carried a few articles for sale to eke out their expenses. this, probably, is the explanation of the earliest extant document bearing on saxon commerce, which is a letter from the emperor charlemagne to offa, king of the mercians, in which he says: "concerning the strangers, who, for the love of god and the salvation of their souls, wish to repair to the thresholds of the blessed apostles, let them travel in peace without any trouble; nevertheless, if any are found among them not in the service of religion, but in the pursuit of gain, let them pay the established duties at the proper places. we also will that merchants shall have lawful protection in our kingdom; and if they are in any place unjustly aggrieved, let them apply to us or our judges, and we shall take care that ample justice be done them." the latter clause seems clearly to imply that english merchants in their acknowledged character were also to be found in the dominions of the great emperor. the next notice we find of saxon foreign commerce is equally picturesque, and far more important. it is a law passed in the reign of king athelstan, between and , which enacts that every merchant who shall have made three voyages over the sea in a ship and cargo of his own should have the rank of a thane, or nobleman. it will throw light upon this law, if we mention that it stands side by side with another which gives equally generous recognition to success in agricultural pursuits: every one who had so prospered that he possessed five hides of land, a hall, and a church, was also to rank as a thane. the law indicates the usual way in which foreign commerce was carried on by native merchants. the merchant owned his own ship, and laded it with his own cargo, and was his own captain, though he might, perhaps, employ some skilful mariner as his ship-master; and, no doubt, his crew was well armed for protection from pirates. in these days a ship is often chartered to carry a cargo to a particular port, and there the captain obtains another cargo, such as the market affords him, to some other port, and so he may wander over the world in the most unforeseen manner before he finds a profitable opportunity of returning to his starting-place. so, probably, in those times the spirited merchant would not merely oscillate between home and a given foreign point, but would carry on a traffic of an adventurous and hazardous but exciting kind, from one of the great european ports to another. from a volume of saxon dialogues in the british museum (tiberius, a. iii.), apparently intended for a school-book, which gives information of various kinds in the form of question and answer, mr. s. turner quotes a passage that illustrates our subject in a very interesting way. the merchant is introduced as one of the characters, to give an account of his occupation and way of life. "i am useful," he says, "to the king and to ealdormen, and to the rich, and to all people. i ascend my ship with my merchandise, and sail over the sea-like places, and sell my things, and buy dear things which are not produced in this land, and i bring them to you here with great danger over the sea; and sometimes i suffer shipwreck with the loss of all my things, scarcely escaping myself." the question, "what do you bring us?" demands an account of the imports, to which he answers, "skins, silks, costly gems, and gold; various garments, pigment, wine, oil, ivory, and onchalcus (perhaps brass); copper, tin, silver, glass, and such like." the author has omitted to make his merchant tell us what things he exported, but from other sources we gather that they were chiefly wool, slaves, probably some of the metals, viz., tin and lead, and the goldsmith's work and embroidery for which the saxons were then famous throughout europe. the dialogue brings out the principle which lies at the bottom of commerce by the next question, "will you sell your things here as you bought them there?" "i will not, because what would my labour profit me? i will sell them here, dearer than i bought them there, that i may get some profit to feed me, my wife, and children." for the silks and ivory, our merchant would perhaps have to push his adventurous voyage as far as marseilles or italy. corn, which used to be the chief export in british and roman times, appears never to have been exported by the saxons; they were a pastoral, rather than an agricultural, people. the traffic in slaves seems to have been regular and considerable. the reader will remember how the sight of a number of fair english children exposed for sale in the roman market-place excited gregory's interest, and led ultimately to augustine's mission. the contemporary account of wolfstan, bishop of worcester, at the time of the conquest, speaks of similar scenes to be witnessed in bristol, from which port slaves were exported to ireland--probably to the danes, who were then masters of the east coast. "you might have seen with sorrow long ranks of young people of both sexes, and of the greatest beauty, tied together with ropes, and daily exposed to sale: nor were these men ashamed--o horrid wickedness--to give up their nearest relations, nay their own children, to slavery." the good bishop induced them to abandon the trade, "and set an example to all the rest of england to do the same." nevertheless, william of malmesbury, who wrote nearly a century later, says that the practice of selling even their nearest relations into slavery had not been altogether abandoned by the people of northumberland in his own memory. already, on the death of ethelbert, in , the citizens of london had arrived at such importance, that, in conjunction with the nobles who were in the city, they chose a king for the whole english nation, viz., edmund ironside; and again on the death of canute, in , they took a considerable part in the election of harold. at the battle of hastings the burgesses of london formed harold's body-guard. a few years previously, canute, on his pilgrimage to rome, met the emperor conrade and other princes, from whom he obtained for all his subjects, whether merchants or pilgrims, exemption from the heavy tolls usually exacted on the journey to rome. during the peaceful reign of edward the confessor a much larger general intercourse seems to have sprung up with the continent, and the commerce of england to have greatly increased. for this we have the testimony of william of poictiers, william the conqueror's chaplain, who says, speaking of the time immediately preceding the conquest, "the english merchants to the opulence of their country, rich in its own fertility, added still greater riches and more valuable treasures. the articles imported by them, notable both for their quantity and their quality, were to have been hoarded up for the gratification of their avarice, or to have been dissipated in the indulgence of their luxurious inclinations. but william seized them, and bestowed part on his victorious army, and part on the churches and monasteries, while to the pope and the church of rome he sent an incredible mass of money in gold and silver, and many ornaments that would have been admired even in constantinople." we are not able to give any authentic contemporary illustration of the shipping of this period. those which are given by strutt are not really representations of the ships of the period: byzantine art still exercised a powerful influence over saxon art, and the illuminators frequently gave traditional forms; and the ships introduced by strutt, though executed by a saxon artist, are probably copied from byzantine authorities. the bayeux tapestry is probably our earliest trustworthy authority for a british ship, and it gives a considerable number of illustrations of them, intended to represent in one place the numerous fleet which william the conqueror gathered for the transport of his army across the channel; in another place the considerable fleet with which harold hoped to bar the way. the one we have chosen is the duke's own ship; it displays at its mast-head the banner which the pope had blessed, and the trumpeter on the high poop is also an evidence that it is the commander's ship. in the present case the trumpeter is known, from contemporary authority, to have been only wood gilded; but in many of the subsequent illustrations we shall also find a trumpeter, or usually two, who were part of the staff of the commander, and perhaps were employed in signalling to other ships of the fleet. [illustration: _william the conqueror's ship._] the conquest checked this thriving commerce. william's plunder of the saxon merchants, which was probably not confined to london, must have gone far to ruin those who were then engaged in it; the general depression of saxon men for a long time after would prevent them or others from reviving it; and the normans themselves were averse from mercantile pursuits. in the half-century after the conquest we really know little or nothing of the history of commerce. the charters of the first norman kings make no mention of it. stephen's troubled reign must have been very unfavourable to it. still foreign merchants would seek a market where they could dispose of their goods, and the long and wise reign of henry ii. enabled english commerce, not only to recover, but to surpass its ancient prosperity. an interesting account of london, given by william fitzstephen, about , in the introduction to a life of à becket, gives much information on our subject: he says that "no city in the world sent out its wealth and merchandise to so great a distance," but he does not enumerate the exports. among the articles brought to london by foreign merchants he mentions gold, spices, and frankincense from arabia; precious stones from egypt; purple cloths from bagdad; furs and ermines from norway and russia; arms from scythia; and wines from france. the citizens he describes as distinguished above all others in england for the elegance of their manners and dress, and the magnificence of their tables. there were in the city and suburbs thirteen large conventual establishments and parish churches. he adds that the dealers in the various sorts of commodities, and the labourers and artizans of every kind, were to be found every day stationed in their several distinct places throughout the city, and that a market was held every friday in smithfield for the sale of horses, cows, hogs, &c.; the citizens were distinguished from those of other towns by the appellation of barons; and malmesbury, an author of the same age, also tells us that from their superior opulence, and the greatness of the city, they were considered as ranking with the chief people or nobility of the kingdom. the great charter of king john provided that all merchants should have protection in going out of england and in coming back to it, as well as while residing in the kingdom or travelling about in it, without any impositions or payments such as to cause the destruction of their trade. during the thirteenth century, it seems probable that much of the foreign commerce of the country was carried on by foreign merchants, who imported chiefly articles of luxury, and carried back chiefly wool, hides, and leather, and the metals found in england. but there were various enactments to prevent foreign merchants from engaging in the domestic trade of the country. in the fourteenth century commerce received much attention from government, and many regulations were made in the endeavour to encourage it, or rather to secure as much of its profits as possible to english, and leave as little as possible to foreign, merchants. our limits do not allow us to enter into details on the subject, and our plan aims only at giving broad outside views of the life of the merchants of the middle ages. let us introduce here an illustration of the ships in which the commerce was conducted. perhaps the only illustration to be derived from the ms. illuminations of the thirteenth century is one in the roll of st. guthlac, which is early in the century, and gives a large and clear picture of st. guthlac in a ship with a single mast and sail, steered by a paddle consisting of a pole with a short cross handle at the top, like the poles with which barges are still punted along, and expanding at bottom into a short spade-like blade. some of the seals of this century also give rude representations of ships: one of h. de neville gives a perfectly crescent-shaped hull with a single mast supported by two stays; that of hugo de burgh has a very high prow and stern, which reminds us of the build of modern _prahus_. another, of the town of monmouth, has a more artistic representation of a ship of similar shape, but the high prow and stern are both ornamented with animals' heads, like the prow of william the conqueror's ship. the psalter of queen mary, which is of early fourteenth-century date, gives an illustration of the building of noah's ark, which is a ship of the shape found in the bayeux tapestry, with a sort of house within it. the illustration we give opposite from the add. ms. , , f. , was also executed early in the fourteenth century, and though rude it is valuable as one of the earliest examples of a ship with a rudder of the modern construction; it also clearly indicates the fact that these early vessels used oars as well as sails. the usual mode of steering previous to, and for some time subsequent to, this time was with a large broad oar at the ship's counter, worked in a noose of rope (a _gummet_) or through a hole in a piece of wood attached to the vessel's side. the first mode will be found illustrated in the add. ms. , , at f. , and the second at f. in the same ms. the men of this period were not insensible to the value of a means of propelling a vessel independently of the wind; and employed human muscle as their motive power. some of the great trading cities of the mediterranean used galleys worked by oars, not only for warfare, but for commercial purposes: _e.g._ in a.d., king henry granted to the merchants of venice permission to bring their carracks, galleys, and other vessels, laden with merchandise, to pass over to flanders, return and sell their cargoes without impediment, and sail again with english merchandise and go back to their own country. [illustration: _a ship, early fourteenth century._] a very curious and interesting ms. (add. , ) recently acquired by the british museum, which appears to be of genoese art, and of date about a.d. , enables us to give a valuable illustration of our subject. it occupies the whole page of the ms.; we have only given the lower half, of the size of the original. it appears to represent the siege of tripoli. the city is in the upper part of the page; our cut represents the harbour and a suburb of the town. it is clearly indicated that it is low water, and the high-water mark is shown in the drawing by a different colour. moreover, a timber pier will be noticed, stretching out between high and low-water mark, and a boat left high and dry by the receding tide. in the harbour are ships of various kinds, and especially several of the galleys of which we have spoken. the war-galley may be found fully illustrated in witsen's "sheep's bouw," p. . [illustration: _a harbour in the fourteenth century._] [illustration: _an early representation of the whale fishery._] the same ms., in the lower margin of folio v., has an exceedingly interesting picture of a whaling scene, which we are very glad to introduce as a further illustration of the commerce and shipping of this early period. it will be seen that the whale has been killed, and the successful adventurers are "cutting out" the blubber very much after the modern fashion. chapter ii. the merchant navy. the history of the merchant navy in the middle ages is very much mixed up with that of the military navy. in the time of the earlier norman kings we seem not to have had any war-ships. the king had one or two ships for his own uses, and hired or impressed others when he needed them; but they were only ships of burden, transports by which soldiers and munitions of war were conveyed to the continent and back, as occasion required. if hostile vessels encountered one another at sea, and a fight ensued, it seems to have been a very simple business: the sailors had nothing to do with the fighting, they only navigated the ships; the soldiers on board discharged their missiles at one another as the ships approached, and when the vessels were laid alongside, they fought hand to hand. the first ships of war were a revival of the classical war-galleys. we get the first clear description of them in the time of richard i., from vinesauf, the historian of the second crusade. he compares them with the ancient galleys, and says the modern ones were long, low in the water, and slightly built, rarely had more than two banks of oars, and were armed with a "spear" at the prow for "ramming." gallernes were a smaller kind of galleys with only one bank of oars. from this reign the sovereign seems to have always maintained something approaching to a regular naval establishment, and to have aimed at keeping the command of the narrow seas. in the reign of john we find the king had galleys and galliases, and another kind of vessels which were probably also a sort of galley, called "long ships," used to guard the coasts, protect the ports, and maintain the police of the seas. the accompanying drawing, from one of the illuminations in the famous ms. of froissart's chronicle, in the british museum (harl. , ), is perhaps one of the clearest and best contemporary illustrations we have of these mediæval galleys. it will be seen that it consists of a long low open boat, with outrigger galleries for the rowers, while the hold is left free for merchandise, or, as in the present instance, for men-at-arms. it has a forecastle like an ordinary ship; the shields of the men-at-arms who occupy it are hung over the bulwarks; the commander stands at the stern under a pent-house covered with tapestry, bearing his shield, and holding his leader's truncheon. a close examination of the drawing seems to show that there are two men to each oar; we know from other sources that several men were sometimes put to each oar. the difference in costume between the soldiers and the sailors is conspicuous. the former are men-at-arms in full armour--one on the forecastle is very distinctly shown; the sailors are entirely unarmed, except the man at the stroke-oar, probably an officer, who wears an ordinary hat of the period, the rest wear the hood drawn over the head. the ship in the same illustration is an ordinary ship of burden, filled with knights and men-at-arms; the trumpeters at the stern indicate that the commander of the fleet is on board this ship; he will be seen amidships, with his visor raised and his face towards the spectator, with shield on arm and truncheon in hand. [illustration: _ship and galley._] if the reader is curious to see illustrations of the details of a naval combat, there are a considerable number to be found in the illuminated mss.; as in ms. nero, d. iv., at folio , of the latter part of the thirteenth century; in some tolerably clearly drawn in the "chronique de s. denis" (royal, , cvii.), of the time of our richard ii., at folio , and again at folio v. other representations of ships occur at folios , v., , v. (a bridge of boats), v., and of the same ms. these ships continued to a late period to be small compared with our notion of a ship, and most rude in their arrangements. they were great undecked boats, with a cabin only in the bows, beneath the raised platform which formed the forecastle; and the crew of the largest ships was usually from twenty-five to thirty men. an illumination in the ms. of froissart's chronicle (harl. , ), folio v., shows a ship, in which a king and his suite are about to embark, from such a point of view that we see the interior of the ship in the perspective, and find that there is a cabin only in the prow. the earliest notice of cabins occurs in the year a.d. , when a ship was sent to gascony with some effects of the king's, and _s._ _d._ was paid for making a chamber in the same ship for the king's wardrobe, &c. in a.d. the king and queen went to gascony; and convenient chambers were ordered to be built in the ship for their majesties' use, which were to be wainscoted--like that probably in earl richard of warwick's ship in the present woodcut. this engraving, taken from rouse's ms. life of richard beauchamp, earl of warwick (british museum, julius, e. iv.), of the latter part of the fourteenth century, gives a very clear representation of a ship and its boat. the earl is setting out on his pilgrimage to the holy land. in the foreground we see him with his pilgrim's staff in hand, stepping into the boat which is to carry him to his ship lying at anchor in the harbour. the costume of the sailors is illustrated by the men in the boat. the vessel is a ship of burden, but such a one as kings and great personages had equipped for their own uses; resembling an ordinary merchant-ship in all essentials, but fitted and furnished with more than usual convenience and sumptuousness. in earl richard's ship the sail is emblazoned with his arms, and the pennon, besides the red cross of england, has his badges of the bear and ragged staff; the ragged staff also appears on the castle at the mast-head. the castle, which all ships of this age have at the stern, is in this case roofed in and handsomely ornamented, and no doubt formed the state apartment of the earl. there is also a castle at the head of the ship, though it is not very plainly shown in the drawing. it consists of a raised platform, the round-headed entrance to the cabin beneath it is seen in the picture; the two bulwarks also which protect it at the sides are visible, though their meaning is not at first sight obvious. a glance at the forecastle of the other ships in our illustrations will enable the reader to understand its construction and use. besides the boat which is to convey the earl on board, another boat will be seen hanging at the ship's quarter. [illustration: _ship of richard earl of warwick._] the next woodcut is taken from the interesting ms. in the british museum (add. , , f. v.), from which we have borrowed other illustrations, containing pictures of subjects from the travels of sir john mandeville. we have introduced it to illustrate two peculiarities: the first is the way of steering by a paddle passed through a gummet of rope, still, we see, in use in the latter part of the fourteenth century, long after the rudder had been introduced; and the use of lee-boards to obviate the lee-way of the ship, and make it hold its course nearer to the wind. the high, small, raised castle in the stern is here empty, and the forecastle is curiously defended by a palisade, instead of the ordinary bulwarks. another representation of the use of lee-boards occurs at folio of the same ms. [illustration: _sir j. mandeville on his voyage to palestine._] but though the royal navy was small, as we have said, in case of need there was a further naval force available. the ancient ports of kent and sussex, called the cinque ports, with their members (twelve neighbouring ports incorporated with them), were bound by their tenure, upon forty days' notice, to supply the king with fifty-seven ships, containing twenty-one men and a boy in each ship, for fifteen days, once in the year, at their own expense, if their service was required. thus _e.g._ a mandate of the th rich. ii., addressed to john de beauchamp, constable of dover castle, and warden of the cinque ports, after reciting this obligation, requires fifty-seven ships, each having a master and twenty men well armed and arrayed to meet him at bristol; stating further, that at the expiration of the fifteen days the ships and men should be at the king's own charges and pay, so long as he should have the use of them, viz., the master of each ship to have _d._, the constable _d._, and each of the other men _d._, per day. in the year a.d. we have a list of royal galleys and vessels of war ready for service; and it is instructive to see where they were stationed: there were at london , newhaven , sandwich , romney , rye , winchelsea , shoreham , southampton , exeter , bristol , ipswich , dunwich , lyme , yarmouth , in ireland , at gloucester --total ; and the cinque ports furnished ; so that there were ready for sea more than galleys or "men-of-war." if the occasion required a greater force than that which the cinque ports were required to furnish, the king was at liberty to issue his royal mandate, and impress merchant ships. thus, in may, a.d., the barons of the cinque ports were commanded to be at portsmouth by a certain date with all the service they owed; and writs were also issued to all such merchants, masters, and seamen, as might meet the king's messengers on the sea, to repair to portsmouth, and enter the king's service; and the royal galleys were sent to cruise at sea to arrest ships and send them in. again, in a.d. , the commons in parliament stated the necessity of having an armed force upon the sea, and pointed out the number of ships and men that it would be proper to employ: viz., eight ships with fore-stages carrying men each, and that there should be attendant upon each ship a barge carrying eighty men, and a balynfer carrying forty men; and that four spynes, or pinnaces, carrying twenty-five men each, would be necessary. the commons also pointed out the individual ships which it recommended to be obtained to compose this force: viz., at bristol the _nicholas of the tower_, and _katherine of burtons_; at dartmouth the spanish ship that was the lord poyntz's, and sir philip courtenay's great ship. in the port of london two great ships, one called _trinity_, and the other _thomas_. at hull a great ship called taverner's, the name _grace-dieu_. at newcastle a great ship called _the george_. they also state where the barges, balynfers, and pinnaces may be obtained. some of these may have been royal ships, but not all of them. of the _grace-dieu_ of hull, we know from rymer (xi., ) that john taverner of hull, mariner, having made a ship as large as a great carrack, or larger, had granted to him that the said ship, by reason of her unusual magnitude, should be named the _grace-dieu_ carrack, and enjoy certain privileges in trade. on a great emergency, a still more sweeping impressment of the mercantile fleet was made: _e.g._, henry v., in his third year, directed nicholas manslyt, his sergeant-at-arms, to arrest all ships and vessels in every port in the kingdom, of the burden of twenty tons and upwards, for the king's service; and edward iv., in his fourteenth year, made a similar seizure of all ships of over sixteen tons burden. on the other hand, the king hired out his ships to merchants when they were not in use. thus, in a.d., john blancboilly had the custody of king henry iii.'s great ship called the _queen_, for his life, to trade wherever he pleased, paying an annual rent of eighty marks; and all his lands in england were charged with the fulfilment of the contract. in directions were given to surrender the custody of the king's galleys in ireland to the sailors of waterford, drogheda, and dungaroon, to trade with in what way they could, taking security for their rent and restoration. the royal ships, however, maintained the police of the seas very inefficiently, and a _petite guerre_ seems to have been carried on continually between the ships of different countries, and even between the ships of different seaports; while downright piracy was not at all uncommon. when these injuries were inflicted by the ships of another nation, the injured men often sought redress through their own government from the government of the people who had injured them, and the mediæval governments generally took up warmly any such complaints. but the merchants not unfrequently took the law into their own hands. in the twelfth century, _e.g._, it happened to a merchant of berwick, cnut by name, that one of his ships, having his wife on board, was seized by a piratical earl of orkney, and burnt. cnut spent marks in having fourteen stout vessels suitably equipped to go out and punish the offender. and so late as a sort of private naval war was carried on between john mercer, a merchant of perth, and john philpott of london. mercer's father had for some time given assistance to the french by harassing the merchant ships of england; and in , being driven by foul weather on the yorkshire coast, he was caught, and imprisoned in scarborough castle. thereupon the son carried on the strife. collecting a little fleet of scottish, french, and spanish ships, he captured several english merchantmen off scarborough, slaying their commanders, putting their crews in chains, and appropriating their cargoes. philpott, the mayor of london, at his own cost, collected a number of vessels, put in them , armed men, and sailed for the north. within a few weeks he had retaken the captured vessels, had effectually beaten their captors, and, in his turn, had seized fifteen spanish ships laden with wine, which came in his way. on his return to london he was summoned before the council to answer for his conduct in taking an armed force to sea without the king's leave. but he boldly told the council: "i did not expose myself, my money, and my men to the dangers of the sea that i might deprive you and your colleagues of your knightly fame, nor that i might win any for myself, but in pity for the misery of the people and the country, which from being a noble realm with dominion over other nations, has through your supineness become exposed to the ravages of the vilest race, and since you would not lift a hand in its defence, i exposed myself and my property for the safety and deliverance of our country." the ships of the cinque ports seem to have been at frequent feud with those of the other ports of the kingdom (see matthew paris under a.d. ). for example, in edward ii. complained of the great dissension and discord which existed between the people of the privileged cinque ports and the men and mariners of the western towns of poole, weymouth, melcombe, lyme, southampton, &c.; and of the homicide, depredation, ship-burning, and other evil acts resulting therefrom. but in place of taking vigorous measures to repress these disorders, the king did not apparently find himself able to do more than issue a proclamation against them. when so loose a morality prevailed among seafaring men, and the police of the seas was so badly maintained, it follows almost as a matter of course that piracy should flourish. the people of brittany, and especially the men of st. malo, at one time were accustomed to roam the sea as the old sea-kings did, plundering merchant-ships, making descents on the coasts of england, exacting contributions and ransoms from the towns. in the time of alfred it would seem by one of his laws as if english vessels sometimes pillaged their own coasts.[ ] about the year a sir william de marish, who was accused of murder and treason, took refuge in the isle of lundy, whence he robbed the merchantmen passing to and fro, and made descents on the coast. he was building a galley in which to carry on his piracies when he was taken and hanged. the spirit that lingered to very recent times among the "wreckers" of remote spots on our coast seems to have prevailed largely in the days of which we are writing. a foreigner was regarded as a "natural enemy," and his ships and goods as a legitimate prize, when they could be seized with impunity. so in a.d. we find a mariner named dennis committed to newgate for being present when a spanish ship was plundered and her crew slain at sandwich. in the same year the inhabitants of some towns in norfolk were accused of robbing a norwegian ship. and, to give a later example, in some spanish merchants applied to king edward iv. for compensation for the loss of seven vessels, alleged to have been piratically taken from them by the people of sandwich, dartmouth, plymouth, and jersey. yet there is a saxon law as early as king ethelred, which gives immunities to merchant ships, even in time of war, which the council of paris a few years ago hardly equalled:--"if a merchant ship, even if it belonged to an enemy, entered any port in england, she was to have 'frith,' that is peace, and freedom from molestation, provided it was not driven or chased into port; but even if it were chased, and it reached any frith burgh, and the crew escaped into the burgh, then the crew and whatever they brought with them were to have 'frith.'" the shipping of the time of henry viii. is admirably illustrated in holbein's famous painting at hampton court. the great vessel of his reign, the _henri grace à dieu_, is also illustrated in the _archæologia_. both these subjects are so well-known, or so easily accessible, that we do not think it necessary to reproduce them here. in the ms. aug. , will be found a large size drawing of a galley intended to be built for king henry viii. the discovery of the sea-passage to india, and of the new world, opened up to commerce a new career of heroic adventure and the prospect of fabulous wealth. england was not backward in entering upon this course. in truth, although sebastian cabot was not an englishman by birth, we claim the honour of his discoveries for england, inasmuch as he was resident among us, and was fitted out from bristol, at the cost of english merchants, on his voyages of discovery. it was in this career--which was part discover, part conquest, part commerce--that our hawkinses, and drakes, and frobishers, and raleighs were trained. and besides those historic names, there were scores of men who fitted out ships and entered upon the roads these pioneers had opened up, and completed their discoveries, and created the commerce whose possibility they had indicated. the limitation of our subject to the mediæval period forbids us to enter further upon this tempting theme. but we may complete our brief series of illustrations of merchant shipping by giving a picture of one of the gallant little ships--little, indeed, compared with the ships which are now employed in our great lines of sea-traffic--in which those heroes accomplished their daring voyages. the woodcut is a reproduction from the frontispiece of one of hulsius' curious tracts on naval affairs, and represents the ship _victoria_, in which magellan sailed round the world, passing through the straits to which he gave his name. the epitaph that the author has subjoined to the engraving tells briefly the story of the famous ship:-- "prima ego velivolvis ambivi cursibus orbem magellane novo te duce ducta freto. ambivi meritoque dicor _victoria_: sunt mihi vela, alæ, precium, gloria, pugna, mare." the ship, it will be seen, is not very different in general features from those of the middle ages which we have been considering. it has the high prow and stern with their castles, it has shields outside the bulwarks, in imitation of the way in which, as we have seen in former illustrations, the mediæval men-at-arms hung their shields over the bulwark of the ship in which they sailed. but it has decks (apparently two), and is armed with cannon at the bows and stern. [illustration: _the ship victoria._] chapter iii. the social position of the mediÆval merchants. though the commerce of england has now attained to such vast dimensions, and forms so much larger a proportion of the national wealth and greatness than at any former period, yet we are inclined to think that, in the times of which we write, the pursuit of commerce held a higher and more honourable place in the esteem of all classes than it does with us. it is true that one class was then more distinctly separated from another, by costume and some external habits of life; the knight and the franklin, the monk and the priest, the trader and the peasant, always carried the badges of their position upon them; and we, with our modern notions, are apt to think that the man who was marked out by his very costume as a trader must have been "looked down upon" by what we call the higher classes of society. no doubt something of this feeling existed; but not, we think, to the same extent as now. trade itself was not then so meanly considered. throughout the middle ages the upper classes were themselves engaged in trade in various ways. in the disposal of the produce of his estates the manorial lord engaged in trade, and purchased at fairs and markets the stores he needed for himself and his numerous dependants. noblemen and bishops, abbots and convents, nay kings themselves, in the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries, had ships which, commanded and manned by their servants, traded for their profit with foreign countries. in the thirteenth century the cistercian monks had become the greatest wool-merchants in the kingdom. in the fifteenth century edward iv. carried on a considerable commerce for his own profit. just as now, when noblemen and gentlemen commonly engage in agriculture, and thus farming comes to be considered less vulgar than trade, so, then, when dignified ecclesiastics, noblemen, and kings engaged in trade, it must have helped to soften caste prejudices against the professional pursuit of commerce.[ ] a considerable number of the traders of the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries were cadets of good families. where there were half a dozen sons in a knightly family, the eldest succeeded to the family estate and honours: of the rest, one might become a lawyer; another might have a religious vocation, and, as a secular priest, take the family living, or obtain a stall in the choir of the neighbouring monastery; a third might prefer the profession of arms, and enter into the service of some great lord or of the king, or find employment for his sword and lance, and pay for himself and the dozen men who formed the "following of his lance," in the wars which seldom ceased in one part of europe or another; another son might engage in trade, either in a neighbouring town or in one of the great commercial cities of the time, as bristol, norwich, or london.[ ] the leading men of the trading class stood side by side with the leading men of the other classes. they were consulted by the king on the affairs of the kingdom, were employed with bishops and nobles on foreign embassies, were themselves ennobled. and the greatness which men attain in any class reflects honour on the whole class. the archbishop of canterbury's high position gives social consideration to the poor curate, who may one day also be archbishop; and the lord chancellor's to the now briefless barrister who may attain to the woolsack. the great free towns of the german empire reflected honour on every town of europe; and the merchant princes of venice and florence and the low countries on the humblest member of their calling. but what, perhaps, more than anything else tended to maintain the social consideration of traders, was their incorporation into wealthy and powerful guilds; and the civil freedom and political weight of the towns. the rather common-looking man, in a plain cloth gown and flat cap, jogging along the high road on a hack, with great saddle-bags, is not to be compared in appearance with the knight who prances past him on a spirited charger, with a couple of armed servants at his heels; and the trader pulls his horse to the side of the road, and touches his bonnet as the cavalcade passes him in a cloud of dust; but the knight glances at his fellow-traveller's hood as he passes, and recognises in him a member of the great guild of merchants of the staple, and returns his courtesy. the nobleman, jostling at court against a portly citizen in a furred gown with a short dagger and inkhorn at his belt, sees in him an alderman of one of those great towns by whose help the king maintains the balance of power against the feudal aristocracy. yet, after all, why should the merchant be "a rather common-looking man," and the alderman a "portly citizen"? we are all apt to let our sober sense be fooled by our imagination. thus we are apt to have in our minds abstract types of classes of men: our ideal knight is gallant in bearing, gay in apparel, chivalrous in character; while our ideal merchant is prosaic and closefisted in character, plain and uncourtly in manner and speech. a moment's thought would be enough to remind us that nature does not anticipate or adapt herself to class distinctions: the knight and the merchant, we have seen, might be brothers, reared up in the same old manor-house; and the elder son might be naturally a clown, though fortune made him sir hugh; while the cadet might be full of intelligence and spirit, dignified and courteous, though fortune had put a flat cap instead of a helmet on his head, and a pen instead of a lance into his hand. our plan limits us to mere glances at the picturesque outside aspect of things. let us travel across england, and see what we can learn on our subject from the experiences of our journey. a right pleasant journey, too, in the genial spring-time or early summer. it must be taken on horseback; for, though sometimes we shall find ourselves on a highway between one great town and another, yet, for the most part, our road is along bridle-paths, across heath and moor; through miles of "greenwood;" across fords; over wide unenclosed wolds and downs dotted with sheep; through valleys where oxen feed in the deep meadowland; with comparatively little arable, covered with the green blades of rye and barley, oats, and a little wheat-- "long fields of barley and of rye, that clothe the wold and meet the sky." now and then we ride through a village of cottages scattered about the village-green; and see, perhaps, the parish-priest, in cassock and biretta, coming out of the village-church from his mass. further on we pass the moated manor-house of a country knight, or the substantial old timber-built house of a franklin, with the blue wood-smoke puffing in a volume out of the louvre of the hall, and curling away among the great oak-trees which overshadow it. we may stay there and ask for luncheon, and be sure of a hearty welcome: chaucer tells us, "his table dormant in the hall alway stands ready covered, all the longe day." then a strong castle comes in sight on a rising ground, with its picturesque group of walls and towers, and the donjon-tower rising high in the midst, surmounted by the banner of its lord. we seek out the monasteries for their hospitable shelter at nights: they are the inns of mediæval england; and we gaze in admiration as we approach them and enter their courts. from outside we see a great enclosure-wall, over which rise the clerestories and towers of a noble minster-church; and when we have entered through the gate-house we find the cloister court, with its convent buildings for the monks, and another court of offices, and the guest-house for the entertainment of travellers, and the abbot's-house--a separate establishment, with a great hall and chambers and chapel, like the manor-house of a noble; so that, surrounded by its wall, with strong entrance-towers, the monastery looks like a great castle or a little town; and we doff our hats to the dignified-looking monk who is ambling out of the great gate on his mule, as to the representative of the noble community which has erected so grand a house, and maintains there its hospitalities and charities, schools and hospitals, and offers up, seven times a day in the choir, a glorious service of praise to almighty god, and of prayer for the welfare of his church and people. but from time to time, also, we approach and ride through the towns, which are studded as thickly over the land as castles or monasteries. each surrounded by a fair margin of common meadowland, out of which rise the long line of strong walls with angle towers, with picturesque machicolations and overhanging pent-houses; and the great gate-towers with moat, drawbridge, and barbican. over the wall numerous church-towers and spires are seen rising from a forest of gables, making a goodly show. we enter, and find wide streets of handsome picturesque houses, with abundance of garden and orchard ground behind them, and guildhalls and chapels, the head-quarters of the various guilds and companies. the traders are wealthy, and indulge in conveniences which are rare in the franklin's house, and even the lord's castle; and live a more refined mode of life than the old rude, if magnificent, feudal life. look at the extent of the town, at its strong defences; estimate the wealth it contains; think of the clannish spirit of its guilds; see the sturdy burghers, who turn out at the sound of the town-bell, in half armour, with pike and bow, to man the walls; consider the chiefs of the community, men of better education, wider experience of the world, deeper knowledge of political affairs, than most of their countrymen, many of them of the "gentleman" class by birth and breeding, men of perfect self-respect, and of high public spirit. if our journey terminates at one of the seaports, as hull, or lynn, or dover, or hythe, or bristol, we find--in addition to the usual well-walled town, with houses and noble churches and guildhalls--a harbour full of merchant-ships, and exchanges full of foreign merchants; and we soon learn that these are the links which join england to the rest of the world in a period of peace, and enable her in time of war to make her power felt beyond the seas. many of these towns have inherited their walls and their civic freedom from roman times: they stood like islands amid the flood of the saxon invasion; they received their charters from norman kings, and maintained them against norman barons. each of them is a little republic amidst the surrounding feudalism; each citizen is a freeman, when everybody else is the sworn liege-man of some feudal lord. these experiences of our ride across england will have left their strong impressions on our minds. the castles will have impressed our minds with a sense of the feudal power and chivalric state of the territorial class; and the monasteries with admiration of the grandeur and learning and munificence and sanctity of the religious orders; and the towns with a feeling of solid respect for the wealth and power and freedom and civilisation of the trader class of the people. [illustration: _entry of queen isabel of bavaria into paris_, a.d. .] our first illustration forms part of a large picture in the great harleian ms. of froissart's chronicle (harl. , , f. ), and represents isabel of bavaria, queen of charles vii., making her entry into paris attended by noble dames and lords of france, on sunday, th of august, in the year of our lord . there was a great crowd of spectators, froissart tells us, and the _bourgeois_ of paris, twelve hundred, all on horseback, were ranged in pairs on each side of the road, and clothed in a livery of gowns of baudekyn green and red. the queen, seated in her canopied litter, occupies the middle of the picture, in robe and mantle of blue powdered with _fleur-de-lis_, three noblemen walking on each side in their robes and coronets. the page and ladies, who follow on horseback, are not given in our woodcut. the queen has just arrived at the gate of the city; through the open door may be seen a bishop (? the archbishop of paris) in a cope of blue powdered with gold _fleur-de-lis_, holding a gold and jewelled box, which perhaps contains the chrism for her coronation. on the wall overlooking the entrance is the king with ladies of the court, and perched on the angle of the wall is the court jester in his cap and bauble. on the left of the picture are the burgesses of paris; their short gowns are of green and red as described; the hats, which hang over their shoulders, are black. on the opposite side of the road (not represented in the cut) is another party of burgesses, who wear their hats, the bands falling on each side of the face. in the background are the towers and spires of the city, and the west front of notre-dame, rising picturesquely above the city-wall. some of the merchant-princes of the middle ages have left a name which is still known in history, or popular in legend. first, there is the de la pole family, whose name is connected with the history of hull. wyke-upon-hull was a little town belonging to the convent of selby, when edward iii. saw its capabilities and bought it of the monks, called it kingston-upon-hull, and, by granting trading and civil privileges to it, induced merchants to settle there. de la pole, a merchant of the neighbouring port of ravensern, was one of the earliest of these immigrants; and hull owes much of its greatness to his commercial genius and public spirit. under his inspiration bricks were introduced from the low countries to build its walls and the great church: much of the latter yet remains. he rose to be esteemed the greatest merchant in england. edward iii. honoured him by visiting him at his house in hull, and in time made him chief baron of his exchequer, and a knight banneret. in the following reign we find him engaged, together with the most distinguished men in the kingdom, in affairs of state and foreign embassies. his son, who also began life as a merchant at hull, was made by richard ii. earl of suffolk and lord chancellor. in the end a royal alliance raised the merchant's children to the height of power; and designs of a still more daring ambition at length brought about their headlong fall and ruin. william cannynges, of bristol, was another of these great merchants. on his monument in the magnificent church of st. mary redcliffe, of which he was the founder, it is recorded that on one occasion edward iv. seized shipping of his to the amount of , tons, which included ships of , , and even tons. richard whittington, the hero of the popular legend, was a london merchant, thrice lord mayor. he was not, however, of the humble origin stated by the legend, but a cadet of the landed family of whittington, in gloucestershire. what is the explanation of the story of his cat has not been satisfactorily made out by antiquaries. munificence was one of the characteristics of these great merchants. de la pole, we have seen, built the church at hull; cannynges founded one of the grandest parish churches yet remaining in all england; whittington founded the college of the holy spirit and st. mary, a charitable foundation which has long ceased to exist. sir john crosby was an alderman of london in the reign of edward iv., and allied his family with the highest nobility. his house still remains in bishopsgate, the only one left of the great city merchants' houses: stowe describes it as very large and beautiful, and the highest at that time in london. richard iii. took up his residence and received his adherents there, when preparing for his usurpation of the crown. monuments remaining to this day keep alive the memory of other great merchants, which would otherwise have perished. in the series of monumental brasses, several of the earliest and most sumptuous are memorials of merchants. there was an engraver of these monuments living in england in the middle of the fourteenth century, whose works in that style of art have not been subsequently surpassed: gough calls him the "cellini of the fourteenth century." he executed a grand effigy for thomas delamere, abbot of st. alban's abbey; and the same artist executed two designs, no less sumptuous and meritorious as works of art, for two merchants of the then flourishing town of lynn, in norfolk. one is to adam de walsokne, "formerly burgess of lynn," who died in a.d., and margaret his wife; it contains very artistically drawn effigies of the two persons commemorated, surmounted by an ornamental canopy on a diapered field. the other monumental brass represents robert braunche, a.d. , and his two wives. a feature of peculiar interest in this design is a representation, running along the bottom, of an entertainment which braunche, when mayor of lynn, gave to king edward iii. there was still a third brass at lynn, of similar character, of robert attelathe--now, alas! lost. another monument, apparently by the same artist, exists at newark, to the memory of alan fleming, a merchant, who died in a.d. hundreds of churches yet bear traces of the munificence of these mediæval traders. the noble churches which still exist in what are now comparatively small places, in lincolnshire, norfolk, and suffolk, are monuments of the merchants of the staple who lived in those eastern counties; and monuments, and merchants' marks, and sometimes inscriptions cut in stone or worked in flint-work in the fabrics themselves, afford data from which the local antiquary may glean something of their history. many interesting traces of mediæval traders' houses remain too in out-of-the-way places, where they seem quite overlooked. the little town of coggeshall, for example, is full of interesting bits of domestic architecture--the traces of the houses of the "peacockes" and other families, merchants of the staple and clothmakers, who made it a flourishing town in the fifteenth century; the monumental brasses of some of them remain in the fine perpendicular church, which they probably rebuilt. or, to go to the other side of the kingdom, at the little town of northleach, among the cotswold hills, is a grand church, with evidences in the sculpture and monuments that the wool-merchants there contributed largely to its building. it contains an interesting series of small monumental brasses, which preserve their names and costumes, and those of their wives and children; and the merchants' marks which were painted on their woolpacks appear here as honourable badges on their monuments. there are traces of their old houses in the town. a general survey of all these historical facts and all these antiquarian remains will confirm the assertion with which we began this chapter, that at least from the early part of the fourteenth century downwards, the mediæval traders earned great wealth and spent it munificently, possessed considerable political influence, and occupied an honourable social position beside the military and ecclesiastical orders. we must not omit to notice the illustrations which our subject may derive from chaucer's ever-famous gallery of characters. here is the merchant of the canterbury cavalcade of merry pilgrims:-- "a merchant was there with a forked beard, in mottély, and high on horse he sat, and on his head a flaundrish beaver hat, his bote's clapsed fayre and fetisly,[ ] his reasons spake he full solempnely, sounding alway the increase of his winning, he would the sea were kept, for any thing, betwixen middleburgh and orewell. well could he in exchanges sheldes[ ] sell, this worthy man full well his wit beset; there weste no wight that he was in debt, so steadfastly didde he his governance with his bargeines and with his chevisance,[ ] forsooth he was a worthy man withal; but, sooth to say, i n'ot how men him call."[ ] of the trader class our great author gives us also some examples:-- "an haberdasher and a carpenter, a webber, a dyer, and a tapiser, were all yclothed in one livery, of a solempne and great fraternitie, full fresh and new their gear y-piked was their knives were ychaped, not with brass. but all with silver wrought full clene and well, their girdles and their pouches every deal. well seemed each of them a fair burgess to sitten in a gild-hall on the dais. each one for the wisdom that he can, was likely for to be an alderman. for chattles hadden they enough and rent, and eke their wives would it well assent, and elles certainly they were to blame, it is full fair to be ycleped madame, and for to go to vigils all before, and have a mantle royally upbore." the figures on the next page from a monument to john field, alderman of london, and his son, are interesting and characteristic. mr. waller, from whose work on monumental brasses the woodcut is taken, has been able to discover something of the history of alderman field. john field, senior, was born about the beginning of the fifteenth century, but nothing is known of his early life. in he had clearly risen to commercial eminence in london, since he was in that year appointed one of fifteen commissioners to treat with those of the duke of burgundy concerning the commercial interests of the two countries in general, and specially to frame regulations for the traffic in wool and wool-fells brought to the staple at calais. of these commissioners five were of london, three of boston, three of hull, and one of ipswich. these names, says mr. waller, probably comprise the chief mercantile wealth and intelligence in the eastern ports of the kingdom at this period. in he was made sheriff, and subsequently was elected alderman, but never served the office of mayor; which, says the writer, may be accounted for by the fact that in the latter part of his life he was afflicted with bodily sickness, and on that ground in obtained a grant from the then lord mayor, releasing him from all civic services. the alderman acquired large landed estates in kent and hertfordshire, in which he was succeeded by his eldest son john, the original of the second effigy, who only survived his father the short term of three years. the brasses have been inlaid with colour; the alderman's gown of the father with red enamel, and its fur-lining indicated by white metal; the tabard of arms of the son is also coloured according to its proper heraldic blazoning--_gules_, between three eagles displayed _argent_, _guetté de sangue_, a fesse _or_. the unfinished inscription runs, "here lyeth john feld, sometyme alderman of london, a merchant of the stapull of caleys, the which deceased the xvj day of august, in the yere of our lord god mcccclxxiiij. also her' lyeth john his son, squire, y{e} which deceased y{e} iiij day of may y{e} yere of".... the monumental slab is ornamented with four shields of arms: the first of the city of london, the second of the merchants of the staple, the third bears the alderman's merchant's-mark, and the fourth the arms which appear on the tabard of his son, the esquire, to whom, perhaps, they had been specially granted by the college of arms. the father's costume is a long gown edged with fur, a leather girdle from which hang his gypcire (or purse) and rosary, over which is worn his alderman's gown. the son wears a full suit of armour of the time of edward iv., with a tabard of his arms. the execution of the brass is unusually careful and excellent. [illustration: _monumental brass of alderman field and his son_, a.d. .] the third woodcut, from the harleian ms. , , f. , represents the execution, in paris, of a famous captain of robbers, aymerigol macel. the scaffold is enclosed by a hoarding; at the nearer corners are two friars, one in brown and one in black, probably a franciscan and a dominican; the official, who stands with his hands resting on his staff superintending the executioner, has a gown of red with sleeves lined with white fur, his bonnet is black turned up also with white fur. in the background are the timber houses on one side of the place, with the people looking out of their windows; a signboard will be seen standing forth from one of the houses. the groups of people in the distance and those in the foreground give the costumes of the ordinary dwellers in a fourteenth-century city. the man on the left has a pink short gown, trimmed with white fur; his hat, the two ends of a liripipe hanging over his shoulders, and his purse and his hose, are black. the man on his right has a long blue gown and red hat and liripipe; the man between them and a little in front, a brown long gown and black hat. the man on horseback on the left wears a very short green gown, red hose, and black hat; the footman on his left, a short green gown and red hat and liripipe; and the man on his left, a black jacket and black hat fringed. the man on horseback, with a foot-boy behind holding on by the horse's tail, has a pink long gown, black hat and liripipe, purse, and girdle; the one on the right of the picture, a long blue gown with red hat, liripipe, and purse. just behind him (unhappily not included in the woodcut) is a touch of humour on the part of the artist. his foot-boy is stealing an apple out of the basket of an apple-woman, who wears a blue gown and red hood, with the liripipe tucked under her girdle; she has a basket of apples on each arm, and another on her head. still further to the right is a horse whose rider has dismounted, and the foot-boy is sitting on the crupper behind the saddle holding the reins. [illustration: _an execution in paris._] the last cut is taken from the painted glass at tournay of the fifteenth century, and represents _marchands en gros_. this illustration of a warehouse with the merchant and his clerk, and the men and the casks and bales, and the great scales, in full tide of business, is curious and interesting. chaucer once more, in the "shipman's tale," gives us an illustration of our subject. speaking of a merchant of st. denys, he says:-- "up into his countour house goth he, to reken with himselvin, wel may be, of thilke yere how that it with him stood, and how that he dispended had his good, and if that he encreased were or non. his bookes and his bagges many one he layeth before him on his counting bord. ful riche was his tresor and his hord; for which ful fast his countour done he shet, and eke he n'olde no man shuld him let of his accountes for the mene time; and thus he sat till it was passed prime." [illustration: _marchands en gros, fifteenth century._] the counting-board was a board marked with squares, on which counters were placed in such a way as to facilitate arithmetical operations. we have also a picture of him setting out on a business journey attended by his apprentice:-- "but so bifell this marchant on a day shope him to maken ready his array toward the town of brugges for to fare to byen there a portion of ware. * * * * * the morrow came, and forth this marchant rideth to flaundersward, his prentis wel him gideth. til he came into brugges merily. now goth this marchant fast and bisily about his nede, and bieth and creanceth; he neither playeth at the dis ne danceth, but as a marchant shortly for to tell he ledeth his lif, and ther i let him dwell." chapter iv. mediÆval trade. it is difficult at first to believe it possible that the internal trade of mediæval england was carried on chiefly at great annual fairs for the wholesale business, at weekly markets for the chief towns, and by means of itinerant traders, of whom the modern pedlar is the degenerate representative, for the length and breadth of the country. in order to understand the possibility, we must recall to our minds how small comparatively was the population of the country. it was about two millions at the norman conquest, it had hardly increased to four millions by the end of the fifteenth century, it was only five millions in the time of william iii. nearly every one of our towns and villages then existed; but the london, and bristol, and norwich, and york of the fourteenth century, though they were relatively important places in the nation, were not one-tenth of the size of the towns into which they have grown. manchester, and leeds, and liverpool, and a score of other towns, existed then, but they were mere villages; and the country population was thinly scattered over a half-reclaimed, unenclosed, pastoral country. to begin with the fairs. the king exercised the sole power of granting the right to hold a fair. it was sought by corporations, monasteries, and manorial lords, in order that they might profit, first by the letting of ground to the traders who came to dispose of their wares, next by the tolls which were levied on all merchandise brought for sale, and on the sales themselves; and then indirectly by the convenience of getting a near market for the produce the neighbourhood had to sell, and for the goods it desired to buy. the annexed woodcut, from the ms. add. , , represents passengers paying toll on landing at a foreign port, and perhaps belongs in strictness to an earlier part of our subject. the reader will notice the picturesque custom-house officers, the landing-places, and the indications of town architecture. the next illustration, from painted glass at tournay (from la croix and seré's "moyen age et la renaissance") shows a group of people crossing the bridge into a town, and the collector levying the toll. the oxen and pigs, the country-wife on horseback, with a lamb laid over the front of her saddle, represent the country-people and their farm-produce; the pack-horse and mule on the left, with their flat-capped attendant, are an interesting illustration of the itinerant trader bringing in his goods. the toll-collector seems to be, from his dress and bearing, a rather dignified official, and the countryman recognises it by touching his hat to him. the river and its wharves, and the boats moored alongside, and the indication of the town gates and houses, make up a very interesting sketch of mediæval life. [illustration: _passengers paying toll._] [illustration: _traders entering a town._] there were certain great fairs to which traders resorted from all parts of the country. the great fair at nijni novgorod, and in a lesser degree the fair of leipsic, remain to help us to realise such gatherings as bartholomew fair used to be. even now the great horse-fair at horncastle, and the stock-fair at barnet, may help us to understand how it answered the purpose of buyers and sellers to meet annually at one general rendezvous. the gathering into one centre of the whole stock on sale and the whole demand for it, was not only in other ways a convenience to buyers and sellers, but especially it regulated the general prices current of all vendibles, and checked the capricious variations which a fluctuating local supply and demand would have created in the then condition of the country and of commerce. the king sometimes, by capricious exercises of his authority in the subject of fairs, seriously interfered with the interests of those who frequented them--_e.g._ by granting license to hold a new fair which interfered with one already established; by licensing a temporary fair, and forbidding trade to be carried on elsewhere during its continuance. thus in a.d. henry ii. proclaimed a fair at westminster to be held for fifteen days, and required all the london traders to shut up their shops and bring their goods to the fair. it happened that the season was wet; few consequently came to the fair, and the traders' goods were injured by the rain which penetrated into their temporary tents and stalls. he repeated the attempt to benefit westminster four years afterwards, with a similar result. of course when great crowds were gathered together for days in succession, and money was circulating abundantly, there would be others who would seek a profitable market besides the great dealers in woolfels and foreign produce. the sellers of ribbands and cakes would be there, purveyors of food and drink for the hungry and thirsty multitude, caterers for the amusement of the people, minstrels and jugglers, exhibitors of morality-plays and morrice-dancers, and still less reputable people. and so, besides the men who came for serious business, there would be a mob of pleasure-seekers also. the crowd of people of all ranks and classes from every part of the country, with the consequent variety of costume in material, fashion, and colour--the knight's helm and coat of mail, or embroidered _jupon_ and plumed bonnet, the lady's furred gown and jewels, the merchant's sober suit of cloth, the minstrel's gay costume and the jester's motley, the monk's robe and cowl, and the peasant's smockfrock, continually in motion up and down the streets of the temporary canvas town, the music of the minstrels, the cries of the traders, the loud talk and laughter of the crowd--must have made up a picturesque scene, full of animation. when the real business of the country had found other channels, the fairs still continued--and in many places still continue--as mere "pleasure-fairs;" still the temporary stalls lining the streets, and the drinking-booths and shows, preserve something of the old usages and outward aspect, though, it must be confessed, they are dreary, desolate relics of what the mediæval fairs used to be. the fair was usually proclaimed by sound of trumpet, before which ceremony it was unlawful to begin traffic, or after the conclusion of the legal term for which the fair was granted. a court of _pie-poudre_ held its sittings for the cognizance of offences committed in the fair. many of our readers will remember the spirited description of such a fair in sir walter scott's novel of "the betrothed." in the great towns were shops in which retail trade was daily carried on, but under very different conditions from those of modern times. the various trades seem to have been congregated together, and the trading parts of the town were more concentrated than is now the case; in both respects resembling the bazaars of eastern towns. thus in london the tradesmen had shops in the cheap, which resembled sheds, and many of them were simply stalls. but they did not limit themselves to their dealings there; they travelled about the country also. the mercers dealt in toys, drugs, spices, and small wares generally; their stocks being of the same miscellaneous description as that of a village-shop of the present day. the station of the mercers of london was between bow church and friday street, and here round the old cross of cheap they sold their goods at little standings or stalls, surrounded by those belonging to other trades. the trade of the modern grocer was preceded by that of the pepperer, which was often in the hands of lombards and italians, who dealt also in drugs and spices. the drapers were originally manufacturers of cloth; to drape meaning to make cloth. the trade of the fishmonger was divided into two branches, one of which dealt exclusively in dried fish, then a very common article of food. the goldsmiths had their shops in the street of cheap; but fraudulent traders of their craft, and not members of their guild, set up shops in obscure lanes, where they sold goods of inferior metal. a list of the various trades and handicrafts will afford a general idea of the trade of the town. before the th of edward iii. ( a.d.) the "mysteries" or trades of london, who elected the common council of the city, were thirty-two in number; but they were increased by an ordinance of that year to forty-eight, which were as follows:--grocers, masons, ironmongers, mercers, brewers, leather-dressers, drapers, fletchers, armourers, fishmongers, bakers, butchers, goldsmiths, skinners, cutlers, vintners, girdlers, spurriers, tailors, stainers, plumbers, saddlers, cloth-measurers, wax-chandlers, webbers, haberdashers, barbers, tapestry-weavers, braziers, painters, leather-sellers, salters, tanners, joiners, cappers, pouch-makers, pewterers, chandlers, hatters, woodmongers, fullers, smiths, pinners, curriers, horners. as a specimen of a provincial town we may take colchester. a detailed description of this town in the reign of edward iii. shows that it contained only houses, some built of mud, others of timber. none of the houses had any but latticed windows. the town-hall was of stone, with handsome norman doorway. it had also a royal castle, three or more religious houses--one a great and wealthy abbey--several churches, and was surrounded by the old roman wall. the number of inhabitants was about three thousand. yet colchester was the capital of a large district of country, and there were only about nine towns in england of greater importance. in the year all the movable property of the town, including the furniture and clothing of the inhabitants, was estimated, for the purpose of a taxation, to be worth £ , and the details give us a curious picture of the times. the tools of a carpenter consisted of a broad axe, value _d._, another _d._, an adze _d._, a square _d._, a _noveyn_ (probably a spokeshave) _d._, making the total value of his tools _s._ the tools and stock of a blacksmith were valued at only a few shillings, the highest being _s._ the stock-in-trade and household goods of a tanner were estimated at £ _s._ _d._ a mercer's stock was valued at £ , his household property at £ _s._ the trades carried on there were the twenty-nine following:--baker, barber, blacksmith, bowyer, brewer, butcher, carpenter, carter, cobbler, cook, dyer, fisherman, fuller, furrier, girdler, glass-seller, glover, linen-draper, mercer and spice-seller, miller, mustard and vinegar seller, old clothes-seller, tailor, tanner, tiler, weaver, wood-cutter, and wool-comber. our woodcut, from the ms. add. , , which has already supplied us with several valuable illustrations, represents a mediæval shop of a high class, probably a goldsmith's. the shopkeeper eagerly bargaining with his customer is easily recognised, the shopkeeper's clerk is making an entry of the transaction, and the customer's servant stands behind him, holding some of his purchases; flagons and cups and dishes seem to be the principal wares; heaps of money lie on the table, which is covered with a handsome tablecloth, and in the background are hung on a "perch," for sale, girdles, a hand-mirror, a cup, a purse, and sword. [illustration: _a goldsmith's shop._] here, from "le pélerinage de la vie humaine," in the french national library,[ ] is another illustration of a mediæval shop. this is a mercer's, and the merceress describes her wares in the following lines:-- "quod sche, 'gene[ ] i schal the telle mercerye i have to selle in boystes,[ ] soote oynementes,[ ] therewith to don allegementes[ ] to ffolkes which be not gladde, but discorded and malade. i have kyves, phylletys, callys, at ffestes to hang upon walles; kombes no mo than nyne or ten, bothe for horse and eke ffor men; mirrours also, large and brode, and ffor the syght wonder gode; off hem i have ffull greet plenté, for ffolke that haven volunté byholde himselffe therynne.'" in some provincial towns, as nottingham, the names of several of the streets bear witness to an aggregation of traders of the same calling. bridlesmith gate was clearly the street in which the knights and yeomen of the shire resorted for their horse-furniture and trappings, and in the open stalls of fletcher gate sheaves of arrows were hung up for sale to the green-coated foresters of neighbouring sherwood. the only trace of the custom we have left is in the butcheries and shambles which exist in many of our towns, where the butchers' stalls are still gathered together in one street or building. [illustration: _french national library._] but the greater part of the trade of the towns was transacted on market-days. then the whole neighbourhood flocked in, the farmers to sell their farm produce, their wives and daughters with their poultry and butter and eggs for the week's consumption of the citizens, and to carry back with them their town-purchases. in every market-town there was usually a wide open space--the market-place--for the accommodation of this weekly traffic; in the principal towns were several market-places, appropriated to different kinds of produce: _e.g._ at nottingham, besides the principal market-place--a vast open space in the middle of the town, surrounded by overhanging houses supported on pillars, making open colonnades like those of an italian town--there was a "poultry" adjoining the great market, and a "butter-cross" in the middle of a small square, in which it is assumed the women displayed their butter. in an old-fashioned provincial market-town, the market-day is still the one day in the week on which the streets are full of bustle and the shops of business, while on the other days of the week the town stagnates; it must have been still more the case in the old times of which we write. in some instances there seems reason to think a weekly market was held in places which had hardly any claim to be called towns--mere villages, on whose green the neighbourhood assembled for the weekly market. round the green, perhaps, a few stalls and booths were erected for the day; pedlars probably supplied the shop element; and artificers from neighbouring towns came in for the day, as in some of our villages now the saddler and the shoemaker and the watchmaker attend once a week to do the makings and mendings which are required. there are still to be seen in a few old-fashioned towns and remote country places market-crosses in the market-place or on the village-green. they usually consist of a tall cross of stone, round the lower part of whose shaft a penthouse of stone or wood has been erected to shelter the market-folks from rain and sun. there is such a cross at salisbury; a good example of a village market-cross at castle combe, in gloucestershire, one of wood at shelford, in cambridgeshire, and many others up and down the country, well worthy of being collected and illustrated by the antiquary before they are swept away. our illustration, from the painted glass at tournay, represents a market scene, the women sitting on their low stools, with their baskets of goods displayed on the ground before them. the female on the left seems to be filling up her time by knitting; the woman on the right is paying her market dues to the collector, who, as in the cut on p. , is habited as a clerk. the background appears to represent a warehouse, where transactions of a larger kind are going on. [illustration: _a market scene._] but the inhabitants of rural districts were not altogether dependent on a visit to the nearest market for their purchases. the pursuit of gain enlisted the services of numerous itinerant traders, who traversed the land in all directions, calling at castle and manor house, monastery, grange, and cottage; and by the tempting display of pretty objects, and the handy supply of little wants, brought into healthy circulation many a silver penny which would otherwise have jingled longer in the owner's _gypcire_, or rested in the hoard in the homely stocking-foot. an entry in that mine of curious information, the york fabric rolls, reveals an incident in the pedlar's mode of dealing. it is a presentation, that is, a complaint, made to the archbishop by the churchwardens of the parish of riccall, in yorkshire, under the date a.d. they represent, in the dog-latin of the time: "_item, quod calatharii_ (_anglice_ pedlars), _veniunt diebus festis in porticum ecclesiæ et ibidem vendunt mercimonium suum_." that _calatharii_--that is to say, pedlars--come into the church-porch on feast-days, and there sell their merchandise. from another entry in the same records it seems that sometimes the chapmen congregated in such numbers that the gathering assumed the proportions of an irregular weekly market. thus among the presentations in , is one from st. michael de berefredo, st. michael-le-belfry, in the city of york, which states, "the parishioners say that a common market of vendibles is held in the churchyard on sundays and holidays, and divers things and goods and rushes are exposed there for sale." the complaint is as early as the fourth century; for we find st. basil mentioning as one abuse of the great church-festivals, that men kept markets at these times and places under colour of making better provision for the feasts which were kept thereat. the presentation from riccall carries us back into the old times, and enables us to realise a picturesque and curious incident in their primitive mode of life. a little consideration will enable us to see how such a practice arose, and how it could be tolerated by people who had at least so much respect for religion as to come to church on sundays and holidays. when we call to mind the state of the country districts, half reclaimed, half covered with forest and marsh and common, traversed chiefly by footpaths and bridle-roads, we shall understand how isolated a life was led by the inhabitants of the country villages and hamlets, and farmhouses and out-lying cottages. it was only on sundays and holidays that neighbours met together. on those days the goodman mounted one of his farm-horses, put his dame behind him on a pillion, and jogged through deep and miry ways to church, while the younger and poorer came sauntering along the footpaths. one may now stand in country churchyards on a sunday afternoon, and watch the people coming in all directions, across the fields, under copse, and over common, climbing the rustic styles, crossing the rude bridge formed by a tree-trunk thrown over the sparkling trout-stream, till all the lines converge at the church porch. and one has felt that those paths--many of them ploughed up every year and made every year afresh by the feet of the wayfarer--are among the most venerable relics of ancient times. and here among the ancient laws of wales is one which assures us that our conjecture is true: "every habitation," it says, "ought to have two good paths (convenient right of road), one to its church, and one to its watering-place." very pleasant in summer these church-paths to the young folks who saunter along them in couples or in groups, but very disagreeable in wet wintery weather, and in difficult at all times to the old and infirm. another presentation out of the york fabric rolls, gives us a contemporary picture of these church paths, seen under a gloomy aspect: in a.d. , the people of haxley complain to the archdeacon that they "inhabit so unresonablie fer from ther parisch cherche that the substaunce (majority) of the said inhabitauntes for impotensaye and feblenes, farrenes (farness == distance) of the way, and also for grete abundance of waters and perlouse passages at small brigges for peple in age and unweldye, between them and ther next parische cherche, they may not come with ese or in seasonable tyme at ther saide parische cherche as cristen people should, and as they wold," and so they pray for leave and help for a chaplain of their own. we must remember, too, that our ante-reformation forefathers did not hold modern doctrines concerning the proper mode of observing sundays and holydays. they observed them more in the way which makes us still call a day of leisure and recreation a "holiday;" they observed them all in much the same spirit as we still observe some of them, such as christmas-day and whitsuntide. when they had duly served god at _matins_ and mass, they thought it no sin to spend the rest of the day in lawful occupations, and rather laudable than otherwise to spend it in innocent recreations. the riccall presentation gives us a picture which, no doubt, might have been seen in many another country-place on a sunday or saint-day. the pedlar lays down his pack in the church-porch--and we will charitably suppose assists at the service--and then after service he is ready to spread out his wares on the bench of the porch before the eyes of the assembled villagers and make his traffickings, ecclesiastical canons to the contrary notwithstanding, and so save himself many a weary journey along the devious ways by which his customers have to return in the evening to their scattered homes. the complaint of the churchwardens does not seem to be directed against the traffic so much as against its being conducted in the consecrated precincts. let the pedlar transfer his wares to the steps of the village-cross, and probably no one would have complained; but then, though they who wanted anything might have sought him there, he would have lost the chance of catching the eye of those who did not want anything, and tempting them to want and buy--a course for which we must not blame our pedlar too much, since we are told it is the essence of commerce, on a large as on a small scale, to create artificial wants and supply them. in the late thirteenth-century ms. royal, ed. iv., are some illuminations of a mediæval story, which afford us very curious illustrations of a pedlar and his pack. at f. , the pedlar is asleep under a tree, and monkeys are stealing his pack, which is a large bundle, bound across and across with rope, with a red strap attached to the rope by which it is slung over the shoulder. on the next page the monkeys have opened the wrapper, showing that it covered a kind of box, and the mischievous creatures are running off with the contents, among which we can distinguish a shirt and some circular mirrors. on f. , the monkeys have conveyed their spoil up into the tree, and we make out a purse and belt, a musical pipe, a belt and dagger, a pair of slippers, a hood and gloves, and a mirror. on the next page, a continuation of the same subject, we see a pair of gloves, a man's hat, a woman's head-kerchief; and again, on p. , we have, in addition, hose, a mirror, a woman's head-dress, and a man's hood. these curious illuminations sufficiently indicate the usual contents of a pedlar's pack. [illustration: _pack-horses._] in the egerton ms., , , of the fourteenth century, at f. , is a representation of the flight into egypt, in which joseph is represented carrying a round pack by a stick over the shoulder, which probably illustrates the usual mode of carrying a pack or a pedestrian's personal luggage. other illustrations of the pedlar of the latter part of the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries will be found in the series of the dance of death. a former illustration has shown us a pack-horse and mule, the means by which those itinerant traders chiefly carried their merchandise over the country. but some kinds of goods would not bear packing into ordinary bundles of the kind there shown; for such goods, boxes or trunks, slung on each side of a pack-saddle, were used. we are able to give an illustration of them from an ancient tapestry figured in the fine work on "anciennes tapisseries" by achille jubinal. it is only a minor incident in the background of the picture, but is represented with sufficient clearness. another mode of carrying personal baggage is represented in the fifteenth-century ms. royal, e. v., where a gentleman travelling on horseback is followed by two servants, each with a large roll of baggage strapped to the croupe of his saddle. the use of pack-horses has not even yet (or had not a few years ago) utterly died out of england. the writer saw a string of them in the peak of derbyshire, employed in carrying ore from the mines. the occasional occurrence of the pack-horse as the sign of a roadside inn also helps to keep alive the remembrance of this primitive form of "luggage-train." many of our readers may have travelled with a valise at their saddle-bow and a cloak strapped to the croupe; the fashion, even now, is not quite out of date. chapter v. costume. we have, in a former chapter, given some pictures from illuminated mss., in illustration of the costume and personal appearance of the merchants of the middle ages; but they are on such a scale as not to give much characteristic portraiture--except in the example of the bourgeoise of paris, in the illumination from froissart, on page --and they inadequately represent the minute details of costume. we shall endeavour in this chapter to bring our men more vividly before the eye of the reader in dress and feature. the "catalogus benefactorum" of st. alban's abbey, to which we have been so often indebted, will again help us with some pictures of unusual character. they are of the fourteenth century, and illustrate people of the burgess class who were donors to the abbey; the peculiarity of the representation is, that they are half-length portraits on an unusually large scale for ms. illuminations. when we call them portraits, we do not mean absolutely to assert that the originals sat for their pictures, and that the artist tried to make as accurate a portrait as he could; but it is probable that the donations were recorded and the pictures executed soon after the gifts were made, therefore, presumedly, in the lifetime of the donors. it is, moreover, probable that the artist was resident in the monastery or in the dependent town, and was, consequently, acquainted with the personal appearance of his originals; and in that case, even if the artist had not his subjects actually before his eyes at the time he painted these memorials, it is likely that he would, at least from recollection, give a general _vraisemblance_ to his portrait. the faces are very dissimilar, and all have a characteristic expression, which confirms us in the idea that they are not mere conventional portraits. they seem to be chiefly tradespeople rather than merchants of the higher class, and of the latter half of the fourteenth century. here, for example, are william cheupaign and his wife johanna, who gave to the abbey-church two tenements in the halliwelle street. one of the tenements is represented in the picture, a single-storied house of timber, thatched, with a carved stag's head as a finial to its gable. this william also gave, for the adornment of the church, several frontals, with gold, roses embroidered on a black ground; also he gave a belt to make a _morse_ (fastening or brooch) for the principal copes, with a figure of a swan in the _morse_, beautifully made of goldsmith's work; also he gave to the refectory a wooden drinking-bowl or cup, handsomely ornamented with silver, with a cover of the same wood. he wears a green hood lined with red; his wife is habited in a white hood. [illustration: _william and johanna cheupaign._] the next picture represents johanna de warn, who also gave what is described as a well-built house, with a louvre, in st. alban's town. this house, again, is of timber, with traceried windows, an arched doorway with ornamental hinges to the door, and an unusually large and handsome louvre. this louvre was doubtless in the roof of the hall, and probably over a fire-hearth in the middle of the hall, such as that which still exists in the fourteenth-century hall at pevensey, kent. the lady's face is strong corroboration of the theory that these are portraits. [illustration: _johanna de warn._] next is the portrait of a man in a robe, fastened in front with great buttons, and a hood drawn round a strongly marked face, reminding us altogether of the portraits of dante. [illustration: _a gentleman in civilian dress._] the last which we take from this curious series is the picture of william de langley, who gave to the monastery a well-built house in dagnale street, in the town of st. alban's, for which the monastery received sixty shillings per annum, which geoffrey stukeley held at the time of writing. william de langley is a man of regular features, partly bald, with pointed beard and moustache, the kind of face that might so easily have been merely conventional, but which has really much individuality of expression. the house--his benefaction--represented beside him, is a two-storied house; three of the square compartments just under the eaves are seen, by the colouring of the illumination, to be windows; it is timber-built and tiled, and the upper story overhangs the lower. the gable is finished with a weather-vane, which, in the original, is carried beyond the limits of the picture. the dots in the empty spaces of all these pictures are the diapering of the coloured background. [illustration: _william de langley._] but curious as these early portraits are, and interesting for their character and for their costume, as far as they go, they still fail to give us complete illustrations of the dresses of the people. for these we shall have to resort to a class of illustrations which we have hitherto, for the most part, avoided--that of monumental brasses. now we recur to them because they give us what we want--the _minutiæ_ of costume--in far higher perfection than we can find it elsewhere. again, instead of selecting one from one part of the country and another from another, we have thought that it would add interest to the series of illustrations to take as many as possible from one church, whose grave-stones happen to furnish us with a continuous series at short intervals of the effigies of the men who once inhabited the old houses of the town of northleach, in gloucestershire. this series, however, does not go back so far as the earliest extant monumental brass of a merchant; we therefore take a first example from another source. we have already mentioned the three grand effigies of robert braunche and adam walsokne of lynne, and alan fleming of newark; we select from them the effigy of robert braunche, merchant of lynn, of date a.d. we have taken his single figure out of the grand composition which forms, perhaps, the finest monumental brass in existence. the costume is elegantly simple. a tunic reaches to the ankle, with a narrow line of embroidery at the edges; the sleeves do not reach to the elbow, but fall in two hanging lappets, while the arm is seen to be covered by the tight sleeves of an under garment, ornamented rather than fastened by a close row of buttons from the elbow to the wrist. over the tunic is a hood, which covers the upper part of the person, while the head part falls behind. the hood in this example fits so tightly to the figure that the reader might, perhaps, think it doubtful whether it is really a second garment over the tunic; but in the contemporary and very similar effigy of adam de walsokne, it is quite clear that it is a hood. the plain leather shoes laced across the instep will also be noticed. if the reader should happen to compare this woodcut with the engraving of the same figure in boutell's "monumental brasses," he will, perhaps, be perplexed by finding that the head here given is different from that which he will find there. we beg to assure him that our woodcut is correct. mr. boutell's artist, by some curious error, has given to his drawing of braunche the head of alan fleming of newark; and to fleming he has given braunche's head. we feel quite sure that every one of artistic feeling will be thankful for being made acquainted with the accompanying effigy of a merchant of northleach, whose inscription is lost, and his name, therefore, unknown. the brass is of the highest merit as a work of art, and has been very carefully and accurately engraved, and is worthy of minute examination. the costume, which is of about the year a.d., it will be seen, consists of a long robe buttoned down the front, girded with a highly-ornamented belt; the enlarged plate at the end of the strap is ornamented with a t, probably the initial of the wearer's christian name. by his side hangs the _anlace_, or dagger, which was worn by all men of the middle class who did not wear a sword, even by the secular clergy. over all is a cloak, which opens at the right side, so as to give as much freedom as possible to the right arm, and to this cloak is attached a hood, which falls over the shoulders. the hands are covered with half gloves. the wool-pack at his feet shows his trade of wool-merchant. over the effigy is an elegant canopy, which it is not necessary for our purpose to give, but it adds very much to the beauty and sumptuousness of the monument. [illustration: _robert braunche, of lynn._] [illustration: _wool merchant from northleach church._] next in the series is john fortey, a.d. , whose costume is not so elegant as that of the last figure, but it is as distinctly represented. the tunic is essentially the same, but shorter, reaching only to the mid-leg; with sleeves of a peculiar shape which, we know from other contemporary monuments, was fashionable at that date. it is fastened with a girdle, though a less ornamental one than that of the preceding figure, and is lined and trimmed at the wrists with fur. very similar figures of hugo bostock and his wife, in wheathamstead church, herts, are of date ; these latter effigies are specially interesting as the parents of john de wheathamstede, the thirty-third abbot of st. alban's. [illustration: _john fortey, from northleach church._] the next is an interesting figure, though far inferior in artistic merit and beauty to those which have gone before. the name here again is lost, but a fragment remaining of the inscription gives the date mcccc., with a blank for the completion of the date; the same is the case with the date of his wife's death, so that both effigies may have been executed in the lifetime of the persons. the date is probably a little later than . the face is so different from the previous ones that it may not be unnecessary to say that great pains have been taken to make it an accurate copy of the original, and it has been drawn and engraved by the same hand as the others. the manifest endeavour to indicate that the deceased was an elderly man, induces us to suspect that some of its peculiarity may arise from its being not a mere conventional brass, such as the monumental brass artists doubtless "kept to order," but one specially executed with a desire to make it more nearly resemble the features of the deceased. if, as we have conjectured, it was executed in his lifetime, this, perhaps, may account for its differing from the conventional type. his dress is the gown worn by civilians at the period, with a _gypcire_, or purse, hung at one side of his girdle, and his rosary at the other. [illustration: _wool merchants from northleach church._] lastly, we give the effigy of another nameless wool-merchant of northleach, who is habited in a gown of rather stiffer material than the robes of his predecessors, trimmed with fur at the neck and feet and wrists. the inscription recording his name and date of death is lost, but a curious epitaph, also engraved on the brass, remains, as follows:-- "farewell my frends, the tyde abideth no man, i am departed from hence, and so shall ye; but in this passage the best songe that i can is requiem eternam. now then graunte it me, when i have ended all myn adversitie, graunte me in puradise to have a mansion, that shed thy blode for my redemption." the mention of fur in these effigies suggests the restrictions in this matter imposed by the sumptuary laws by which the king and his advisers sought from time to time to restrain the extravagance of the lieges. by the most important of these acts, passed in , the lord mayor of london and his wife were respectively allowed to wear the array of knights bachelors and their wives; the aldermen and recorder of london, and the mayors of other cities and towns, that of esquires and gentlemen having property to the yearly value of £ . no man having less than this, or his wife or daughter, shall wear any fur of martrons (martin's?) letuse, pure grey, or pure miniver. merchants, citizens, and burgesses, artificers and people of handicraft, as well within the city of london as elsewhere, having goods and chattels of the clear value of £ , are allowed to dress like esquires and gentlemen of £ a year; and those possessing property to the amount of £ , , like landed proprietors of £ a year. there are some further features in these monumental brasses worth notice. knightly effigies often have represented at their feet lions, the symbols of their martial courage. some of our wool-merchants have a sheep at their feet, as the symbol of their calling: one is given in the woodcut accompanying. in another, in the same church, the merchant has one foot on a sheep and the other on a wool-pack; here the two significant symbols are combined--the sheep stands on the wool-pack. in both examples the wool-pack has a mark upon it; in the former case it is something like the usual "merchant's mark," in the latter it is two shepherds' crooks, which seem to be his badge, for another crook is laid beside the wool-pack. at the feet of the effigy of john fortey, p. , is also his merchant's mark enclosed in an elegant wreath, here represented. the initials i and f are the initials of his name; the remainder of the device is his trade-mark. we give two other merchants' marks of the two last of our series of effigies. if the reader cares to see other examples of these marks, and to learn all the little that is known about them, he may refer to a paper by mr. ewing, in vol. iii. of "norfolk archæology." [illustration] [illustration] [illustration] [illustration] we have in a former chapter (p. ) given from his monumental brass a figure of alderman field, of the date , habited in a tunic edged with fur, girded at the waist, with a _gypcire_ and rosary at the girdle, and over all an alderman's gown. in st. paul's church, bedford, is another brass of sir william harper, knight, alderman, and lord mayor of london,[ ] who died in a.d. ; he wears a suit of armour of that date, with an alderman's robe forming a drapery about the figure, but thrown back so as to conceal as little of the figure as possible. in the abbey church at shrewsbury is an effigy of a mayor of that town in armour, with a mayor's gown of still more modern shape. the brasses of sir m. rowe, lord mayor of london, , and sir h. rowe, lord mayor , both kneeling figures, formerly in hackney church, are engraved in robinson's history of that parish. and in many of the churches in and about london, and other of the great commercial towns of the middle ages, monumental effigies exist, with which, were it necessary, we might extend these notes of illustrations of civic costume. in further explanation of civil costume from mss. illuminations we refer the artist to the harleian "romance of the rose" (harl. , , f. ), where he will find a beautiful drawing, in which appears a man in a long blue gown, open a little at the breast and showing a pink under-robe, a black hat, and a liripipe of the kind already given in the citizens of paris p. ; he wears his purse by his side, and is presenting money to a beggar. at f. is another in similar costume, with a "penner" at his belt in addition to his purse. there is nothing to prove that these men are merchants, except that they are represented in the streets of a town, and that their costume is such as was worn by merchants of the time. with these costumes of civilians before our eyes we wish to use them in illustration of a subject which was touched upon in a former section of this work, viz., the secular clergy of the middle ages. we there devoted some pages to a discussion of the ordinary every-day costume of the clergy, and stated that there was no professional peculiarity about it, but that it was in shape like that worn by contemporary civilians of the better class, and in colour blue and red and other colours, but seldom black. if the reader will turn back to pp. , , and , he will find some woodcuts of the clergy in ordinary costume; let him compare them now with these costumes of merchants. for example, take the woodcut of roger the chaplain, on p. , and compare it with the brass from northleach, p. . the style of art is very different, but in spite of this the resemblance in costume will be readily seen; the gown reaching to the ankle, and over it the cloak fastened with three buttons at the right shoulder, with the hood falling back over the shoulders; the half-gloves are the same in both, and the shoes with their latchet over the instep. then turn to the priest on p. , and it will be seen that he wears the gown girded at the waist, with a purse hung at the girdle, and the flat cap with long liripipe, which we have described in the costumes of these merchants. lastly, let the reader look at these brasses of wool-staplers, and compare the gown they wore with the cassock now adopted by the clergy, and it will be seen that they are identical--_i.e._ the clergy continue to wear the gown which all civilians wore three or four hundred years ago; and in the same manner the academic gown which the clergy wear, in common with all university men, is only the gown which all respectable citizens wore in the time of henry viii. and elizabeth. chapter vi. mediÆval towns. mediæval towns in england had one of four origins; some were those of ancient roman foundation, which had lived through the saxon invasion, like lincoln, chester, and colchester. others again grew up gradually in the neighbourhood of a monastery. the monastery was founded in a wilderness, but it had a number of artisans employed about it; travellers resorted to its _hospitium_ as to an inn; it was perhaps a place of pilgrimage; the affairs of the lord abbot, and the business of the large estates of the convent, brought people constantly thither; and so gradually a town grew up, as at st. alban's, st. edmundsbury, &c. in other cases it was not a religious house, but a castle of some powerful and wealthy lord, which drew a population together under the shelter of its walls--as at norwich, where the lines of the old streets follow the line of the castle-moat; or ludlow, on the other side of the kingdom, which gathered round the norman castle of ludlow. but there is a third category of mediæval towns which did not descend from ancient times, or grow by accidental accretion in course of time, but were deliberately founded and built in the mediæval period for specific purposes; and in these we have a special interest from our present point of view. there was a period, beginning in the latter part of the eleventh and extending to the close of the fourteenth century, when kings and feudal lords, from motives of high policy, fostered trade with anxious care; encouraged traders with countenance, protection, and grants of privileges; and founded commercial towns, and gave them charters which made them little independent, self-governing republics, in the midst of the feudal lords and ecclesiastical communities which surrounded them. in england we do not find so many of these newly founded towns as on the continent; here towns were already scattered abundantly over the land, and what was needed was to foster their growth; but our english kings founded such towns in their continental dominions. edward i. planted numerous free towns, especially in guienne and aquitaine, in order to raise up a power in his own interest antagonistic to that of the feudal lords. other continental sovereigns did the same, _e.g._ alphonse of poitiers, the brother of st. louis, in his dominion of toulouse. but in england we have a few such cases. the history of the foundation of hull will afford us an example. when edward i. was returning from scotland after the battle of dunbar, he visited lord wakes of barnard castle. while hunting one day, he was led by the chase to the hamlet of wyke-upon-hull, belonging to the convent of meaux. the king perceived at once the capabilities of the site for a fortress for the security of the kingdom, and a port for the extension of commerce. he left the hunt to take its course, questioned the shepherds who were on the spot about the depth of the river, the height to which the tides rose, the owner of the place, and the like. he sent for the abbot of meaux, and exchanged with him other lands for wyke. then he issued a proclamation offering freedom and great commercial privileges to all merchants who would build and inhabit there. he erected there a manor-house for himself; incorporated the town as a free borough in a.d.; by the great church was built; by the town was fortified with a wall and towers; and the king visited it from time to time on his journeys to the north. the family of de la pole, who settled there from the first, ably seconded the king's intentions. kingston-upon-hull became one of the great commercial towns of the kingdom. the de la poles rose rapidly to wealth and the highest rank. michael de la pole "builded a goodly-house of brick, against the west end of st. mary's church, like a palace, with a goodly orchard and garden at large, enclosed with brick. he builded also three houses in the town besides, whereof every one hath a tower of brick." leland the antiquary, of the time of queen elizabeth, has left us a description and bird's-eye plan of the town in his day, which is highly interesting. of our english towns, those which are of roman origin were laid out at first on a comprehensive plan, and they have the principal streets tolerably straight, and crossing at right angles. the great majority of the towns which grew as above described are exceedingly irregular; but this irregularity, so important an element in the picturesqueness of mediæval towns, is quite an accidental one. when the mediæval builders laid out a town _de novo_, they did it in the most methodical manner; laying out the streets wide, straight, at equal distances, and crossing rectangularly; appropriating proper sites for churches, town-halls, and other public purposes, and regulating the size and plan of the houses. it is to the continental towns we must especially look for examples; but we find when edward i. was building his free towns there, he sent for englishmen to lay them out for him. a similar opportunity occurred at winchelsea, where the same plan was pursued. the old town of winchelsea was destroyed by the sea in , and the king determined to rebuild this cinque-port. the chief owners of the new site were a knight, sir j. tregoz, one maurice, and the owners of battle abbey. the king compounded with them for their rights over seventy acres of land, and sent down the bishop of ely, who was lord treasurer, to lay out the new town. the monarch accorded the usual privileges to settlers, and gave help towards the fortifications. the town was laid out in streets which divided the area into rectangular blocks; two blocks were set apart for churches, and there were two colleges of friars within the town. somehow the place did not flourish; it was harried by incursions of the french before the fortifications were completed, people were not attracted to it, the whole area was never taken up, and it continues to this day shrunk up into one corner of its walled area. three of the old gates, and part of the walls, and portions of three or four houses, are all that remain of king edward's town. [illustration: _view of jerusalem._] [illustration: _the canterbury pilgrims._] the woodcut on the preceding page, from a ms. of lydgate's "storie of thebes" (royal d. ii.), gives a general view of a town. the travellers in the foreground are a group of canterbury pilgrims. in these mediæval times the population of these towns was not so diverse as it afterwards became; the houses were of various classes, from that of the wealthy merchant, which was a palace--like that of michael de la pole at hull, or that of sir john crosby in london--down to the cottage of the humble craftsman, but the mediæval town possessed no such squalid quarters as are to be found in most of our modern towns. the inhabitants were chiefly merchants, manufacturers, and craftsmen of the various guilds. just as in the military order, all who were permanently attached to the service of a feudal lord were lodged in his castle or manor and its dependencies; as all who were attached to a religious community were lodged in and about the monastery; as in farm-houses, a century ago, the labouring men lived in the house; so in towns all the clerks, apprentices, and work-people lodged in the house of their master; the apprentices of every craftsman formed part of his family; there were no lodgings in the usual sense of the word. in the great towns, and especially in the suburbs, were hostelries which received travellers, adventurers, minstrels, and all the people who had no fixed establishment; and often in the outskirts of the town without the walls, houses of inferior kind sprang up like parasites, and harboured the poor and dangerous classes. the bird's-eye views of the county towns in the corners of speed's _maps of the most famous places of the world_, are well worth study. they give representations of the condition of many of our towns in the time of elizabeth, while they were still for the most part in their ancient condition, with walls and gates, crosses, pillories, and maypoles still standing, and indicated in the engravings. perhaps one of the most perfect examples we have left of a small mediæval town is conway; it is true, no very old houses appear to be left in it, but the streets are probably on their old lines, and the walls and gates are perfect--the latter, especially, giving us some picturesque features which we do not find remaining in the gates of other towns. taken in combination with the adjoining castle it is architecturally one of the most unchanged corners of england. we have also a few old houses still left here and there, sufficient to form a series of examples of various dates, from the twelfth century downwards. we must refer the reader to turner's "domestic architecture" for notices of them. a much greater number of examples, and in much more perfect condition, exist in the towns of the continent, for which reference should be made to viollet le duc's "dictionary of architecture." all that our plan requires, and our space admits, is to give a general notion of what a citizen's house in a mediæval town was like. the houses of wealthy citizens were no doubt mansions comparable with the unembattled manor-houses of the country gentry. we have already quoted leland's description of that of michael de la pole at hull, of the fourteenth century, and crosby hall in bishopsgate street. st. mary's hall, at coventry, is a very perfect example of the middle of the fifteenth century. norwich also possesses one or more houses of this character. the house of an ordinary citizen had a narrow frontage, and usually presented its gable to the street; it had very frequently a basement story, groined, which formed a cellar, and elevated the first floor of the house three or four feet above the level of the street. at winchelsea the vaulted basements of three or four of the old houses remain, and show that the entrance to the house was by a short stone stair alongside the wall; under these stairs was the entrance into the cellar, beside the steps a window to the cellar, and over that the window of the first floor. here, as was usually the case, the upper part of the house was probably of wood, and it was roofed with tiles. on the first floor was the shop, and beside it an alley leading to the back of the house, and to a straight stair which gave access to the building over the shop, which was a hall or common living-room occupying the whole of the first floor. the kitchen was at the back, near the hall, or sometimes the cooking was done in the hall itself. a private stair mounted to the upper floor, which was the sleeping apartment, and probably was often left in one undivided garret; the great roof of the house was a wareroom or storeroom, goods being lifted to it by a crane which projected from a door in the gable. the town of cluny possesses some examples, very little modernised, of houses of this description of the twelfth century. others of the thirteenth century are at st. antonin, and in the rue st. martin, amiens. others of subsequent date will be found in the dictionary of viollet le duc, vol. vi., pp. - , who gives plans, elevations, and perspective sketches which enable us thoroughly to understand and realise these picturesque old edifices. our own country will supply us with abundance of examples of houses, both of timber and stone, of the fifteenth century. nowhere, perhaps, are there better examples than at shrewsbury, where they are so numerous, in some parts (_e.g._ in the high street and in butcher row), as to give a very good notion of the picturesque effect of a whole street--of a whole town of them. but it must be admitted that the continental towns very far exceed ours in their antiquarian and artistic interest. in the first place, the period of great commercial prosperity occurred in these countries in the middle ages, and their mediæval towns were in consequence larger and handsomer than ours. in the second place, there has been no great outburst of prosperity in these countries since to encourage the pulling down the mediæval houses to make way for modern improvements; while in england our commercial growth, which came later, has had the result of clearing away nearly all of our old town-houses, except in a few old-fashioned places which were left outside the tide of commercial innovations. in consequence, a walk through some of the towns of normandy will enable the student and the artist better to realise the picturesque effect of an old english town, than any amount of diligence in putting together the fragments of old towns which remain to us. in some of the german towns, also, we find the old houses still remaining, apparently untouched, and the ancient walls, mural towers, and gateways still surrounding them. the illuminations in mss. show that english towns were equally picturesque, and that the mediæval artists appreciated them. the illustrations in our last chapter on pp. , , give an idea of the houses inhabited by citizens in such a town as st. alban's. in the "roman d'alexandre," in the bodleian library, oxford, a whole street of such houses is rudely represented, some with the gable to the street, some with the side, all with the door approached by an exterior stair, most of them with the windows apparently unglazed, and closed at will by a shutter. we might quote one ms. after another, and page after page. we will content ourselves with noting, for exterior views, the royal ms. e. v. (dated a.d.), at e. v., f. v., a town with bridge and barbican, and the same still better represented at f. ; and we refer also to hans burgmaier's "der weise könige," which abounds in picturesque bits of towns in the backgrounds of the pictures. for exteriors the view of venice in the "roman d'alexandre" is full of interest, especially as we recognise that it gives some of the remaining features--the doge's palace, the cathedral, the columns in the piazzeta--and it is therefore not merely a fancy picture, as many of the town-views in the ms. are, which are supposed to represent jerusalem,[ ] constantinople, and other cities mentioned in the text. this venice view shows us that at that time the city was lighted by lanterns hung at the end of poles extended over the doors of the houses. it gives us a representation of a butcher's shop and other interesting features. [illustration: _a mediæval street and town hall._] the illustration on the preceding page is also a very interesting street-view of the fifteenth century, from a plate in le croix and seré's "moyen age," vol. corporations et metiers, plate . take first the right-hand side of the engraving, remove the forest of picturesque towers and turrets with their spirelets and vanes which appear over the roofs of the houses (in which the artist has probably indulged his imagination as to the effect of the other buildings of the town beyond), and we have left a sober representation of part of a mediæval street--a row of lofty timber houses with their gables turned to the street. we see indications of the usual way of arranging the timber frame-work in patterns; there are also indications of pargeting (_e.g._ raised plaster ornamentation) and of painting in some of the panels. on the ground-floor we have a row of shops protected by a projecting pent-house; the shop-fronts are open unglazed arches, with a bench across the lower part of the arch for a counter, while the goods are exposed above. in the first shop the tradesman is seen behind his counter ready to cry "what d'ye lack" to every likely purchaser; at the second shop is a customer in conversation with the shopkeeper; at the third the shopkeeper and his apprentice seem to be busy displaying their goods. some of the old houses in shrewsbury, as those in butcher row, are not unlike these, and especially their shops are exactly of this character. when we turn to the rest of the engraving we find apparently some fine building in which, perhaps, again the artist has drawn a little upon vague recollections of civic magnificence, and his perspective is not quite satisfactory. perhaps it is some market-house or guildhall, or some such building, which is represented; with shops on the ground-floor, and halls and chambers above. the entrance-door is ornamented with sculpture, the panels of the building are filled with figures, which are either painted or executed in plaster, in relief. the upper part of the building is still unfinished, and we see the scaffolds, and the cranes conveying mortar and timber, and the masons yet at work. in the shop on the right of the building, we note the usual open shop-front with its counter, and the tradesman with a pair of scales; in the interior of the shop is an assistant who seems to be, with vigorous action, pounding something in a mortar, and so we conjecture the shop to be that of an apothecary. the costume of the man crossing the street, in long gown girded at the waist, may be compared with the merchants given in our last chapter, and with those in an engraving of a market-place at p. . the figure at a bench in the left-hand corner of the engraving may perhaps be one of the workmen engaged upon the building; not far off another will be seen hauling up a bucket of mortar, by means of a pulley, to the upper part of the building; the first mason seems to wear trousers, probably overalls to protect his ordinary dress from the dirt of his occupation. of later date are the pair of views given opposite from the margin of one of the pictures in "the alchemy book" (plut. , ) a ms. in the british museum of early sixteenth-century date. the nearest house in the left-hand picture shows that the shops were still of the mediæval character; several of the houses have signs on projecting poles. there are other examples of shops in the nearest house of the right-hand picture, a public fountain opposite, and a town-gate at the end of the street. we see in the two pictures, a waggon, horsemen, and carts, a considerable number of people standing at the shops, at the doors of their houses, and passing along the street, which has no foot pavement. [illustration: _mediæval streets._] the accompanying cut from barclay's "shippe of fools," gives a view in the interior of a mediæval town. the lower story of the houses is of stone, the upper stories of timber, projecting. the lower stories have only small, apparently unglazed windows, while the living rooms with their oriels and glazed lattices are in the first floor. the next cut, from a ms. in the french national library, gives the interior of the courtyard of a great house. we notice the portion of one of the towers on the left, the draw-well, the external stair to the principal rooms on the first floor, the covered unglazed gallery which formed the mode of communication from the different apartments of the first floor, and the dormer windows. [illustration: _a town, from barclay's shippe of fools._] a whole chapter might be written on the inns of mediæval england. we must content ourselves with giving references to pictures of the exterior of two country ale-houses--one in the royal ms. e. iv., at f. v., which has a broom projecting over the door by way of sign; and another in the "roman d'alexandre" in the bodleian--and with reproducing here two pictures of the interiors of hostelries from mr. wright's "domestic manners and customs of the middle ages." they represent the sleeping accommodation of these ancient inns. in the first, from the "quatre fils d'aymon," a ms. romance of the latter part of the fourteenth century, in the french national library, the beds are arranged at the side of the apartment in separate berths, like those of a ship's cabin, or like the box beds of the highlands of scotland. it is necessary, perhaps, to explain that the artist has imagined one side of the room removed, so as to introduce into his illustration both the mounted traveller outside and the interior of the inn. [illustration: _courtyard of a house._ (french national library.)] in the next woodcut, from royal ms. d. ii., the side of the hostelry next to the spectator is supposed to be removed, so as to bring under view both the party of travellers approaching through the corn-fields, and the same travellers tucked into their truckle beds and fast asleep. the sign of the inn will be noticed projecting over the door, with a brush hung from it. many houses displayed signs in the middle ages; the brush was the general sign of a house of public entertainment. on the bench in the common dormitory will be seen the staves and scrips of the travellers, who are pilgrims. [illustration: _an inn._ (french national library.)] a fragment of a romance of "floyre and blanchefleur," published by the early english text society, illustrates the mediæval inn. we have a little modernised the very ancient original. floris is travelling with a retinue of servants, in the hope of finding his blanchefleur:-- "to a riche city they bothe ycome, whaire they have their inn ynome[ ] at a palais soothe riche; the lord of their inn has non his liche,[ ] him fell gold enough to honde, bothe in water and in lande, he hadde yled his life ful wide." _i.e._ he had travelled much, had great experience of life, and had gained gold both by sea and land. besides houses entirely devoted to the entertainment of travellers, it was usual for citizens to take travellers into their houses, and give them entertainment for profit; it would seem that floris and his servants had "taken up their inn" at the house of a burgess; he is called subsequently, "a burgess that was wel kind and curteis:"-- "this child he sette next his side, glad and blithe they weren alle so many as were in the halle; but floris not ne drank naught, of blanchefleur was all his thought." [illustration: _an inn._] the lady of the inn perceiving his melancholy, speaks to her husband about him:-- "sire takest thou no care how this child mourning sit mete ne drink he nabit, he net[ ] mete ne he ne drinketh nis[ ] he no marchaunt as me thinketh." from which we gather that their usual guests were merchants. the host afterwards tells floris that blanchefleur had been at his house a little time before, and that-- "thus therein this other day sat blanchefleur that faire may, in halle, ne in bower, ne at board of her ne herde we never a word but of floris was her mone he hadde in herte joie none." floris was so rejoiced at the news, that he caused to be brought a cup of silver and a robe of minever, which he offered to his host for his news. in the morning-- "he took his leave and wende his way, and for his nighte's gesting he gaf his host an hundred schillinge." one feature of a town which requires special mention is the town-hall. as soon as a town was incorporated, it needed a large hall in which to transact business and hold feasts. the wealth and magnificence of the corporation were shown partly in the size and magnificence of its hall. trade-guilds similarly had their guildhalls; when there was one great guild in a town, its hall was often the town-hall; when there were several, the guilds vied with one another in the splendour of their halls, feasts, pageants, &c. the town-halls on the continent exceed ours in size and architectural beauty. that at st. antoine, in france, is an elegant little structure of the thirteenth century. the belgian town-halls at bruges, &c., are well known from engravings. we are not aware of the existence of any town-halls in england of a date earlier than the fifteenth century. that at leicester is of the middle of the fifteenth century. the town-hall at lincoln, over the south gate, is of the latter half of the century; that at southampton, over the north gate, about the same date: it was not unusual for the town-hall to be over one of the gates. of the early part of the sixteenth century we have many examples. they are all of the same type--a large oblong hall, of stone or timber, supported on pillars, the open colonnade beneath being the market-place. that at salisbury is of stone; at wenlock (which has been lately restored), of timber. there are others at hereford, ross, leominster, ashburton, guildford, &c. the late gothic bourse at antwerp is an early example of the cloistered, or covered courts, which, at the end of the fifteenth century, began to be built for the convenience of the merchants assembling at a certain hour to transact business. the covered bridge of the rialto was used as the exchange at venice. none of our towns have the same relative importance which belonged to them in the middle ages. in the latter part of the period of which we write it was very usual for the county families to have town-houses in the county town, or some other good neighbouring town, and there they came to live in the winter months. when the fashion began we hardly know. some of the fine old timber houses remaining in shrewsbury are said to have been built by shropshire families for their town-houses. the gentry did not in those times go to london for "the season." the great nobility only used to go to court, which was held three times a year; then parliament sat, the king's courts of law were open, and the business of the nation was transacted. they had houses at the capital for their convenience on these occasions, which were called inns, as lincoln's inn, &c. but it is only from a very recent period, since increased facilities of locomotion made it practicable, that it has been the fashion for all people in a certain class of society to spend "the season" in london. as a consequence the country gentry no longer have houses in the provincial towns; even the better classes of those whose occupation lies in them live in their suburbs, and the towns are rapidly changing their character, physically, socially, and morally, for the worse. london is becoming rapidly the one great town in england. the great manufacturers have agencies in london; if people are going to furnish a house or to buy a wedding outfit they come up to london; the very artisans and rustics in search of a day's holiday are whirled up to london in an excursion train. while london in consequence is extending so widely as to threaten to convert all england into a mere suburb of the metropolis of the british empire. index. abbesses, costume of, abbey, infirmary of, abbey-church, internal arrangement of, abbot, duties of, ; his habit, abbot-bishop, abbot's lodgings, , alien priories, ampulla, the canterbury, - anchorages, anchoresses, bequests to, ; judith the foundress and patroness of the order of, ; sketch of, anchorholds, , , anchorites, bequests to, - ; rule for, ; their mode of life, angel minstrels, - anglo-saxons, st. augustine the apostle of the, arbalesters, the genoese famous as, archers, ; corps of enrolled as body guards by edward iii. and french kings, ; importance of in battle, ; mounted corps of, _ib._; norman, equipment of at time of conquest, ; skill of english, archery, practice of by commonality of england protected and encouraged by legislation, , armorial bearings, date of invention of, armour, details of a suit of thirteenth century, ; differences in suits of mediæval, , ; little worn in the reigns of elizabeth and james i., ; many modifications of in fifteenth century, ; of king henry viii.'s reign, ; of the fourteenth century, _et seq._; of the fifteenth century, _et seq._; various kinds of early, , , , arquebusier, artillery, ancient, ; date of first appearance in field disputed, ; first evidence as to the existence of, , augustinians, order of the, austin friars, order of, , banker, the mediæval, bard, anecdotes concerning the, - ; the father of the minstrels of mediæval europe, basilican institution, introduction of into africa by st. augustine, ; into france by st. martin of tours, _ib._; into ireland by st. patrick, _ib._; into syria by hilarion, _ib._ battering-ram, , , bede houses, benedictine monks, habit of, - ; orders, benefices, abuses in connection with, bonhommes, the, brigittines (female order of our saviour), britain, exports of when a roman province, british church, early history of the, coinage, date of fast, commerce, the beginnings of, camaldoli, order of, canons, secular, cathedral establishments of, ; their costume, , canterbury pilgrimage, chief sign of the, its origin and meaning, _et seq._ carmelite friars, order of, carthusian order, founded by st. bruno, ; charterhouse (chartreux) principal house of in england, carthusians, cistercians, clugniacs, and the orders of camaldoli and vallambrosa and grandmont, history of the successive rise of the, castle, mode of assaulting a, ; various methods of attacking a, castles, counter-mines used by defenders of mediæval, ; greek fire and stinkpots employed in repelling assailants of, ; mines used for effecting breaches in walls of, ; places of hospitality as well as of trials of arms, cells, monastic, chantry chapels, bequests to, priests, , , chapels, private, curious internal arrangement of, ; establishments of, - chaplains, domestic, , , christendom, coenobitical orders of, church of england, date of present organization of, cinque ports, ; ships of the, frequently at war with those of other ports of the kingdom, cistercian order, founded by robert de thierry, ; introduced into england a.d. , _ib._; st. bernard of clairvaux the great saint of the, clairvaux, external aspect and internal life of, ; founded by st. bernard, clergy, comparison between mediæval seculars and modern, , ; extracts from injunctions of john, archbishop of canterbury, on robes of the, , , , ; form of degradation for heresy, , ; friars a popular order of, ; parochial, cause of change in condition of the, ; rivalry between friars and secular, ; secular, ; stories illustrating deference of for squire in olden days, , ; wills of the, , clerical costume of archbishop, - ; of bishop, ; of cardinal, ; of minor orders, , ; of pope, , _clericus_, meaning of the word, clugniac, order of, coffin-stones, mediæval, curious symbols on, combat, a mediæval, , commerce, checked by the conquest, ; discovery of sea-passage to india opens up to a career of adventure, ; earliest extant document bearing on saxon, ; of england greatly increased during reign of edward the confessor, ; receives much attention from government during fourteenth century, ; recovers and surpasses its ancient prosperity in reign of henry ii., ; the pioneers of, compostella pilgrimage, legend in connection with badge of the, ; offerings made by pilgrims on return from, convent, the, officials of: abbot, ; almoner, ; artificers and servants, ; cellarer, ; chantor, _ib._; chaplains, ; cloister monks, ; hospitaller, ; infirmarer, ; kitchener, ; master of the novices, ; novices, ; porter, ; precentor, ; prior, ; professed brethren, ; sacrist, ; seneschal, ; subprior, ; succentor, _ib._ council of hertford, ; differences affecting parochial clergy reconciled at, _ib._ council of lyons, suppression of minor mendicant orders by, ; red hat of cardinal first given by innocent vi. at, counting-board, the, cross-bow, not used in war till close of twelfth century, ; various forms of, _ib._ croyland, monastery of, crusades, objects for which they were organised, crutched friars, order of, deaconesses, order of, de poenetentia friars, order of, dominican friar, chaucer's, friars, order of, dunstan, archbishop, reduces all saxon monasteries to rule of st. benedict, education, monasteries famous places of, edwardian period, armour and arms of the, egyptian desert, hermits of the, eremeti augustini, order of, , ; their habit, eremetical life, curious illustration of, fairs, sole power of granting right to hold exercised by king, ; great, feudal system, introduction of into england by william the conqueror, ; points of difference between continental and english, fontevraud, nuns of, franciscan friars, order of, ; the several branches of, nuns, habit of the, free towns, mediæval, ; hull an example of one of the, _ib._; manner of laying out, - friars, orders of: austin, ; carmelites, ; crutched, ; de poenetentia, ; dominicans, ; franciscans, chaucer's type of a certain class of, ; convents of, _ib._; pictures of ancient customs and manners of, ; the principle which inspired them, gilbertines, founded by gilbert of sempringham, godrie of finchale, grandmontines, order of, greek church, costume of monks and nuns in the, ; rule of st. basil followed by all monasteries of, _ib._ fire, ; used in the crusades, _ib._ grimlac, rule of, , guesten-halls, , guild priests, ; bequests to, ; duties of, _ib._ guilds of minstrels, ; laws regulating them, , hampton court, shipping of time of henry viii. illustrated at, harper, the mediæval, _et seq._ henry viii.'s army, ; account of its taking the field, ; description of the king's camp, heresy, form of degradation for, , hermit, a modern, ; form of vow made by mediæval, ; popular idea of a, ; service for habiting and blessing a, ; superstition with regard to a, ; typical pictures of a, - hermitages, localities of, ; descriptions of, - hermit-saints, traditional histories of the early, n.; their costume, hermits, curious history relating to, holy land, early pilgrims to the, ; pilgrim entitled to wear palm on accomplishment of pilgrimage to, ; special sign worn by pilgrims to, _ib._ "holy reliques," an account of, - horses, equipment of in fifteenth century, ; trappings of at tournaments, hospitals of the middle ages, , ; foreign examples of, hospitium, contrast between the cloister and the, ; resorted to by travellers, houses, description of, given by mediæval traders to various churches and monasteries, impropriation, evil of, iona, monastic institution at, inventories, clerical, , ; of church furniture, "isles of tin," jewellery, portable, saxon goldsmiths famous for, jousting, , , , , judicial combats, anecdotes illustrative of, ; various authorities on the subject of, _ib._ kelvedon parsonage, , , knight, manner of bringing up a, ; chaucer's portrait of a, , knight-errant, armour and costume of a royal, , ; graphic account of incidents in single combat of a, - ; squire of a, knight-errantry, romances of, _et seq._ knighthood, won by deeds of arms in the field and in the lists, knight hospitaller, a, knights of malta, of st. john of jerusalem, order of, - of the temple, order of, , , knights, noblemen and eldest sons of landed gentry made, ; ceremony of making essentially a religious one, ; equipment of reached its strangest form in reigns of richard iii. and henry vii. knights-errant, _et seq._ knights of the middle ages, armour, arms, and costume of the, _et seq._; scarcity of authorities for costume and manners of the, ; quaint and poetic phrases in romances of the, , laura, the, ; original arrangement of the hermits in their, lindisfarne, monastic institution at, long-bow, the national arm of the english, ; attains climax of its reputation during fourteenth century, london, burgesses of at battle of hastings, ; date of its becoming chief emporium of britain, ; importance of its citizens previous to conquest, ; interesting account of mediæval, ; "mysteries," or trades of, ; regulations as to dress of merchants, citizens, and burgesses of the city of, lord-monks, marseilles, as a greek colony, the chief emporium of the world, mediæval dance, a, , england, inns of and their signs, - ; picturesque aspect of, - ; population of, ; town-halls of, ; town houses of county families of, _ib._ life and characters, sketches of, from an artist's point of view, shops, descriptions of, , towns, ; best specimens of to be found in normandy and germany, ; conway a perfect example of one of the, ; gradual growth of, ; houses of, , ; inhabitants of, ; mode of lodging of population of, _ib._; numerous on the continent from eleventh to fourteenth centuries, ; picturesque views of streets and shops of, - ; some built for specific purposes, trade, _et seq._ merchant, mediæval, an account of his occupation and way of life, , ; curious epitaph on a brass relating to a, ; effigy of a at northleach, merchant guilds, navy, the, ships, early, , ; king at liberty to impress, , merchants, commerce of england, during thirteenth century, carried on by foreign, ; details of dresses worn by mediæval, ; early english, ; law conferring rank on, ; munificence of the mediæval, ; private naval wars carried on between, , ; provision in charter of king john as to, ; social position of the mediæval, , ; various classes of distinguished by costume, middle ages, armour of the, - ; archers of england famous during the, ; combats of the, ; consecrated widows of the, ; costume of tradespeople of the, ; description of the combat between king arthur and a knight of the, , ; drill and tactics of the soldiers of the, - ; engines of war of the, , ; habitations of secular clergy in the, - ; harper the most dignified of the minstrel craft throughout the, ; hermits and recluses of the, _et seq._; hospitals of the, - ; hospitium of a monastery in the, ; houses of the, , ; itinerant traders of the, , ; manner of bringing up a youth of good family in the, ; merchant navy of the, ; merchant princes of the, , ; merchants of the, _et seq._; minstrels part of regular establishment of nobles and gentry of the, ; monks of the, _et seq._; primitive mode of life of rural english population of the, ; ships of the, - ; sketch of life led by a country parson in the, , ; sumptuary laws regulating dress of merchants of the, ; system of pluralities in the, military engines, _et seq._ exercises and encounters, _et seq._ orders: knights of st. john of jerusalem, ; knights of the temple, ; our lady of mercy, ; teutonic knights, _ib._; trinitarians, - minstrels, mediæval, assist in musical part of divine service, ; costume of, - ; curious anecdotes concerning, , ; duties of, _et seq._; female, , ; incorporated in a guild, ; marriage processions attended by, , ; often men of position and worth, , ; part of regular establishment of nobles and gentry, - ; patronised by the clergy, ; singular ordinance relating to, ; tournaments enlivened by the strains of, , ; welcome guests at the religious houses, , "minstrels unattached," , miracle-plays, parish clerks took an important part in, ; survival of in spain, minstrelsy, in high repute among the normans, ; grostête of lincoln a great patron of, ; israelitish compared with music of mediæval england, mitre, earliest form of the, ; transition shape of the from twelfth century, _ib._ monachism, origin of, - monasteries, benedictine, ; british, ; saxon, ; suppression of, monastery, arrangement of a carthusian, ; description of a, _et seq._; graphic sketch of the arrival of guests at a, monastic orders, traditionary histories of the founders and saints of, _et seq._; their suppression in england, monk, cell of a carthusian, ; pilgrim, monks, abodes of, ; lord, monumental brasses, , , , , , , , ; _minutiæ_ of costume of middle ages supplied from, ; peculiar features in, movable tower, a, music, sketch of the earliest history of, - musical instruments, date of invention of, ; occasions when used, _ib._; names of, _ib._ _et seq._; used in the colleges of the prophets, ; saxon, ; learned essays on mediæval, ; used in celebration of divine worship, ; forms of, , order for the redemption of captives, , ; their habit, ; their rules, _ib._ ostiary, costume of an, n. our lady of mercy, order of, our lady of walsingham, shrine of, , ; a relic from, _ib._ pachomius, written code of laws by, palmers, , ; graves of three holy, parish clerk, frequently the recipient of a legacy, ; his duties, , ; office of an ancient, _ib._; worth of his office, priests, early handbooks for, ; instructions for, n.; points of difference between monks and friars and the, parochial clergy, , ; domestic economy of the early, - ; organization of the established by archbishop of canterbury, parsonage houses, early, _et seq._; description of, ; furniture of, , pastoral staff, earliest examples of the, pedlars, their mode of dealing in mediæval times, , , pilgrim, an equestrian, ; the female, ; the penitential, pilgrimage, chief sign of the canterbury, ; chief signs of the roman, ; holy land first object of, ; mendicant, ; palmers, on return from, received with ecclesiastical processions, ; practice to return thanks on returning from, ; relics of, , ; saying of jerome as to, ; special roads to the great shrines of, ; sign of the compostella, ; usual places for, pilgrimages, a pleasant religious holiday, ; gathering cry of, ; popular english, , pilgrims, , ; costume of, , ; description of staff and scrip of, - ; graphic sketch of a company of passing through a town, ; insignia of, , , ; office of, - ; special signs of, ; singers and musicians employed by, ; vow made by, pioneers of commerce, the, piracy, prevalence of in mediæval times, , plate armour, first introduction of, "pleasure fairs," priest-hermits, costume of, priesthood, curious history of way in which many poor men's sons attained to the, prior, functions of, prioress, chaucer's description of a, recluse, service for enclosing a, , recluses, bequests to, , ; canons concerning, ; cells of female, ; curious details of the life of, ; dress of female, ; giving of alms to, ; hermitages for female, , ; popular idea as to the life of, ; sketch of, - reclusorium, the, , , rectors, saxon, , reformed benedictine orders, regular canons, premonstratensian branch of, founded by st. norbert, rettenden, reclusorium at, , richard of hampole, life of, - rome, pilgrimage to, ; number of pilgrims visiting, ; description of relics at, , n. sacred music, salby abbey, staff of servants at, saxon soldiers, costume of, - , - ; ornaments of, , ; romantic fancies in connection with swords of, ; weapons used by, , , , saxons, the, a musical people, ; a pastoral rather than an agricultural race, ; corn not exported by the, _ib._; famous throughout europe for goldsmiths' work and embroidery, _ib._; rage among the for foreign pilgrimages, ; traffic in slaves considerable during time of the, scottish archers of the guard, enrolment of the, secular clergy, comparison between costume of and that of mediæval merchants, ; costume of the, _et seq._ shrines, pictures of, siege, interesting points in a mediæval, solitaries, mediæval, ; curious incident relating to two, spenser's description of a typical hermit and hermitage, , squires, duties of, st. anthony, coenobite system attributed to, ; monks of, _ib._ st. augustine, canons secular of, ; their costume, _ib._; canons regular of, ; chaucer's pen-and-ink sketch of one of the order, st. basil, abuse of great church festivals mentioned by, ; introduction of monachism into asia minor by, ; rule of, _ib._ st. benedict, his rule, , ; archbishop dunstan reduces all saxon monasteries to rule of, st. clare, foundress of the female order of franciscans, st. edmund's bury, abbey of, st. francis, character of, st. jean-les-bons-hommes, priory of, st. john the hermit, st. mary, winchester, abbey of, sumptuary laws, ; civil costume regulated by, , teutonic knights, order of, tilting-ground, remains of, to be seen at carisbrook castle, timber fort, ; used by william the conqueror, tournament, ; a miniature, ; an historical example of the, , ; description of encounter between french and english knights at a, ; directions for the, - ; form of challenge for a, ; form of proclamation inviting to a, , ; habiliments required by knights at a, _ib._; incidents relating to a, , ; manner of arranging a, ; mode of arming knights for the, ; pictures illustrating various scenes of the, , ; prizes of the, ; the _joute à outrance_, ; the _joute à plaisance_, _ib._; weapons used at a, tournaments, feasting and merriment usual at, ; the mediæval romances safe authorities on all relating to the subject of, ; unusual deeds performed at, , town-halls, architectural beauty of continental, ; date of earliest english, towns, provincial, market-days in mediæval, , ; specimens of various in time of edward iii., - traveller, religious houses chiefly the resting-places of the, , trinitarians, order of, - vallombrosa, order of, vestments, mediæval official, description of, - ; abandoned at time of reformation, wager of battle, account of a mediæval, - walter of hamuntesham, beating of by rabble, war-ships, cannon of both iron and brass employed on board english, a.d. , ; costume of sailors and soldiers of mediæval, ; description of early, _et seq._; list of english, a.d. , and where stationed, waverley, cistercian abbey of, westminster abbey, grants made by henry viii. to, whale fishing, early, widowhood, description of a lady who took the vows of, , widows, order of, ; dress worn by, ; profession or vow of, ; service for consecration of, , william of swynderby, wills, inventories attached to ancient, , n. wool merchants, costume of mediæval, , the end. the riverside press limited, edinburgh footnotes: [ ] we cannot put down all these supernatural tales as fables or impostures; similar tales abound in the lives of the religious people of the middle ages, and they are not unknown in modern days: _e.g._, luther's conflict with satan in the wartzburg, and colonel gardiner's vision of the saviour. which of them (if any) are to be considered true supernatural visions, which may be put down as the natural results of spiritual excitement on the imagination, which are mere baseless legends, he would be a very self-confident critic who professed in all cases to decide. [ ] besides consulting the standard authorities on the archæology of the subject, the student will do well to read mr. kingsley's charming book, "the hermits of the desert." [ ] strutt's "dress and habits of the people of england." [ ] this is the computation of tanner in his "notitia monastica;" but the editors of the last edition of dugdale's "monasticon," adding the smaller houses or cells, swell the number of benedictine establishments in england to a total of two hundred and fifty-seven. [ ] if a child was to be received his hand was wrapped in the hanging of the altar, "and then," says the rule of st. benedict, "let them offer him." the words are "si quas forte de nobilibus offert filium suum deo in monasterio, si ipse puer minore ætate est, parentes ejus faciant petitionem et manum pueri involvant in pallu altaris, et sic eum offerunt" (c. ). the abbot herman tells us that in the year his mother took him and his brothers to the monastery of which he was afterwards abbot. "she went to st. martin's (at tournay), and delivered over her sons to god, placing the little one in his cradle upon the altar, amidst the tears of many bystanders" (maitland's "dark ages," p. ). the precedents for such a dedication of an infant to an ascetic life are, of course, the case of samuel dedicated by his mother from infancy, and of samson and john baptist, who were directed by god to be consecrated as nazarites from birth. a law was made prohibiting the dedication of children at an earlier age than fourteen. at f. of the ms. nero d. vii., is a picture of st. benedict, to whom a boy in monk's habit is holding a book, and he is reading or preaching to a group of monks. [ ] engraved in boutell's "monumental brasses." [ ] probably this means that he had "clocks"--little bell-shaped ornaments--sewn to the lower margin of his tippet or hood. [ ] mrs. jameson, "legends of the monastic orders," p. . [ ] viollet le duc's "dictionary of architecture," vol. vi. p. . [ ] ibid. vi. . [ ] ibid. vi. . [ ] ibid. vi. . [ ] all its houses were called temples, as all the carthusian houses were called chartereux (corrupted in england into charterhouse). [ ] of the four round churches in england, popularly supposed to have been built by the templars, the temple church in london was built by them; that of maplestead, in essex, by the hospitallers; that of northampton by simon de st. liz, first norman earl of northampton, twice a pilgrim to the holy land; and that of cambridge by some unknown individual. [ ] the order was divided into nations--the english knights, the french knights, &c.--each nation having a separate house, situated at different points of the island, for its defence. these houses, large and fine buildings, still remain, and many unedited records of the order are said to be still preserved on the island. [ ] an order, called our lady of mercy, was founded in spain in , by peter nolasco, for a similar object, including in its scope not only christian captives to the infidel, but also all slaves, captives, and prisoners for debt. [ ] afternoons and mornings. [ ] as an indication of their zeal in the pursuit of science it is only necessary to mention the names of friar roger bacon, the franciscan, and friar albert-le-grand (albertus magnus), the dominican. the arts were cultivated with equal zeal--some of the finest paintings in the world were executed for the friars, and their own orders produced artists of the highest excellence. fra giacopo da turrita, a celebrated artist in mosaic of the thirteenth century, was a franciscan, as was fra antonio da negroponti, the painter; fra fillippo lippi, the painter, was a carmelite; fra bartolomeo, and fra angelico da fiesole--than whom no man ever conceived more heavenly visions of spiritual loveliness and purity--were dominicans. [ ] "by his (_i.e._ satan's) queyntise they comen in, the curates to helpen, but that harmed hem hard and help them ful littel."--_piers ploughman's creed._ [ ] the extract from chaucer on p. , lines , , , seem to indicate that an individual friar sometimes "farmed" the alms of a district, paying the convent a stipulated sum, and taking the surplus for himself. [ ] in france, jacobins. [ ] wives of burgesses. [ ] stuffed. [ ] musical instrument so called. [ ] piers ploughman (creed , line ), describing a burly dominican friar, describes his cloak or cope in the same terms, and describes the under gown, or kirtle, also:-- "his cope that beclypped him wel clean was it folden, of double worsted y-dyght down to the heel. his kirtle of clean white, cleanly y-served, it was good enough ground grain for to beren." [ ] a limitour, as has been explained above, was a friar whose functions were limited to a certain district of country; a lister might exercise his office wherever he listed. [ ] thirty masses for the repose of a deceased person. [ ] viz., in convents of friars, not in monasteries of monks and by the secular clergy. [ ] he was forbidden to say more. [ ] a convent of friars used to undertake masses for the dead, and each friar saying one the whole number of masses was speedily completed, whereas a single priest saying his one mass a day would be very long completing the number, and meantime the souls were supposed to be in torment. [ ] the usual way of concluding a sermon, in those days as in these, was with an ascription of praise, "who with the father," &c. [ ] cake. [ ] choose. [ ] slip or piece. [ ] hired man. [ ] trifles. [ ] requite. [ ] staff. [ ] closely. [ ] part. [ ] forbidden. [ ] would not. [ ] the good man also said he had not seen the friar "this fourteen nights:"--did a limitour go round once a fortnight? [ ] the dormitory of the convent. [ ] infirmarer. [ ] aged monks and friars lived in the infirmary, and had certain privileges. [ ] wert thou not. [ ] implying, whether truly or not, that he had been enrolled in the fraternity of the house, and was prayed for, with other benefactors, in chapter. [ ] health and strength. [ ] doctor. [ ] little. [ ] preaching; he was probably a preaching friar--_i.e._, a dominican. [ ] waxed nearly mad. [ ] lived. [ ] "on the foundation," as we say now of colleges and endowed schools. [ ] "maysters of divinite her matynes to leve, and cherliche [richly] as a cheveteyn his chaumbre to holden, with chymene and chaple, and chosen whom him list, and served as a sovereyn, and as a lord sytten." _piers ploughman_, l. , . [ ] just as heads of colleges now have their master's, or provost's, or principal's lodge. the constitution of our existing colleges will assist those who are acquainted with them in understanding many points of monastic economy. [ ] ellis's "early english romances." [ ] long and well proportioned. [ ] she was of tall stature. [ ] "and as touching the almesse that they (the monks) delt, and the hospitality that they kept, every man knoweth that many thousands were well received of them, and might have been better, if they had not so many great men's horse to fede, and had not bin overcharged with such idle gentlemen as were never out of the abaies (abbeys)."--_a complaint made to parliament not long after the dissolution, quoted in coke's institutes._ [ ] a person doing penance. [ ] hunting. [ ] without state. [ ] a plan of the chartreuse of clermont is given by viollet le duc (dict. of architec., vol. i. pp. , ), and the arrangements of a carthusian monastery were nearly the same in all parts of europe. it consists of a cloister-court surrounded by about twenty square enclosures. each enclosure, technically called a "cell," is in fact a little house and garden, the little house is in a corner of the enclosure, and consists of three apartments. in the middle of the west side of the cloister-court is the oratory, whose five-sided apsidal sanctuary projects into the court. in a small outer court on the west is the prior's lodgings, which is a "cell" like the others, and a building for the entertainment of guests. see also a paper on the carthusian priory of mount grace, near thirsk, read by archdeacon churton before the yorkshire architectural society, in the year . [ ] a bird's-eye view of citeaux, given in viollet le duc's "dictionary of architecture," vol. i. p. , will give a very good notion of a thirteenth-century monastery. of the english monasteries fountains was perhaps one of the finest, and its existing remains are the most extensive of any which are left in england. a plan of it will be found in mr. walbran's "guide to ripon." see also plan of furness, _journal of the archæological association_, vi. ; of newstead (an augustinian house), ibid. ix. p. ; and of durham (benedictine), ibid. xxii. . [ ] a double choir of the fifteenth century is in king rené's book of hours (egerton, , ), at folio . another semi-choir of religious of late fifteenth and early sixteenth century date, very well drawn, may be found in egerton, , , f. , v. [ ] lydgate's life of st. edmund, a ms. executed in a.d., preserved in the british museum (harl. , ), gives several very good representations of the shrine of that saint at st. edmund's bury, with the attendant monks, pilgrims worshipping, &c. [ ] "tombes upon tabernacles, tiled aloft, * * * * * made of marble in many manner wise, knights in their conisantes clad for the nonce, all it seemed saints y-sacred upon earth, and lovely ladies y-wrought lyen by their sides in many gay garments that were gold-beaten." _piers ploughman's creed._ [ ] henry vii. agreed with the abbot and convent of westminster that there should be four tapers burning continually at his tomb--two at the sides, and two at the ends, each eleven feet long, and twelve pounds in weight; thirty tapers, &c., in the hearse; and four torches to be held about it at his weekly obit; and one hundred tapers nine feet long, and twenty-four torches of twice the weight, to be lighted at his anniversary. [ ] "for though a man in their mynster a masse wolde heren, his sight shal so be set on sundrye werkes, the penons and the pornels and poyntes of sheldes withdrawen his devotion and dusken his heart." _piers ploughman's vision._ [ ] the chapter-houses attached to the cathedrals of york, salisbury, and wells, are octagonal; those of hereford and lincoln, decagonal; lichfield, polygonal; worcester is circular. all these were built by secular canons. [ ] there are only two exceptions hitherto observed: that of the benedictine abbey of westminster, which is polygonal, and that of thornton abbey, of regular canons, which is octagonal. [ ] and at norwich it appears to have had an eastern apse. see ground-plan in mr. mackenzie e. c. walcott's "church and conventual arrangement," p. . [ ] piers ploughman describes the chapter-house of a benedictine convent:-- "there was the chapter-house, wrought as a great church, carved and covered and quaintly entayled [sculptured]; with seemly selure [ceiling] y-set aloft, as a parliament house y-painted about." [ ] in the "vision of piers ploughman" one of the characters complains that if he commits any fault-- "they do me fast fridays to bread and water, and am challenged in the chapitel-house as i a child were;" and he is punished in a childish way, which is too plainly spoken to bear quotation. [ ] see note on p. . [ ] the woodcut on a preceding page ( ) is from another initial letter of the same book. [ ] a room adjoining the hall, to which the fellows retire after dinner to take their wine and converse. [ ] the ordinary fashion of the time was to sleep without any clothing whatever. [ ] in the plan of the ninth-century benedictine monastery of st. gall, published in the _archæological journal_ for june, , the dormitory is on the east, with the calefactory under it; the refectory on the south, with the clothes-store above; the cellar on the west, with the larders above. in the plan of canterbury cathedral, a benedictine house, as it existed in the latter half of the twelfth century, the church was on the south, the chapter-house and dormitory on the east, the refectory, parallel with the church, on the north, and the cellar on the west. at the benedictine monastery at durham, the church was on the north, the chapter-house and locutory on the east, the refectory on the south, and the dormitory on the west. at the augustinian regular priory of bridlington, the church was on the north, the fratry (refectory) on the south, the chapter-house on the east, the dortor also on the east, up a stair twenty steps high, and the west side was occupied by the prior's lodgings. at the premonstratensian abbey of easby, the church is on the north, the transept, passage, chapter-house, and small apartments on the east, the refectory on the south, and on the west two large apartments, with a passage between them. the rev. j. f. turner, chaplain of bishop cozin's hall, durham, describes these as the common house and kitchen, and places the dormitory in a building west of them, at a very inconvenient distance from the church. [ ] maitland's "dark ages." [ ] at winchester school, until a comparatively recent period, the scholars in the summer time studied in the cloisters. [ ] for much curious information about scriptoria and monastic libraries, see maitland's "dark ages," quoted above. [ ] the hall of the royal palace of winchester, erected at the same period, was feet by feet inches. [ ] its total length would perhaps be about twenty-four paces. [ ] the above woodcut, from the harleian ms. , , represents, probably, the cellarer of a dominican convent receiving a donation of a fish. it curiously suggests the scene depicted in sir edwin landseer's "bolton abbey in the olden time." [ ] see an account of this hall, with pen-and-ink sketches by mr. street, in the volume of the worcester architectural society for . [ ] quoted by archdeacon churton in a paper read before the yorkshire architectural society in . [ ] ground-plans of the dominican friary at norwich, the carmelite friary at hulne and the franciscan friary at kilconnel, may be found in walcott's "church and conventual arrangement." [ ] in the national gallery is a painting by fra angelico, in which is a hermit clad in a dress woven of rushes or flags. [ ] "the wonderful and godly history of the holy fathers hermits," is among caxton's earliest-printed books. piers ploughman ("vision") speaks of-- "anthony and egidius and other holy fathers woneden in wilderness amonge wilde bestes in spekes and in spelonkes, seldom spoke together. ac nobler antony ne egedy ne hermit of that time of lions ne of leopards no livelihood ne took, but of fowles that fly, thus find men in books." and again-- "in prayers and in penance putten them many, all for love of our lord liveden full strait, in hope for to have heavenly blisse as ancres and heremites that holden them in their cells and coveten not in country to kairen [walk] about for no likerous lifelihood, their liking to please." and yet again-- "ac ancres and heremites that eaten not but at nones and no more ere morrow, mine almesse shall they have, and of my cattle to keep them with, that have cloisters and churches, ac robert run-about shall nought have of mine." _piers ploughman's vision._ [ ] piers ploughman ("vision") describes himself at the beginning of the poem as assuming the habit of a hermit-- "in a summer season when soft was the sun in habit as a hermit unholy of works, went wild in this world, wonders to hear, all on a may morning on malvern hills," &c. and at the beginning of the eighth part he says-- "thus robed in _russet_ i roamed about all a summer season." [ ] for the custom of admitting to the fraternity of a religious house, see p. . [ ] "officium induendi et benedicendi heremitam." [ ] we are indebted to mr. m. h. bloxam for a copy of it. [ ] "_famulus tuus n._" it is noticable that the masculine gender is used all through, without any such note as we find in the service for inclosing (which we shall have to notice hereafter), that this service shall serve for both sexes. [ ] the hermit who interposed between sir lionel and sir bors, and who was killed by sir lionel for his interference (malory's "prince arthur," iii, lxxix.), is called a "hermit-priest." also, in the episcopal registry of lichfield, we find the bishop, date th february, , giving to brother richard goldeston, late canon of wombrugge, now recluse at prior's lee, near shiffenall, license to hear confessions. [ ] "great loobies and long, that loath were to swink [work], clothed them in copes to be known from others, and shaped them hermits their ease to have." [ ] wanderers. [ ] breakers out of their cells. [ ] kindred. [ ] in "piers ploughman" we read that-- "hermits with hoked staves wenden to walsingham;" these hooked staves may, however, have been pilgrim staves, not hermit staves. the pastoral staff on the official seal of odo, bishop of bayeux, was of the same shape as the staff above represented. a staff of similar shape occurs on an early grave-stone at welbeck priory, engraved in the rev. e. l. cutts's "manual of sepulchral slabs and crosses," plate xxxv. [ ] blomfield, in his "history of norfolk," , says, "it is to be observed that hermitages were erected, for the most part, near great bridges (see _mag. brit._, on warwickshire, p. , dugdale, &c., and badwell's 'description of tottenham') and high roads, as appears from this, and those at brandon, downham, stow bardolph, in norfolk, and erith, in the isle of ely, &c." [ ] in the settlement of the vicarage of kelvedon, essex, when the rectory was impropriated to the abbot and convent of westminster, in the fourteenth century, it was expressly ordered that the convent, besides providing the vicar a suitable house, should also provide a hall for receiving guests. see subsequent chapter on the secular clergy. [ ] from the "officium et legenda de vita ricardi rolle." [ ] when is not stated; he died in . [ ] afterwards it is described as a cell at a distance from the family, where he was accustomed to sit solitary and to pass his time in contemplation. in doing this sir john dalton and his wife were, according to the sentiment of the time, following the example of the shunammite and her husband, who made for elisha a little chamber on the wall, and set for him there a bed, and a table, and a stool, and a candlestick ( kings iv. ). the knight of la tour landry illustrates this when in one of his tales (ch. xcv.) he describes the shunammite's act in the language of mediæval custom: "this good woman had gret devocion unto this holy man, and required and praied hym for to come to her burghe and loged in her hous, and her husbonde and she made a chambre solitaire for this holy man, where as he might use his devocions and serve god." [ ] either the little window through which she communicated with the outer world, or perhaps (as suggested further on) a window between her cell and a guest-chamber in which she received visitors. [ ] a hermitage, partly of stone, partly of timber, may be seen in the beautiful ms. egerton , , f. v. [ ] a very good representation of a cave hermitage may be found in the late ms. egerton, , , f. v. also in the harl. ms. , , at f. v., is a hermit in a cave; and in royal e iv. f. , here a man is bringing the hermit food and drink. [ ] eugene aram's famous murder was perpetrated within it. see sir e. l. bulwer's description of the scene in his "eugene aram." [ ] see view in stukeley's "itin. curios.," pl. . [ ] suggesting the room so often found over a church porch. [ ] in the year , a dispute having arisen between the abbot and convent of easby and the grey friars of richmond, on the one part, and the burgesses of richmond, on the other part, respecting the disposition of the goods of margaret richmond, late anchoress of the same town, it was at length settled that the goods should remain with the warden and brethren of the friars, after that her debts and the repair of the anchorage were defrayed, "because the said anchoress took her habit of the said friars," and that the abbot and convent should have the disposition of the then anchoress, alison comeston, after her decease; and so to continue for evermore between the said abbot and warden, as it happens that the anchoress took her habit of religion. and that the burgesses shall have the nomination and free election of the said anchoress for evermore from time to time when it happens to be void, as they have had without time of mind. (test. ebor. ii. .) [ ] in june , , edward iii. granted to brother regnier, hermit of the chapel of st. mary magdalen, without salop, a certain plot of waste called shelcrosse, contiguous to the chapel, containing one acre, to hold the same to him and his successors, hermits there, for their habitation, and to find a chaplain to pray in the chapel for the king's soul, &c. (owen and blakeway's "history of shrewsbury," vol. ii. p. ). "perhaps," say our authors, "this was the eremitical habitation in the wood of suttona (sutton being a village just without salop), which is recorded elsewhere to have been given by richard, the dapifer of chester, to the monks of salop." [ ] "vita s. godrici," published by the surtees society. [ ] simple. [ ] meddle. [ ] since the above was written, the writer has had an opportunity of visiting a hermitage very like those at warkworth, wetheral, bewdley, and lenton, still in use and habitation. it is in the parish of limay, near mantes, a pretty little town on the railway between rouen and paris. nearly at the top of a vine-clad hill, on the north of the valley of the seine, in which mantes is situated, a low face of rock crops out. in this rock have been excavated a chapel, a sacristy, and a living-room for the hermit; and the present hermit has had a long refectory added to his establishment, in which to give his annual dinner to the people who come here, one day in the year, in considerable numbers, on pilgrimage. the chapel differs from those which we have described in the text in being larger and ruder; it is so wide that its rocky roof is supported by two rows of rude pillars, left standing for that purpose by the excavators. there is an altar at the east end. at the west end is a representation of the entombment; the figure of our lord, lying as if it had become rigid in the midst of the writhing of his agony, is not without a rude force of expression. one of the group of figures standing about the tomb has a late thirteenth-century head of a saint placed upon the body of a roman soldier of the renaissance period. there is a grave-stone with an incised cross and inscription beside the tomb; and in the niche on the north side is a recumbent monumental effigy of stone, with the head and hands in white glazed pottery. but whether these things were originally placed in the hermitage, or whether they are waifs and strays from neighbouring churches, brought here as to an ecclesiastical peep-show, it is hard to determine; the profusion of other incongruous odds and ends of ecclesiastical relics and fineries, with which the whole place is furnished, inclines one to the latter conjecture. there is a bell-turret built on the rock over the chapel, and a chimney peeps through the hill-side, over the sacristy fireplace. the platform in front of the hermitage is walled in, and there is a little garden on the hill above. the curé of limay performs service here on certain days in the year. the hermit will disappoint those who desire to see a modern example of "an aged sire, in long black weedes yclad, his feet all bare, his beard all hoarie gray." he is an aged sire, seventy-four years old; but for the rest, he is simply a little, withered, old french peasant, in a blue blouse and wooden sabots. he passes his days here in solitude, unless when a rare party of visitors ring at his little bell, and, after due inspection through his _grille_, are admitted to peep about his chapel and his grotto, and to share his fine view of the valley shut in by vine-clad hills, and the seine winding through the flat meadows, and the clean, pretty town of mantes _le jolie_ in the middle, with its long bridge and its cathedral-like church. whether he spends his time "bidding his beades all day for his trespas," we did not inquire; but he finds the hours lonely. the good curé of limay wishes him to sleep in his hermitage, but, like the hermit-priest of warkworth, he prefers sleeping in the village at the foot of the hill. [ ] one of the little hermitages represented in the campo santo series of paintings of the old egyptian hermit-saints (engraved in mrs. jameson's "legends of the monastic orders") has a little grated window, through which the hermit within (probably this john) is talking with another outside. [ ] that recluses did, however, sometimes quit their cells on a great emergency, we learn from the legenda of richard of hampole already quoted, where we are told that at his death dame margaret kyrkley, the recluse of anderby, on hearing of the saint's death, hastened to hampole to be present at his funeral. [ ] wilkins's "concilia," i. . [ ] several mss. of this rule are known under different names. fosbroke quotes one as the rule of simon de gandavo (or simon of ghent), in cott. ms. nero a xiv.; another in bennet college, cambridge; and another under the name of alfred reevesley. see fosbroke's "british monachism," pp. - . the various copies, indeed, seem to differ considerably, but to be all derived from the work ascribed to bishop poore. all these books are addressed to female recluses, which is a confirmation of the opinion which we have before expressed, that the majority of the recluses were women. [ ] thus the player-queen in _hamlet_, iii. :-- "nor earth to me give food, nor heaven light! sport and repose lock from me, day, and night! to desperation turn my trust and hope! an anchor's cheer in prison be my scope! each opposite, that blanks the face of joy, meet what i would have well, and it destroy," &c. [ ] a cell in the north-west angle of edington abbey church, wilts, seems to be of this kind. [ ] the wearing a cuirass, or hauberk of chain mail, next the skin became a noted form of self-torture; those who undertook it were called _loricati_. [ ] the cell of a carthusian monk, as we have stated, consisted of a little house of three apartments and a little garden within an inclosure wall. [ ] this very same picture is given also in another ms. of about the same date, marked add. , , at folio . [ ] as was probably the case at warkworth, the hermit living in the hermitage, while the chantry priest lived in the house at the foot of the hill. [ ] "eremites that inhabiten by the highways, and in boroughs among brewers." _piers ploughman's vision._ [ ] probably "anchoret" means male, and "recluse" female recluse. [ ] test. vetust., ii. . [ ] ibid. ii. . [ ] ibid. ii. . [ ] ibid. ii. . [ ] note p. to "instructions for parish priests," early english text society. [ ] test. vetust., ii. . [ ] ibid. . [ ] ibid. ii. . [ ] ibid. . [ ] other bequests to recluses occur in the will of henry ii., to the recluses (_incluses_) of jerusalem, england, and normandy. [ ] sussex archæol. coll., i. p. . [ ] blomfield's "norfolk," ii. pp. - . see also the bequests to the norwich recluses, _infra_. [ ] stow's chronicle, p. . [ ] in the "ancren riewle," p. , we read, "who can with more facility commit sin than the false recluse?" [ ] owen and blakeway's "history of shrewsbury." [ ] "rogerus, &c., delecto in christo filio roberto de worthin, cap. salutem, &c. precipue devotionis affectum, quem ad serviendum deo in reclusorio juxta capellam sancti joh. babtiste in civitate coventriensi constructo, et spretis mundi deliciis et ipsius vagis discurribus contemptis, habere te asseres, propensius intuentes, ac volentes te, consideratione nobilis domine, domine isabelle regine anglie nobis pro te supplicante in hujus laudabili proposito confovere, ut in prefato reclusorio morari possis, et recludi et vitam tuam in eodam ducere in tui laudibus redemptoris, licentiam tibi quantum in nobis est concedi per presentes, quibus sigillum nostrum duximus apponendum. dat apud heywood, kal. dec. m.d. a.d. mccclxii, et consecrationis nostræ tricessimo sexto."--dugdale's _warwickshire_, nd edit., p. . [ ] fosbroke's "british monachism," p. . [ ] engraved in the _archæological journal_, iv. p. . [ ] reports of the lincoln diocesan archæological society for , pp. - . [ ] peter, abbot of clugny, tells us of a monk and priest of that abbey who had for a cell an oratory in a very high and remote steeple-tower, consecrated to the honour of st. michael the archangel. "here, devoting himself to divine meditation night and day, he mounted high above mortal things, and seemed with the angels to be present at the nearer vision of his maker." [ ] in the lichfield registers we find that, on february , , the bishop granted to brother richard goldestone, late canon of wombrugge, now recluse at prior's lee, near shiffenale, license to hear confessions. (history of whalley, p. .) [ ] paper by j. j. rogers, _archæological journal_, xi. . [ ] twysden's "henry de knighton," vol. ii. p. . [ ] the translator of this book for the camden society's edition of it, says "therein," but the word in the original saxon english is "ther thurgh." it refers to the window looking into the church, through which the recluse looked down daily upon the celebration of the mass. [ ] "caput suum decidit ad fenestram ad quam se reclinabit sanctus dei ricardus." [ ] in one of the stories of reginald of durham we learn that a school, according to a custom then "common enough," was kept in the church of norham on tweed, the parish priest being the teacher. (wright's "domestic manners of the middle ages," p. .) [ ] these two expressions seem to imply that recluses sometimes went out of their cell, not only into the church, but also into the churchyard. we have already noticed that the technical word "cell" seems to have included everything within the enclosure wall of the whole establishment. is it possible that in the case of anchorages adjoining churches, the churchyard wall represented this enclosure, and the "cell" included both church and churchyard? [ ] a commission given by william of wykham, bishop of winchester, for enclosing lucy de newchurch as an anchoritess in the hermitage of st. brendun, at bristol, is given in burnett's "history and antiquities of bristol," p. . [ ] "in monasterio inclusorio suo vicino;" it seems as if the writer of the rubric were specially thinking of the inclusoria within monasteries. [ ] the ordo romanus. the pontifical of egbert. the pontifical of bishop lacey. [ ] _guardian_ newspaper, feb. , . [ ] surrey society's transactions, vol. iii. p. . [ ] the same collect, with a few variations, was used also in the consecration of nuns. virgin chastity was held to bring forth fruit a hundred fold; widowed chastity, sixty fold; married chastity, thirty fold. [ ] hair-cloth garment worn next the skin for mortification. [ ] king henry iv., pt. i., act i. sc. . [ ] there have come down to us a series of narratives of pilgrimages to the holy land. one of a christian of bordeaux as early as a.d.; that of s. paula and her daughter, about a.d., given by st. jerome; of bishop arculf, a.d.; of willebald, a.d.; of sæwulf, a.d.; of sigurd the crusader, a.d.; of sir john de mandeville, - .--_early travels in palestine_ (bohn's antiq. lib.). [ ] at the present day, the hospital of the pellegrini at rome is capable of entertaining seven thousand guests, women as well as men; to be entitled to the hospitality of the institution, they must have walked at least sixty miles, and be provided with a certificate from a bishop or priest to the effect that they are _bonâ-fide_ pilgrims. (wild's "last winter in rome." longmans: .) [ ] in the latter part of the saxon period of our history there was a great rage for foreign pilgrimage; thousands of persons were continually coming and going between england and the principal shrines of europe, especially the threshold of the apostles at rome. they were the subject of a letter from charlemagne to king offa:--"concerning the strangers who, for the love of god and the salvation of their souls, wish to repair to the thresholds of the blessed apostles, let them travel in peace without any trouble." again, in the year a.d., king canute made a pilgrimage to rome (as other saxon kings had done before him) and met the emperor conrad and other princes, from whom he obtained for all his subjects, whether merchants or pilgrims, exemptions from the heavy tolls usually exacted on the journey to rome. [ ] at the marriage of our edward i., in , with leonora, sister of alonzo of castile, a protection to english pilgrims was stipulated for; but they came in such numbers as to alarm the french, and difficulties were thrown in the way. in the fifteenth century, rymer mentions licences to make the pilgrimage to santiago granted in , and , in . [ ] king horn, having taken the disguise of a palmer--"horn took bourden and scrip"--went to the palace of athulf and into the hall, and took his place among the beggars "in beggar's row," and sat on the ground.--_thirteenth century romance of king horn_ (early english text society). that beggars and such persons did usually sit on the ground in the hall and wait for a share of the food, we learn also from the "vision of piers ploughman," xii. -- "right as sum man gave me meat, and set me amid the floor, i have meat more than enough, and not so much worship as they that sit at side table, or with the sovereigns of the hall, but sit as a beggar boardless by myself on the ground." [ ] in the romance of king horn, the hero meets a palmer and asks his news-- "a palmere he there met and fair him grette [greeted]: palmer, thou shalt me tell all of thine spell." [ ] wallet. [ ] pillow covering. [ ] called or took. [ ] _i.e._ latten (a kind of bronze) set with (mock) precious stones. [ ] pretending them to be relics of some saint. [ ] see "archæological journal," vol. iii. p. . [ ] mr. taylor, in his edition of "blomfield's norfolk," enumerates no less than seventy places of pilgrimage in norfolk alone. [ ] a man might not go without his wife's consent, nor a wife without her husband's:-- "to preche them also thou might not wonde [fear, hesitate], both to wyf and eke husbande, that nowther of hem no penance take, ny non a vow to chastity make, ny no pylgrimage take to do but if bothe assente thereto. * * * * * save the vow to jherusalem, that is lawful to ether of them." _instructions for parish priests._ (early english text society.) [ ] marked , d. to. the footnote on a previous page (p. ) leads us to conjecture that in ancient as in modern times the pilgrim may have received a certificate of his having been blessed as a pilgrim, as now we give certificates of baptism, marriage, and holy orders. [ ] see woodcut on p. . [ ] "history of music." [ ] "conscience then with patience passed, pilgrims as it were, then had patience, as pilgrims have, in his poke vittailes." _piers ploughman's vision_, xiii. . [ ] grose's "gloucestershire," pl. lvii. [ ] girdle. [ ] one of the two pilgrims in our first cut, p. , carries a palm branch in his hand; they represent the two disciples at emmaus, who were returning from jerusalem. [ ] the existence of several accounts of the stations of rome in english prose and poetry as early as the thirteenth century (published by the early english text society), indicates the popularity of this pilgrimage. [ ] innocente iii., epist. , lib. i., t. c., p. , ed. baluzio. (dr. rock's "church of our fathers.") [ ] "church of our fathers," vol. iii. p. , note. [ ] it is seen on the scrip of lydgate's pilgrim in the woodcut on p. . see a paper on the pilgrim's shell, by mr. j. e. tennant, in the _st. james's magazine_, no. , for jan., . [ ] "anales de galicia," vol. i. p. . southey's "pilgrim to compostella." [ ] "anales de galicia," vol. i. p. , quoted by southey, "pilgrim to compostella." [ ] dr. rock's "church of our fathers," iii. . [ ] "vita s. thomæ apud willebald," folio stephani, ed. giles, i. . [ ] the lily of the valley was another canterbury flower. it is still plentiful in the gardens in the precincts of the cathedral. [ ] the veneration of the times was concentrated upon the blessed head which suffered the stroke of martyrdom; it was exhibited at the shrine and kissed by the pilgrims; there was an abbey in derbyshire dedicated to the beauchef (beautiful head), and still called beauchief abbey. [ ] the late t. caldecot, esq., of dartford, possessed one of these. [ ] a very beautiful little pilgrim sign of lead found at winchester is engraved in the "journal of the british archæological association," no. , p. . [ ] dr. rock's "church of our fathers," vol. iii. p. . [ ] fosbroke has fallen into the error of calling this a burden bound to the pilgrim's back with a list: it is the bourdon, the pilgrim's staff, round which a list, a long narrow strip of cloth, was wound cross-wise. we do not elsewhere meet with this list round the staff, and it does not appear what was its use or meaning. we may call to mind the list wound cross-wise round a barber's pole, and imagine that this list was attached to the pilgrim's staff for use, or we may remember that a vexillum, or banner, is attached to a bishop's staff, and that a long, narrow riband is often affixed to the cross-headed staff which is placed in our saviour's hand in mediæval representations of the resurrection. the staff in our cut, p. , looks as if it might have such a list wound round it. [ ] fosbrooke, and wright, and dr. rock, all understand this to be a bowl. was it a bottle to carry drink, shaped something like a gourd, such as we not unfrequently find hung on the hook of a shepherd's staff in pictures of the annunciation to the shepherds, and such as the pilgrim from erasmus's "praise of folly," bears on his back? [ ] sinai. [ ] galice--compostella in galicia. [ ] cross. [ ] asked: people ask him first of all from whence he is come. [ ] armenia. [ ] holy body, object of pilgrimage. [ ] tell us. [ ] the knight of la tour landry, in one of his stories, tells us: "there was a young lady that had her herte moche on the worlde. and there was a squier that loved her and she hym. and for because that she might have better leiser to speke with hym, she made her husbande to understande that she had vowed in diverse pilgrimages; and her husband, as he that thought none evelle and wolde not displese her, suffered and held hym content that she should go wherin her lust.... alle thei that gone on pilgrimage to a place for foul plesaunce more than devocion of the place that thei go to, and covereth thaire goinge with service of god, fowlethe and scornethe god and our ladie, and the place that thei goo to."--_book of la tour landry_, chap. xxxiv. [ ] "i was a poor pilgrim," says one ("history of the troubadours," p. ), "when i came to your court; and have lived honestly and respectably in it on the wages you have given me; restore to me my mule, my wallet, and my staff, and i will return in the same manner as i came." [ ] "church of our fathers," vol. iii. p. . [ ] thus pope calixtus tells us ("sermones bib. pat.," ed. bignio, xv. ) that the pilgrims to santiago were accustomed before dawn, at the top of each town, to cry with a loud voice, "deus adjuva!" "sancte jacobe!" "god help!" "santiago!" [ ] surely he should have excepted st. thomas's shrine? [ ] in the _guardian_ newspaper of sept. , , a visitor to rome gives a description of the exhibition of relics there, which forms an interesting parallel with the account in the text: "shortly before ash-wednesday a public notice ('invito sagro') is issued by authority, setting forth that inasmuch as certain of the principal relics and 'sacra immagini' are to be exposed during the ensuing season of lent, in certain churches specified, the confraternities of rome are exhorted by the pope to resort in procession to those churches.... the ceremony is soon described. the procession entered slowly at the west door, moved up towards the altar, and when the foremost were within a few yards of it, all knelt down for a few minutes on the pavement of the church to worship. at a signal given by one of the party, they rose, and slowly defiled off in the direction of the chapel wherein is preserved the column of the flagellation (?). by the way, no one of the other sex may ever enter that chapel, except on one day in the year--the very day of which i am speaking; and on _that_ day men are as rigorously excluded. well, all knelt again for a few minutes, then rose, and moved slowly towards the door, departing as they came, and making way for another procession to enter. it was altogether a most interesting and agreeable spectacle. utterly alien to our english tastes and habits certainly; but the institution evidently suited the tastes of the people exactly, and i dare say may be conducive to piety, and recommend itself to their religious instincts. coming from their several parishes, and returning, they chant psalms. "it follows naturally to speak a little more particularly about the adoration of relics, for this is just another of those many definite religious acts which make up the sum of popular devotion, and supply the void occasioned by the entire discontinuance of the old breviary offices. in the 'diario romano' (a little book describing what is publicly transacted, of a religious character, during every day in the year), daily throughout lent, and indeed on every occasion of unusual solemnity (of which, i think, there are eighty-five in all), you read 'stazione' at such a church. this (whatever it may imply beside) denotes that relics are displayed for adoration in that church on the day indicated. the pavement is accordingly strewed with box, lights burn on the altar, and there is a constant influx of visitors to that church throughout the day. for example, at st. prisca's, a little church on the aventine, there was a 'stazione,' rd april. in the romish missal you will perceive that on the feria tertia majoris hebdomadæ (this year april ), there is _statio ad s. priscam_. a very interesting church, by the way, it proved, being evidently built on a site of immense antiquity--traditionally said to be the house of prisca. you descend by thirty-one steps into the subterranean edifice. at this little out-of-the-way church, there were strangers arriving all the time we were there. thirty young dominicans from s. sabina, hard by, streamed down into the crypt, knelt for a time, and then repaired to perform a similar act of worship above, at the altar. the friend who conducted me to the spot, showed me, in the vineyard immediately opposite, some extraordinary remains of the wall of servius tullius. on our return we observed fresh parties straggling towards the church, bent on performing their 'visits.' it should, perhaps, be mentioned that prayers have been put forth by authority, to be used on such occasions. "i must not pass by this subject of relics so slightly, for it evidently occupies a considerable place in the public devotions of a roman catholic. thus the 'invito sagro,' already adverted to, specifies _which_ relics will be displayed in each of the six churches enumerated--(_e.g._ the heads of ss. peter and paul, their chains, some wood of the cross, &c.)--granting seven years of indulgence for every visit, by whomsoever paid; and promising plenary indulgence to every person who, after confessing and communicating, shall thrice visit each of the aforesaid churches, and pray for awhile on behalf of holy church. there are besides, on nine chief festivals, as many great displays of relics at rome, the particulars of which may be seen in the 'année liturgique,' pp. - . i witnessed _one_, somewhat leisurely, at the church of the twelve apostles, on the afternoon of the st of may. there was a congregation of about two or three hundred in church, while somebody in a lofty gallery displayed the relics, his companion proclaiming with a loud voice what each was: 'questo e il braccio,' &c., &c., which such an one gave to this 'alma basilica,'--the formula being in every instance very sonorously intoned. there was part of the arm of s. bartholomew and of s. james the less; part of s. andrew's leg, arm, and cross; part of one of s. paul's fingers; one of the nails with which s. peter was crucified; s. philip's right foot; liquid blood of s. james; some of the remains of s. john the evangelist, of the baptist, of joseph, and of the blessed virgin; together with part of the manger, cradle, cross, and tomb of our lord, &c., &c.... i have dwelt somewhat disproportionally on relics, but they play so conspicuous a part in the religious system of the country, that in enumerating the several substitutes which have been invented for the old breviary services, it would not be nearly enough to have discussed the subject in a few lines. a visit paid to a church where such objects are exposed, is a distinct as well as popular religious exercise; and it always seemed to me to be performed with great reverence and devotion." [ ] from mr. wright's "archæological album," p. . [ ] this slip of lead had probably been put into his coffin. he is sometimes called thomas of acre. [ ] of chaucer's wife of bath we read:-- "thrice had she been at jerusalem, and haddé passed many a strangé stream; at rome she haddé been, and at boloyne, in galice, at st. james, and at coloyne." [ ] dugdale's "monasticon." [ ] "crudities," p. . [ ] in lydgate's "life of st. edmund" (harl. , ) is a picture of king alkmund on his pilgrimage, at rome, receiving the pope's blessing, in which the treatment of the subject is very like that of the illumination in the text. [ ] the shells indicate a pilgrimage accomplished, but the rod may not have been intended to represent the pilgrim's bourdon. in the harl. ms. , , fol. , a ms. of the beginning of the thirteenth century, is a bishop holding a slender rod (not a pastoral staff), and at fol. of the same ms. one is putting a similar rod into a bishop's coffin. the priors of small cathedrals bore a staff without crook, and had the privilege of being arrayed in pontificals for mass; choir-rulers often bore staves. dr. rock, in the "church of our fathers," vol. iii., pt. ii, p. , gives a cut from a late flemish book of hours, in which a priest, sitting at confession, bears a long rod. [ ] it is engraved in mr. boutell's "christian monuments in england and wales," p. . [ ] engraved in nichols's "leicestershire," vol. iii., pl. ii., p. . [ ] engraved in the "manual of sepulchral slabs and crosses," by the rev. e. l. cutts, pl. lxxiii. [ ] it will be shown hereafter that secular priests ordinarily wore dresses of these gay colours, all the ecclesiastical canons to the contrary notwithstanding. [ ] here is a good example from baker's "northamptonshire:"--"broughton rectory: richard meyreul, sub-deacon, presented in . peter de vieleston, deacon, presented in - . though still only a deacon, he had previously been rector of cottisbrook from to ." matthew paris tells us that, in , the beneficed clergy in the diocese of lincoln were urgently persuaded and admonished by their bishop to allow themselves to be promoted to the grade of priesthood, but many of them refused. the thirteenth constitution of the second general council of lyons, held in , ordered curates to reside and to take priests' orders within a year of their promotion; the lists above quoted show how inoperative was this attempt to remedy the practice against which it was directed. [ ] a writer in the _christian remembrancer_ for july, , says:--"during the fourteenth century it would seem that half the number of rectories throughout england were held by acolytes unable to administer the sacrament of the altar, to hear confessions, or even to baptise. presented to a benefice often before of age to be ordained, the rector preferred to marry and to remain a layman, or at best a clerk in minor orders.... in short, during the time to which we refer, rectories were looked upon and treated as lay fees." [ ] see chaucer's poor scholar, hereinafter quoted, who-- "busily gan for the soulis pray of them that gave him wherewith to scholaie." [ ] "dialogue on heresies," book iii. c. . [ ] "norwich corporation records." sessions book of th henry vii. memorand.--that on thursday, holyrood eve, in the xijth of king henry the viij., sir william grene, being accused of being a spy, was examined before the mayor's deputy and others, and gave the following account of himself:--"the same sir william saieth that he was borne in boston, in the countie of lincoln, and about xviij yeres nowe paste or there about, he dwellyd with stephen at grene, his father at wantlet, in the saide countie of lincolne, and lerned gramer by the space of ij yeres; after that by v or vj yeres used labour with his said father, sometyme in husbandrie and other wiles with the longe sawe; and after that dwelling in boston at one genet a grene, his aunte, used labour and other wiles goyng to scole by the space of ij years, and in that time receyved benet and accolet [the first tonsure and acolytate] in the freres austens in boston of one frere graunt, then beying suffragan of the diocese of lincoln ["frere graunt" was william grant, titular bishop of pavada, in the province of constantinople. he was vicar of redgewell, in essex, and suffragan of ely, from to .--_stubbs's registrum sacrum anglicanum_]; after that dwelling within boston wt. one mr. williamson, merchaunt, half a yere, and after that dwellinge in cambridge by the space of half a yere, used labour by the day beryng of ale and pekynge of saffron, and sometyme going to the colleges, and gate his mete and drynke of almes; and aft that the same sir william, with ij monks of whitby abbey, and one edward prentis, went to rome, to thentent for to have ben made p'st, to which order he could not be admitted; and after abiding in larkington, in the countie of essex, used labour for his levyng wt. one thom. grene his broder; and after that the same sr. will. cam to cambridge, and ther teried iiij or v wekes, and gate his levynge of almes; and after, dwelling in boston, agen laboured with dyvs persones by vij or viij wekes; and after that dwelling in london, in holborn, with one rickerby, a fustian dyer, about iij wekes, and after that the same william resorted to cambridge, and ther met agen wt. the said edward prentise; and at instance and labour of one mr. cony, of cambridge, the same will. grene and edward prentise obteyned a licence for one year of mr. cappes, than being deputee to the chancellor of the said univ'sitie, under his seal of office, wherby the same will. and edward gathered toguether in cambridgeshire releaff toward their exhibicon to scole by the space of viij weks, and after that the said edward departed from the company of the same william. and shortly after that, one robert draper, scoler, borne at feltham, in the countee of lincoln, accompanyed wt. the same willm., and they forged and made a newe licence, and putte therin ther bothe names, and the same sealed wt. the seale of the other licence granted to the same will. and edward as is aforeseid, by which forged licence the same will. and robt. gathered in cambridgeshire and other shires. at coventre the same will. and robt. caused one knolles, a tynker, dwelling in coventre, to make for them a case of tynne mete for a seale of a title which the same robt. draper holdde of makby abbey. and after that the same willm. and robt. cam to cambridge, and ther met wt. one sr. john manthorp, the which hadde ben lately before at rome, and ther was made a prest; and the same robert draper copied out the bulle of orders of deken, subdeken, and p'stehod for the same willm.; and the same willm. toke waxe, and leyed and p'st it to the prynte of the seale of the title that the said robert had a makby aforeseid, and led the same forged seale in the casse of tynne aforeseid, and with labels fastned ye same to his said forged bull. and sithen the same willm. hath gathered in dyvers shires, as northampton, cambridge, suffolk, and norfolk, alway shewyng and feyning hymself that he hadde ben at rome, and ther was made preste, by means whereof he hath receyved almes of dyvers and many persones."--_norfolk archæology_, vol. iv. p. . [ ] cobbler. [ ] grease. [ ] york fabric rolls, p. , note. [ ] "church of our fathers," ii. . [ ] richmond wills. [ ] "church of our fathers," ii. , note. [ ] newcourt's "repertorium." [ ] johnson's "canons," ii. . ang. cath. lib. edition. [ ] johnson's "canons," ii. . [ ] one who sang annual or yearly masses for the dead. [ ] enough. [ ] chapel of earl of northumberland, from the household book of henry algernon, fifth earl of northumberland, born , and died . ("antiq. repertory," iv. .); first, a preist, a doctour of divinity, a doctor of law, or a bachelor of divinitie, to be dean of my lord's chapell. _it._ a preist for to be surveyour of my lorde's landes. _it._ a preist for to be secretary to my lorde. _it._ a preist for to be amner to my lorde. _it._ a preist for to be sub-dean for ordering and keaping the queir in my lorde's chappell daily. _it._ a preist for a riding chaplein for my lorde. _it._ a preist for a chaplein for my lorde's eldest son, to waite uppon him daily. _it._ a preist for my lorde's clark of the closet. _it._ a preist for a maister of gramer in my lorde's hous. _it._ a preist for reading the gospell in the chapel daily. _it._ a preist for singing of our ladies' mass in the chapell daily. the number of these persons as chapleins and preists in houshould are xi. the gentlemen and children of my lorde's chappell which be not appointed to attend at no time, but only in exercising of godde's service in the chapell daily at matteins, lady-mass, hyhe-mass, evensong, and compeynge:-- first, a bass. _it._ a second bass. third bass. a maister of the childer, or counter-tenor. second and third counter-tenor. a standing tenour. a second, third, and fourth standing tenor. the number of theis persons, as gentlemen of my lorde's chapell, xi. children of my lorde's chappell:-- three trebles and three second trebles. in all six. a table of what the earl and lady were accustomed to offer at mass on all holydays "if he keep chappell," of offering and annual lights paid for at holy blood of haillis (hales, in gloucestershire), our lady of walsingham, st. margaret in lincolnshire, our lady in the whitefriars, doncaster, of my lord's foundation:-- presents at xmas to barne, bishop of beverley and york, when he comes, as he is accustomed, yearly. rewards to the children of his chapell when they do sing the responde called exaudivi at the mattynstime for xi. in vespers upon allhallow day, _s._ _d._ on st. nicholas eve, _s._ _d._ to them of his lordshipe's chappell if they doe play the play of the nativitie upon xmas day in the mornynge in my lorde's chapell before his lordship, xx_s._ for singing "gloria in excelsis" at the mattens time upon xmas day in the mg. to the abbot of miserewle (misrule) on xmas. to the yeoman or groom of the vestry for bringing him the hallowed taper on candlemas day. to his lordship's chaplains and other servts. that play the play before his lordship on shrofetewsday at night, xx_s._ that play the play of resurrection upon estur daye in the mg. in my lorde's chapell before his lordship. to the yeoman or groom of the vestry on allhallows day for syngynge for all cristynne soles the saide nyhte to it be past mydnyght, _s._ _d._ the earl and lady were brother and sister of st. christopher gilde of yorke, and pd. _s._ _d._ each yearly, and when the master of the gild brought my lord and my lady for their lyverays a yard of narrow violette cloth and a yard of narrow rayed cloth, _s._ _d._ (_i.e._, a yard of each to each). and to procter of st. robert's of knasbrughe, when my lord and lady were brother and sister, _s._ _d._ each. at pp. - , is an elaborate programme of the ordering of my lord's chapel for the various services, from which it appears that there were organs, and several of the singing men played them in turn. at p. is an order about the washing of the linen for the chapel for a year. surplices washed sixteen times a year against the great feasts--eighteen surplices for men, and six for children--and seven albs to be washed sixteen times a year, and "five aulter-cloths for covering of the alters" to be washed sixteen times a year. page ordered that the vestry stuff shall have at every removal (from house to house) one cart for the carrying the nine antiphoners, the four grailles, the hangings of the three altars in the chapel, the surplices, the altar-cloths in my lord's closet and my ladie's, and the sort (suit) of vestments and single vestments and copes "accopeed" daily, and all other my lord's chapell stuff to be sent afore my lord's chariot before his lordship remove. [cardinal wolsey, after the earl's death, intimated his wish to have the books of the earl's chapel, which a note speaks of as fine service books.--p. .] [ ] edited by mr. gough nichols for the camden society. [ ] richard burré, a wealthy yeoman and "ffarmer of the parsonage of sowntyng, called the temple, which i holde of the howse of st. jonys," in henry viii. wills that sir robert bechton, "my chaplen, syng ffor my soule by the span of ix. yers;" and further requires an obit for his soul for eleven years in sompting church.--("notes on wills," by m. a. lower, "sussex archæological collections," iii. p. .) [ ] "dialogue of heresies," iii. c. . [ ] see note on previous page, "the altar-cloths in my lord's closet and my ladie's." [ ] of the inventories to be found in wills, we will give only two, of the chapels of country gentlemen. rudulph adirlay, esq. of colwick ("testamenta eboracensia," p. ), nottinghamshire, a.d. , leaves to alan de cranwill, his chaplain, a little missal and another book, and to elizabeth his wife "the chalice, vestment, with two candelabra of laton, and the little missal, with all other ornaments belonging to my chapel." in the inventories of the will of john smith, esq., of blackmore, essex, a.d. , occur: "in the chappell chamber--item a long setle yoyned. in the chappell--item one aulter of yoyner's worke. item a table with two leaves of the passion gilt. item a long setle of waynscott. item a bell hanging over the chapel. chappell stuff: copes and vestments thre. aulter fronts foure. corporall case one; and dyvers peces of silk necessary for cusshyons v. thomas smith (to have) as moche as wyll serve his chappell, the resydue to be solde by myn executours." the plate and candlesticks of the chapel are not specially mentioned; they are probably included among the plate which is otherwise disposed of, and "the xiiiij latyn candlestyckes of dyvers sorts," elsewhere mentioned.--_essex archæological society's transactions_, vol. iii. p. . [ ] see the rev. w. stubbs's learned and laborious "registrum sacrum anglicanum," which gives lists of the suffragan (as well as the diocesan) bishops of the church of england. [ ] "richmondshire wills," p. . [ ] "test. ebor.," . [ ] ibid., p. . [ ] in a pontifical of the middle of the fifteenth century, in the british museum, (egerton, ) at f. , is an illumination at the beginning of the service for ordering an ostiary, in which the act is represented. the bishop, habited in a green chasuble and white mitre, is delivering the keys to the clerk, who is habited in a surplice over a black cassock, and is tonsured. at f. of the same ms. is a pretty little picture, showing the ordination of priests; and at f. v., of the consecration of bishops. other episcopal acts are illustrated in the same ms.: confirmation at f. ; dedication of a church, f. ; consecration of an altar, f. ; benediction of a cemetery, f. v.; consecration of chalice and paten, f. ; reconciling penitents, f. and f. v.; the "feet-washing," f. . [ ] outer short cloak. [ ] was not sufficiently a man of the world to be fit for a secular occupation. [ ] obtain. [ ] to pursue his studies. [ ] for another good illustration of a clerk of time of richard ii. see the illumination of that king's coronation in the frontispiece of the ms. royal, , e iv., where he seems to be in attendance on one of the bishops. he is habited in blue cassock, red liripipe, black purse, with penner and inkhorn. [ ] "test. ebor.," vol. ii. p. . [ ] ibid., vol. ii. p. . [ ] "test. ebor.," vol. ii. p. . [ ] ibid., vol. ii. p. . [ ] archdeacon hale's "precedents in criminal causes," p. . [ ] from the duty of carrying holy water, mentioned here and in other extracts, the clerk derived the name of _aqua bajulus_, by which he is often called, _e.g._, in many of the places in archdeacon hale's "precedents in criminal causes." [ ] ibid., p. . [ ] york fabric rolls, p. . [ ] ibid., p. . [ ] york fabric rolls, p. . [ ] ibid., p. . [ ] ibid., p. . [ ] bohn's edition, ii. . [ ] hair. [ ] complexion. [ ] neatly. [ ] _watchet_, a kind of cloth. [ ] small twigs or trees. [ ] musical instruments. [ ] as the parish clerk of st. mary, york, used to go to the people's houses with holy water on sundays. [ ] grafted lies. [ ] as debtors flee to sanctuary at westminster, and live on what they have borrowed, and set their creditors at defiance. [ ] them. [ ] their. [ ] know. [ ] great and little. [ ] gave. [ ] angry. [ ] difficult nor proud. [ ] smite, rebuke. [ ] scrupulous. [ ] cardinal otho, the papal legate in england in the time of henry iii., was a deacon (matthew paris, sub. ann. ); cardinal pandulph, in king john's time, was a sub-deacon (r. wendover, sub. ann. ). [ ] there is a very fine drawing of an archbishop in _pontificalibus_ of the latter part of the thirteenth century in the ms. royal, a. f. v. [ ] "church of our fathers," i. . [ ] in a spanish book of hours (add. - ), at f. v., is a representation of an ecclesiastic in a similar robe of dark purple with a hood, he wears a cardinal's hat and holds a papal tiara in his hand. [ ] engraved by dr. rock, ii. . [ ] engraved in the _archæological journal_, vii. and . [ ] a plain straight staff is sometimes seen in illuminations being put into a bishop's grave; such staves have been actually found in the coffins of bishops. [ ] the alb was often of coloured materials. we find coloured albs in the mediæval inventories. in louandre's "arts somptuaires," vol. i. xi. siecle, is a picture of the canons of st. martin of tours in blue albs. their costume is altogether worth notice. [ ] for another ecclesiastical procession which shows very clearly the costume of the various orders of clergy, see achille jubinal's "anciennes tapisseries," plate ii. [ ] _incisis_, cut and slashed so as to show the lining. [ ] monumenta franciscana, lxxxix. master of the rolls' publications. [ ] york fabric rolls, p. . [ ] this word, which will frequently occur, means a kind of ornamental dagger, which was worn hanging at the girdle in front by civilians, and knights when out of armour. the instructions to parish priests, already quoted, says-- in honeste clothes thow muste gon baselard ny bawdryke were thou non. [ ] the honorary title of sir was given to priests down to a late period. a law of canute declared a priest to rank with the second order of thanes--_i.e._, with the landed gentry. "by the laws, armorial, civil, and of arms, a priest in his place in civil conversation is always before any esquire, as being a knight's fellow by his holy orders, and the third of the three sirs which only were in request of old (no baron, viscount, earl, nor marquis being then in use), to wit, sir king, sir knight, and sir priest.... but afterwards sir in english was restrained to these four,--sir knight, sir priest, and sir graduate, and, in common speech, sir esquire; so always, since distinction of titles were, sir priest was ever the second."--a decacordon of quodlibetical questions concerning religion and state, quoted in knight's shakespeare, vol. i. of comedies, note to sc. i, act i. of "merry wives of windsor." in shakespeare's characters we have _sir hugh evans_ and _sir oliver martext_, and, at a later period still, "sir john" was the popular name for a priest. piers ploughman (vision xi. ) calls them "god's knights," and also in the psalter says david to overskippers, _psallite deo nostro, psallite; quoniam rex terre deus israel; psallite sapienter_. the bishop shall be blamed before god, as i leve [believe] that crowneth such goddes knightes that conneth nought _sapienter_ synge ne psalmes rede ne segge a masse of the day. ac never neyther is blameless the bisshop ne the chapleyne, for her either is endited; and that of _ignorancia non excusat episcopos, nec idiotes prestes_. [ ] york fabric rolls, p. . [ ] described and engraved in the sussex archæological collections, vii. f. . [ ] described and engraved in mr. parker's "domestic architecture." [ ] parker's "domestic architecture," ii. p. . [ ] there are numerous curious examples of fifteenth-century timber window-tracery in the essex churches. [ ] the deed of settlement of the vicarage of bulmer, in the year , gives us the description of a parsonage house of similar character. it consisted of one hall with two chambers annexed, the bakehouse, kitchen, and larder-house, one chamber for the vicar's servant, a stable, and a hay-soller (_soler_, loft), with a competent garden. ingrave rectory house was a similar house; it is described, in a terrier of , as "a house containing a hall, a parlour, a buttery, two lofts, and a study, also a kitchen, a milk-house, and a house for poultry, a barn, a stable and a hay-house."--_newcourt_, ii. p. . ingatestone rectory, in the terrier of , was "a dwelling-house with a hall, a parlour, and a chamber within it; a study newly built by the then parson; a chamber over the parlour, and another within that with a closet; without the dwelling-house a kitchen and two little rooms adjoining to it, and a chamber over them; two little butteries over against the hall, and next them a chamber, and one other chamber over the same; without the kitchen there is a dove-house, and another house built by the then parson; a barn and a stable very ruinous."--_newcourt_, ii. . here, too, we seem to have an old house with hall in the middle, parlour and chamber at one end and two butteries at the other, in the midst of successive additions. there is also a description of the rectory house of west haningfield, essex, in newcourt, ii. , and of north bemfleet, ii. . [ ] newcourt's "repertorum," ii. . [ ] newcourt, ii. . [ ] george darell, a.d. , leaves one book of statutes, containing the statutes of kings edward iii., richard ii., and henry iv.; one book of law, called "natura brevium;" one portus, and one par statutorum veterum.--_testamenta eboracensia_, ii. p. . [ ] there are other inventories of the goods of clerics, which will help to throw light upon their domestic economy at different periods, _e.g._, of the vicar of waghen, a.d. , in the york wills, ii. , and of a chantry priest, a.d. , in the sussex archæological collections, iii. p. . [ ] bohn's edition, vol. ii. p. . [ ] matthew paris, vol. i. p. (bohn's edition). [ ] ibid., vol. ii. p. . [ ] ibid., vol iii. p. . [ ] numb. x. . [ ] exod. xv. . [ ] sam. xviii. . [ ] jer. xxxi. . [ ] is. v. . [ ] sam. x. . [ ] sam. vi. . [ ] psalm lxviii. [ ] also a paper read before the london and middlesex architectural society in june, . [ ] the king's minstrel of the last saxon king is mentioned in domesday book as holding lands in gloucestershire. [ ] in the reign of henry i., rayer was the king's minstrel. temp. henry ii., it was galfrid, or jeffrey. temp. richard i., blondel, of romantic memory. temp. henry iii., master ricard. it was the harper of prince edward (afterwards king edward i.) who brained the assassin who attempted the prince's life, when his noble wife eleanor risked hers to extract the poison from the wound. in edward i.'s reign we have mention of a king robert, who may be the impetuous minstrel of the prince. temp. edward ii., there occur two: a grant of houses was made to william de morley, the king's minstrel, which had been held by his predecessor, john de boteler. at st. bride's, glamorganshire, is the insculpt effigy of a knightly figure, of the date of edward i., with an inscription to john le boteler; but there is nothing to identify him with the king of the minstrels. temp. richard ii., john camuz was the king of his minstrels. when henry v. went to france, he took his fifteen minstrels, and walter haliday, their marshal, with him. after this time the chief of the royal minstrels seems to have been styled _marshal_ instead of king; and in the next reign but one we find a _sergeant_ of the minstrels. temp. henry vi., walter haliday was still marshal of the minstrels; and this king issued a commission for _impressing_ boys to supply vacancies in their number. king edward iv. granted to the said long-lived walter haliday, marshal, and to seven others, a charter for the restoration of a fraternity or gild, to be governed by a marshal and two wardens, to regulate the minstrels throughout the realm (except those of chester). the minstrels of the royal chapel establishment of this king were thirteen in number; some trumpets, some shalms, some small pipes, and other singers. the charter of edward iv. was renewed by henry viii. in , to john gilman, his then marshal, on whose death hugh wodehouse was promoted to the office. [ ] ellis's "early english metrical romances" (bohn's edition), p. . [ ] from mr. t. wright's "domestic manners of the english." [ ] among his nobles. [ ] their. [ ] great chamber, answering to our modern drawing-room. [ ] couches. [ ] for other illustrations of musical instruments see a good representation of venus playing a rote, with a plectrum in the right hand, pressing the strings with the left, in the sloane ms. , , f. v. also a band, consisting of violin, organistrum (like the modern hurdy-gurdy), harp, and dulcimer, in the harl. ms. , ; it represents the feast on the return of the prodigal son. in the arundel ms. , f. , is david with a band of instruments of early fourteenth-century date, and other instruments at f. . in the early fourteenth-century ms. , , at f. v., david is tuning his harp with a key; at f. v. is dives faring sumptuously, with carver and cup-bearer, and musicians with lute and pipe. [ ] mallory's "history of prince arthur," vol. i. p. . [ ] viz., by making the sign of the cross upon them. [ ] edward vi.'s commissioners return a pair of organs in the church of st. peter mancroft, norwich, which they value at _s._, and in the church of st. peter, parmentergate, in the same city, a pair of organs which they value at £ (which would be equal to about £ or £ in these days), and soon after we find that _d._ were "paied to a carpenter for makyng of a plaunche (a platform of planks) to sette the organs on." [ ] another, with kettle-drums and trumpets, in the ms. add. , , f. . [ ] a harp with its case about the lower part is in the add. ms. , , f. . [ ] there are casts of these in the mediæval court of the crystal palace. [ ] "annales archæologiques," vol. vi. p. . [ ] ibid., vol. ix. p. . [ ] kettle-drums. [ ] in the account of the minstrel at kenilworth, subsequently given, he is described as "a squiere minstrel of middlesex, that travelled the country this summer time." [ ] "miri it is in somer's tide swainés gin on justing ride." [ ] "whanne that april with his shourés sote," &c. "than longen folk to gon on pilgrimages." [ ] tedious, irksome. [ ] lose their. [ ] renders tedious. [ ] fontenelle ("histoire du théâtre," quoted by percy) tells us that in france, men, who by the division of the family property had only the half or the fourth part of an old seignorial castle, sometimes went rhyming about the world, and returned to acquire the remainder of their ancestral castle. [ ] in the ms. illuminations of the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries, the messenger is denoted by peculiarities of equipment. he generally bears a spear, and has a very small, round target (or, perhaps, a badge of his lord's arms) at his girdle--_e.g._, in the ms. add. , of the close of the thirteenth century, folio v. in the fifteenth century we see messengers carrying letters openly, fastened in the cleft of a split wand, in the ms. of about the same date, harl. , , folio , , and in the fourteenth century ms. add. , , folio ; and in hans burgmaier's der weise könige. [ ] it is right to state that one ms. of this statute gives mareschans instead of menestrals; but the reading in the text is that preferred by the record commission, who have published the whole of the interesting document. [ ] in the romance of richard coeur de lion we read that, after the capture of acre, he distributed among the "heralds, disours, tabourers, and trompours," who accompanied him, the greater part of the money, jewels, horses, and fine robes which had fallen to his share. we have many accounts of the lavish generosity with which chivalrous lords propitiated the favourable report of the heralds and minstrels, whose good report was fame. [ ] may we infer from the exemption of the jurisdiction of the duttons, and not of that of the court of tutbury and the guild of beverley, that the jurisdiction of the king of the minstrels over the whole realm was established after the former, and before the latter? the french minstrels were incorporated by charter, and had a king in the year , forty-seven years before tutbury. in the ordonnance of edward ii., , there is no allusion to such a general jurisdiction. [ ] one of the minstrels of king edward the fourth's household (there were thirteen others) was called the _wayte_; it was his duty to "pipe watch." in the romance of "richard coeur de lion," when richard, with his fleet, has come silently in the night under the walls of jaffa, which was besieged on the land side by the saracen army:-- "they looked up to the castel, they heard no pipe, ne flagel,[a] they drew em nigh to land, if they mighten understand, and they could ne nought espie, ne by no voice of minstralcie, that quick man in the castle were." and so they continued in uncertainty until the spring of the day, then "a wait there came, in a kernel,[b] and piped a nott in a flagel." and when he recognised king richard's galleys, "then a merrier note he blew, and piped, 'seigneurs or sus! or sus! king richard is comen to us!'" [a] flageolet. [b] battlement. [ ] was offended. [ ] repent. [ ] give. [ ] travel. [ ] praise. [ ] introduction to his "reliques of early english poetry." [ ] the close-fitting outer garment worn in the fourteenth century, shown in the engravings on p. . [ ] which percy supposes to mean "tonsure-wise," like priests and monks. [ ] percy supposes from this expression that there were inferior orders, as yeomen-minstrels. may we not also infer that there were superior orders, as knight-minstrels, over whom was the king-minstrel? for we are told "he was but a batchelor (whose chivalric signification has no reference to matrimony) yet." we are disposed to believe that this was a real minstrel. langham tells us that he was dressed "partly as he would himself:" probably, the only things which were not according to his wont, were that my lord of leicester may have given him a new coat; that he had a little more capon's grease than usual in his hair; and that he was set to sing "a solemn song, warranted for story, out of king arthur's acts," instead of more modern minstrel ware. [ ] heralds in the fourteenth century bore the arms of their lord on a small scutcheon fastened at the side of their girdle. [ ] "annales archæologiques," vii. p. . [ ] "eoten," a giant; "eotenish," made by or descended from the giants. [ ] the harl. ms. , of the close of the eleventh century, contains a number of military subjects rudely drawn, but conveying suggestions which the artist will be able to interpret and profit by. in the add. ms. , , of date a.d. , at f. v., is a goliath; and at f. , v., a group of soldiers. [ ] _didde_--did on next his white skin. [ ] _debate_--contend. [ ] _cuirbouly_--stamped leather. [ ] _latoun_--brass. [ ] compare tennyson's description of sir lancelot, in the "lady of shalot." "his gemmy bridle glittered free, like to some branch of stars we see; hung in the golden galaxy, as he rode down to camelot." [ ] in the ms. royal, , , is a picture in which are represented a sword and hunting-horn hung over a tomb. the helmet, sword, and shield of edward the black prince still hang over his tomb in canterbury cathedral; henry iv.'s saddle and helmet over his tomb in westminster abbey; and in hundreds of parish churches helmets, swords, gauntlets, spurs, &c., still hang over the tombs of mediæval knights. [ ] probably a bridge with a tower to defend the approach to it. [ ] couch. [ ] hewitt's "ancient armour," i. p. . [ ] the album of villars de honnecourt, of the thirteenth century, contains directions for constructing the trebuchet. [ ] hewitt's "ancient armour," i. . [ ] for much curious detail on this subject see "the babee's book," published by the early english text society. [ ] a cover for a bench. [ ] in illustration of the way in which actual warfare was sometimes treated as if it were a chivalrous trial of skill, take the following anecdote from froissart; on the occasion when the french had bribed amery de puy, the governor, to betray calais, and fell into the ambush which edward iii. set for them, and the king himself fought under the banner of sir walter murray:--"the kyng lyht on the lord eustace of rybemount, who was a strong and a hardy knyht; there was a long fyht bytwene hym and the kyng that it was joy to beholde them.... the knight strake the kyng the same day two tymes on his knees; but finally the kynge himself toke hym prisoner, and so he yelded his sword to the kyng and sayd, sir knyght, i yeled me as your prisoner, he knewe not as then that it was the kyng." in the evening the king gave a supper in the castle, at which the french prisoners sat as guests; and, "when supper was done and the tables take away, the kyng taryed styll in the hall with his knyghtes and with the frenchmen, and he was bare-heeded, savyng a chapelet of fyne perles that he ware on his heed. than the kyng went fro one to another of the frenchmen.... than the kyng come to sir eustace of rybamont, and joyously to hym he said, 'sir eustace, ye are the knyht in the worlde that i have sene moost valyant assayle his ennemyes and defende hymselfe, nor i never founde knyght that ever gave me so moche ado, body to body, as ye have done this day; wherefore i give you the price above all the knyghtes of my court by ryht sentence.' then the kyng took the chapelet that was upon his heed, beying bothe faire, goodly, and ryche, and sayd, 'sir eustace, i gyve you this chapelet for the best doar in armes in this journey past of either party, and i desire you to bere it this yere for the love of me; say whersover ye come that i dyd give it you; and i quyte you your prison and ransom, and ye shall depart to-morowe if it please you.'" [ ] samuel ii. [ ] such as that which took place at windsor park in the sixth year of edward i., for which, according to a document in the record office at the tower (printed in the "archælogia," vol. xvii. p. ), it appears that the knights were armed in a tunic and surcoat, a helmet of leather gilt or silvered, with crests of parchment, a wooden shield, and a sword of parchment, silvered and strengthened with whalebone, with gilded hilts. [ ] _i.e._, of the strangers. the challengers are afterwards called the gentlemen within. [ ] for other forms of challenge, and some very romantic challenges at full length, see the lansdowne ms. . [ ] probably the tilt-house (the shed or tent which they have in the field at one end of the lists). [ ] the lansdowne ms. says "gentlewomen," an obvious error; it is correctly given as above in the hastings ms. [ ] dugdale, in his "history of warwickshire," gives a curious series of pictures of the famous combat between john astle and piers de massie in the year , showing the various incidents of the combat. [ ] the harleian ms. no. , is a book of certain triumphs, containing proclamations of tournaments, statutes of arms for their regulation, and numerous other documents relating to the subject. from folio and onwards are given pictures of combats; folio v. represents spear-play at the barriers; folio , sword-play at the barriers, &c. [ ] in the picture given by dugdale of the combat between john astle and piers de massie, the combatants are represented each sitting in his chair--a great carvad chair, something like the coronation chair in westminster abbey. [ ] tremouille. [ ] "oyez!" or perhaps "ho!" [ ] from mr. wright's "domestic manners and customs of the middle ages." [ ] "ancient cannon in europe," by lieut. brackenbury. [ ] see also viollet le duc's "dictionary of architecture." [ ] the british museum does not possess this fine work, but a copy of it is accessible to the public in the library of the south kensington museum. [ ] afterwards cardinal. [ ] dun cow. [ ] "he is so hung round," says truewit, in ben jonson's _epicoene_, "with pikes, halberds, petronels, calivers, and muskets, that he looks like a justice of peace's hall." clement sysley, of eastbury house, near barking, bequeathed in his will the "gonnes, pikes, cross-bows, and other weapons, to thomas sysley, to go with the house, and remain as standards for ever in eastbury hall." [ ] a sketch illustrating their construction may be found in witsen's "sheeps bouw." appendix, plate . [ ] "history of commerce." [ ] sir harris nicholas' "history of the british navy," vol. i. p. . [ ] in our own day we see the scorn of trade being rapidly softened down. many of our commercial houses are almost as important as a department of state, and are conducted in much the same way. the principals of these houses are often considerable landholders besides, have been educated at the public schools and universities, and are frankly received as equals in all societies. on the other hand, the nobility are putting their younger sons into trade. at this moment, we believe, the brother-in-law of a princess of england is in a mercantile house. [ ] _avarice_, in "piers ploughman's vision," v. , says:-- "i have ymade many a knyht both mercer and draper that payed nevere for his prentishode not a paire of gloves." [ ] neatly, properly. [ ] shields, _i.e._ _écus_, french crowns. [ ] agreement for borrowing money. [ ] know not his name. [ ] from mr. wright's "domestic manners and customs of the middle ages." [ ] if. [ ] boxes. [ ] sweet ointments. [ ] to give relief. [ ] engraved in fisher's bedfordshire collections, and in the london and middlesex archæological society's proceedings for , p. . [ ] take the woodcut on p. , from ms. royal, e. i., f. . [ ] taken. [ ] like. [ ] n'et, _i.e._ does not eat. [ ] n'is, _i.e._ is not. [illustration: life in the middle ages] life on a mediaeval barony a picture of a typical feudal community in the thirteenth century by william stearns davis, ph.d. _professor of history in the university of minnesota_ illustrated [illustration] harper & brothers publishers new york and london mcmxxiii life on a mediÆval barony copyright, by harper & brothers printed in the u. s. a. _first edition_ g- to ephraim emerton master interpreter of mediæval history this book is dedicated by an ever-grateful pupil. table of contents chapter page i. the fief of st. aliquis; its history and denizens ii. the castle of st. aliquis iii. how the castle wakes. baronial hospitality iv. games and diversions. falconry and hunting. the baroness's garden v. the family of the baron. life of the women vi. the matter of clothes. a feudal wedding vii. cookery and mealtimes viii. the jongleurs and secular literature and poetry ix. the feudal relationship. doing homage x. justice and punishments xi. the education of a feudal nobleman xii. feudal weapons and horses. dubbing a knight xiii. the tourney xiv. a baronial feud. the siege of a castle xv. a great feudal battle--bouvines xvi. the life of the peasants xvii. charity. care of the sick. funerals xviii. popular religion. pilgrimages. superstitions. relic worship xix. the monastery of st. aliquis: buildings, organization. an ill-ruled abbey xx. the monastery of st. aliquis: the activities of its inmates. monastic learning xxi. the "good town" of pontdebois: aspect and organization xxii. industry and trade in pontdebois. the great fair xxiii. the lord bishop. the canons. the parish clergy xxiv. the cathedral and its builders illustrations life in the middle ages frontispiece the castle of st. aliquis page xiv typical castle of the middle ages " view of the court and the donjon " upper hall of the donjon " interior of a thirteenth-century apartment facing p. a thirteenth-century bed page a game of chess " a game of ball " lady with a falcon on her wrist " the falcon hunt " noble holding a falcon in each hand " a hunter " the stag hunt " coiffure of a noblewoman " cradle " a king in the twelfth century wearing pellison " wreath made of metal flowers sewed on braid " felt shoe " winter costume in the twelfth century " headdress of a man " costume of a nobleman " coiffure of a woman " a royal marriage in the thirteenth century " cooks " pork butchers (bourges) " servants bringing the food to the table " young girls of the nobility serving at the table " a feast of ceremony in the twelfth century facing p. small portable organ of the thirteenth century page acrobats page dancer of the twelfth century " thirteenth-century harp " listening to a trouvère in a château of the thirteenth century facing p. banner of the thirteenth century page the coat of arms of the dukes of bretagne (thirteenth century) " seal of the duke jean of bretagne (thirteenth and fourteenth centuries) " homage in the twelfth century facing p. costume of a nobleman (thirteenth century) page gothic writing " a teacher holding a ferule in his hand " maneuvering with a lance in the thirteenth century " a knight at the end of the thirteenth century " german helmets of the thirteenth century " a thirteenth-century shield " thirteenth-century swords " horse trappings " a knight of the thirteenth century " a thirteenth-century knight " a thirteenth-century knight " a beggar " a tournament in the twelfth century facing p. knightly combat on foot page a combat in the twelfth century " a catapult " an attack with the aid of a tower " a mantelet in wood " attack on a wall with the aid of the sap " group of peasants and of shepherds " peasants at work " a laborer (thirteenth century) " peasant shoes " a reaper " a marriage in the thirteenth century " a plow " a leper " a thirteenth-century doctor " a thirteenth-century burial scene page a group of priests (thirteenth century) " a shrine in the form of an altar (thirteenth century) in the cathedral at rheims " richard coeur de lion facing p. view of an abbey of the thirteenth century page the galleries of the cloister of the abbey of mont-saint-michel (thirteenth century) " the refectory at the abbey of mont-saint-michel (thirteenth century) " a benedictine monk (thirteenth century) " a piece of furniture serving as a seat and a reading desk " cloth merchants " a commoner (thirteenth century) " money-changers (chartres) " a fair in champagne in the thirteenth century facing p. the sale of peltries (bourges) page episcopal throne of the thirteenth century " a bishop of the twelfth century " a bishop of the thirteenth century " a deacon (thirteenth century) " notre dame and the bishop's palace at the beginning of the thirteenth century " thirteenth-century window in the cathedral of chartres, representing saint christopher carrying christ " preface this book describes the life of the feudal ages in terms of the concrete. the discussions center around a certain seigneury of st. aliquis. if no such barony is easily identifiable, at least there were several hundred second-grade fiefs scattered over western christendom which were in essential particulars extremely like it, and its baron conon and his associates were typical of many similar individuals, a little worse or a little better, who abounded in the days of philip augustus. no custom is described which does not seem fairly characteristic of the general period. to focus the picture a specific region, northern france, and a specific year, a.d. , have been selected. not many matters have been mentioned, however, which were not more or less common to contemporaneous england and germany; nor have many usages been explained which would not frequently have been found as early as a.d. or as late as . northern france was _par excellence_ the homeland of feudalism and hardly less so of chivalry, while by general consent the years around mark one of the great turning epochs of the middle ages. we are at the time of the development of french kingship under philip augustus, of the climax and the beginning of the waning of the crusading spirit, of the highest development of gothic architecture, of the full blossoming of the popular romance literature, and of the beginning of the entirely dissimilar, but even more important, friar movement. to make the life of the middle ages live again in its pageantry and its squalor, its superstition and its triumph of christian art and love, is the object of this study. many times has the author been reminded of the _intense contrasts_ between sublime good and extreme evil everywhere apparent in the feudal epoch. with every effort at impartiality, whether praising or condemning, it is dangerously easy to write in superlatives. although the preparation of this book was not undertaken without that knowledge and investigation of those mediæval authors, ecclesiastics, and laymen upon which every significant study of this kind must rest, every scholar will recognize the author's debt to many modern specialists. to th. wright, lacroix, luchaire, justin h. smith, viollet-le-duc, and chéruel the acknowledgments are very specific. to leon gautier they must be more specific still. it is a great misfortune that his masterpiece, _le chivalrie_, is no longer current in a good english translation. the words in quotation, sprinkled through the text, are usually from pertinent mediæval writers, except where they purport to be direct snatches of conversation. to my colleague in this university, prof. august c. krey, who has read and criticized the manuscript with friendly fidelity and professional alertness and acumen, there are due many hearty thanks. w. s. d. the university of minnesota. minneapolis, minn. life on a mediaeval barony [illustration] chapter i: the fief of st. aliquis: its history and denizens. in the duchy of quelqueparte there lay, in the later days of the great king philip augustus, the barony of st. aliquis. perhaps you may have trouble in finding any such places upon the maps of mediæval france. in that case, i must tell you that they did not lie so far from burgundy, champagne, and blois that the duke and his vassal, the baron, could not have many brave feuds with the seigneurs of those principalities, nor so far from paris that peddlers and pilgrims could not come hence or go thither pretty often, nor the baron of st. aliquis sometimes journey to the king's court, to do his loyal devoir to his high suzerain, or to divert himself with many lordly pleasures. about a.d. , when king philip augustus was near his end, there was exceptional peace in northern france, and conditions around st. aliquis were entirely normal. we purpose, therefore (with the help of our lady, of holy st. aliquis himself, and perhaps also of that very discreet _fée_ queen morgue, "the wife of julius cæsar and the mother of king oberon"), to visit the aforesaid barony as it existed at that time. we shall look around us unseen by the inhabitants, but able to ask many questions and to get pertinent answers. thereby shall we gather much knowledge, and that, too, not about st. aliquis only; for this little world by itself is a cross-section, as it were, of a great part of france; nay, of all feudal europe. it is fortunate that we are suffered, when we make this return journey to the middle ages, to arrive not long after the year . a century or two earlier one might have found conditions decidedly more crude, semi-barbarous, disgusting; one would have indeed been tempted to doubt whether from so lawless and uncultivated a world any progressive civilization could really develop. on the other hand, had we postponed the excursion until, say, a.d. , we would have found a society already becoming sophisticated and to no slight extent modernized. the true mediæval flavor would have been partially lost. but a.d. represents the epoch when the spirit of the middle ages had reached its full development. the world was still full of ignorance, squalor, and violence, yet there were now plenty of signs of a nobler day. france was still scattered with feudal castles and tales of baronial ruthlessness abounded, but the rise of the royal power and the growth of the chartered communal towns were promising a new political era. the bulk of the people were still illiterate peasants, and many of the nobility even felt very awkward when fumbling over books; but the monasteries had never been so full of worthy activities and of very genuine learning. thousands of scholars were trudging to the university of paris; and meantime, even in the more starving towns were rising gothic churches and cathedrals, combining in their soaring fabrics not merely the results of supreme architectural genius, but a wealth of masterpieces of sculpture and of colored glass which were to draw visitors of later days from the very ends of the earth. the crusading fervor had somewhat waned, but around the castles there were still elderly knights who had once followed richard the lion hearted or philip augustus upon the great third crusade to palestine, likewise a good many younger cavaliers who had shared the military glory and moral disgrace of the fourth crusade, which had ended not with the recovery of jerusalem, but the sack and seizure of christian constantinople. at rome the great and magnanimous pope innocent iii had hardly ceased to reign ( ); while the founders of the remarkable friar movement--that new style of monasticism which was to carry the message of the church closer to the people--st. francis, the apostle of love, and st. dominic, the apostle of learning, were still alive and active. the world, therefore, was looking forward. the middle ages were close to apogee. [sidenote: the fief of st. aliquis] we purpose to tell what may be found on the barony of st. aliquis, first at the castle itself and in the household of messire the seigneur, then in the villages of peasants round about; next in the abbey slightly removed; and lastly in the chartered town and cathedral seat of the bishop a few miles further off. but first one must ask about the origin of the principality and how there came to be any such barony at all, for st. aliquis would have been an exceptional seigneury if it had not had considerable history behind it, and had not represented the growth of several different elements. the castle of st. aliquis lies at the junction of two rivers. the smaller of these, the rapide, tumbles down from some hills, cutting a gorge through the dense beech forest until it runs under a precipitous slope, then dashes into the greater, more placid current of the claire. the claire is an affluent, perhaps of the seine, perhaps of the loire. it is navigable for flat barges a good many miles above its junction with the rapide, and the tolls upon this commerce swell the baron's revenue. at the triangle formed by the converging streams rises an abrupt rocky plateau practically inaccessible from the banks of either river and which can be approached only from the third side, where the land slopes gently away from the apex of the triangle. here rise some jagged crags marking out the place as a natural fortress. most castles which dot feudal europe are thus located in the most advantageous spot in their respective regions. possibly human habitations have existed upon this promontory ever since god drove adam and eve out of eden. if we consult brother boniface, the librarian at the local monastery, the best-read person in the district, the good old man will tell us that long before the romans came, the ancient druids ("now in hell") had their pagan altars here, and sacrificed human victims under a great oak. some chiseled masonry found on the spot also indicates an extensive settlement in roman days, when gaul was a province of the cæsars. of course, all the pious people know that under the persecuting emperor diocletian, the holy aliquis himself, a centurion in the legions, was shot to death with burning arrows because he preferred christ to jupiter, and that the place of his martyrdom is at the new abbey church about a league from the castle. [sidenote: founding of the castle] nevertheless, secular history is not precise until after the time of the mighty charlemagne. under his feeble successor, charles the bald, tradition affirms that the vikings, scandinavian barbarians, came up the greater river, ascended the claire in their long dragon ships; then on the site of the present castle they established a stockaded camp, whence they issued to ravage the country. this was about a.d. , but after a year they departed, leaving desolation behind them. about a.d. another band of vikings came with similar foul intent, but they met a different reception. the saints had raised up a brave protector for the christian folk of those lands. very uncertain is the ancestry of the redoubtable warrior heribert, who about a.d. seized the rocky triangle at the mouth of the rapide, and built the first castle of st. aliquis. perhaps he was descended from one of charlemagne's famous frankish "counts." he did, indeed, only what was then being done everywhere to check the scandinavian hordes: he built a castle and organized the levies of the region, hitherto footmen, into an effective cavalry force. this castle was anything save the later majestic fortress. it was merely a great square tower of rough masonry, perched on the crag above the streams. around it was a palisade of heavy timbers, strengthened on the landward side by a ditch. inside this compound were huts for refugees, storehouses for fodder, and rude stalls for the cattle. to stop passage up the claire a heavy chain of iron was stretched across the river and stone piers were sunk at shallow places, thus forcing boats to pass close under the fortress in range of descending missiles. where the chain was landed there was built another smaller stone tower. all the crossing then had to be by skiffs, although somewhat later an unsteady bridge was thrown over the stream. the second expedition of vikings found that these precautions had ruined their adventure. they lost many men and a dragon ship when they tried to force the iron chain. heribert's new cavalry cut off their raiding parties. finally they departed with thinned numbers and scant spoils. heribert was hailed as savior of the region, just as other champions, notably the great count odo at the siege of paris, won similar successes elsewhere on a larger scale. the vikings had departed, but heribert's tower remained. so began the castle of st. aliquis. heribert had taken possession ostensibly as the king's "man," claiming some royal commission, but as the power of charlemagne's feeble rulers dwindled, heribert's heirs presently forgot almost all their allegiance to their distant royal "master." this was merely as seemed the case about a.d. all through the region then coming to be called "france." castles were rising everywhere, sometimes to repel the vikings, sometimes merely to strengthen the power of some local chief. once erected, the lords of those castles were really little princes, able to defy the very weak central authority. to capture a considerably less formidable fortalice than st. aliquis implied a tedious siege, such as few kings would undertake save in an emergency. the result was that ere a.d. heribert's great-grandsons had almost ceased to trouble about the king. the person they genuinely feared was the local duke of quelqueparte, another feudal seigneur with more followers and more castles than they. partly from prudence, partly from necessity, they had "done homage" to him, become "his men," and as his vassals rode to his wars. the dukes, in turn, full of their own problems, and realizing the strength of st. aliquis, seldom interfered in the fief, save on very serious occasions. the barons of st. aliquis therefore acted very nearly like sovereign princes. they, of course, had their own gallows with power of life and death, waged their own personal wars, made treaties of peace, and even coined a little ill-shapen money with their own superscription.[ ] "barons by the grace of god," they boasted themselves, which meant that they obeyed the duke and _his_ suzerain, the king, very little, and, we fear, god not a great deal. [sidenote: turbulent barons] in the recent centuries, however, the barony had changed hands several times. about the lord had the folly to refuse his ordinary feudal duty to the duke of quelqueparte. the latter roused himself, enlisted outside aid, and blockaded and starved out the castle of st. aliquis. the unfortunate baron--duly adjudged "traitor and felon" by his "peers," his fellow vassals--was beheaded. the duke then bestowed the fief, with the hand of the late owner's niece, upon sire rainulf, a younger son of a south-country viscount, who had visited the duke's court, bringing with him an effective battle-ax and fifty sturdy followers. sire rainulf, however, died while in the first crusade. the reigning duke next tried to give the barony to another favorite warrior, but the son of the late baron proved himself of sturdy stuff. he fought off his suzerain and enlisted allies from burgundy. the duke was forced, therefore, to leave him in peace. presently, about , another baron died, survived only by a daughter. her uncles and cousins did their best to expel this poor lady and induced the suzerain duke to close his eyes to their deeds, but, fortunately, the new baroness had been very pious. the influence of the great st. bernard of clairvaux was exerted, thereby persuading king louis vii to warn the duke that if he could not protect his vassals "the king would do justice." so the lady bertrada was given in marriage to a respectable flemish cavalier gui, who ruled the barony with only the usual wars. he left two sons, garnier and henri. sire henri, the younger, lived at the inferior castle of petitmur, went on the fourth crusade ( - ), and perished in the fighting around constantinople ere the french and venetians sacked the city. garnier, the elder, received, of course, the great castle. he was the uncle of the baron conon iii, the son of henri, and the present lord of st. aliquis. it is well said by the monks that the blessed feel joys in paradise all the keener because a little earlier they have escaped from the pangs and fires of purgatory. certes, for all laymen and clerics on the st. aliquis fiefs, there was purgatory enough in baron garnier's day to make the present "sage" rule of baron conon seem tenfold happy. the late seigneur ruled about twenty years, filled up with one round of local wars, oppression of the small, and contentions with the great. baron garnier was assuredly a mighty warrior. never was he unhorsed in jousting or in mêlée. his face was one mass of scars and he had lost an ear. plenty of landless knights and wolfish men at arms rioted around his donjon. his provosts and foresters knew how to squeeze the poor of the seigneury, and by this income and by the ransoms from numerous captives he was able to rebuild the castle of st. aliquis according to the first military art of the day. [sidenote: crimes of baron garnier] but his sins were more than the hairs of his grizzled head. having taken dislike to his wife, and the bishop refusing an annulment, he kept the poor lady ada mewed up in one chamber for years, and, according to many stories, loaded her with chains and spared not tortures, until in mercy she died. however, he had plenty of less regular consorts. the castle courts had swarmed with loud women, the favorites of himself and his familiars, and with their coarse, unacknowledged brats. no pretty peasant girl's honor was safe in those parts. as for the prisoners--after messire conon came into power it was a marvel the quantity of human bones, gnawed by the rats, which they took out of the lower dungeons, as well as how they released four wretches who had been incarcerated in the dark so long that they were blinded. needless to say, the compartments of the gallows never lacked their swinging skeletons. women still hush their squalling children with, "be silent--or baron garnier will get you!" yet with all these deeds this baron affected great hospitality. he kept a roaring hall, with ready welcome for any cavalier who enjoyed deep drinking and talking of horses, women, falcons, and forays; and a good many seigneurs found his alliance useful. so he continued his evil ways until (praised be our lady of mercies) he came to a fit end. thrice he had been excommunicated by the bishop. thrice he had been readmitted to ghostly favor, thanks to large gifts toward the new cathedral at pontdebois. then he let his men murder a priest who was traveling with a precious chalice. so he was excommunicated a fourth time. while in this perilous state (though boasting that he would soon make his new terms with the church) his companion in sin, suger of the iron arm, quarreled with him over their cups and ran him through with a boar spear. the baron lived just long enough to see suger hewn in pieces by his comrades. then he died (priestless, of course, and unabsolved) cursing god and crying piteously for help from the devil. christians cross themselves when they think of his fate hereafter. garnier left no legitimate children. he was on very cold terms with his brother's widow, the lady odelina, who was rearing her two sons and daughter at petitmur; but odelina had faced her brother-in-law down and clung tightly to her own little fief. she had given her children a "courteous" and pious education, and induced a neighboring seigneur to take her eldest son, conon, to "nourish" as his squire, and rear to be a knight. at length came her reward. the youth was knighted by the count of champagne three weeks before his evil uncle perished. then the suzerain duke was glad to have st. aliquis pass to so competent a vassal as young sire conon. this is a bare suggestion of the contentions, feuds, and downright wars of which the barony has been the scene, and yet st. aliquis has probably been freer from such troubles than most of its neighbors. [sidenote: baronial fiefs and vassals] although this castle is the center of baron conon's power, it is by no means his only strong place. he has three other smaller castles (besides petitmur, which will go to his brother) that he sometimes inhabits, but which he ordinarily rules through castellans. in the twenty-odd villages upon the fief there are some ten thousand peasants whom he governs through his provosts.[ ] also, there depend on him his own "noble" vassals--about twelve "sires," petty nobles each with his own small castle or tower, hamlet of peasants, and right to "low justice." these vassals follow the st. aliquis banner and otherwise contribute to the baron's glory. that seigneur himself is likewise "advocate" (secular guardian) of the neighboring abbey of st. aliquis--an honorable post involving delicate dealings with the lord abbot. also, a few leagues away lies the "good town" of pontdebois. the baron, as will be explained, has very important relations with that city. in addition he "holds" of the bishop there resident some farms with hunting and fishing rights. for this inferior fief he does homage, of course, not to the duke of quelqueparte, but to the bishop of pontdebois. some years previous, when the duke and bishop were at war, the baron was obligated to send twenty knights to fight for the duke, but also six to fight for the bishop. the scriptures warn us against trying "to serve two masters"; but the baron happily made shift to keep the two contingents of his little array from engaging with one another until his two overlords had made peace! in addition to all the above, conon holds still another small castle at quite a distance, for which he does homage to the duke of burgundy--a fact promising more complications when quelqueparte and burgundy (as is most likely) go to war. finally, he holds a large farm from his otherwise equal, the baron of harcourt. here he is sure to cut his feudal devoir to a minimum, and leave the lord of harcourt to consider whether to pocket his pride, risk a "private war," or attempt a lawsuit before their mutual suzerain, the duke of quelqueparte.[ ] the baron conon would gladly be the direct vassal of the king. the higher your suzerain the higher, on the whole, your own glory in the feudal firmament; but the duke would resent bitterly any attempt to get his vassals away and all the other first-class nobles would support him. baron conon must wait, therefore, perhaps until the present elderly duke is dead and the duchy falls under feeble heirs. then he will find the astute king, if philip augustus is still reigning, only too willing and able to meet him halfway. at present, however, conon is on good terms with the duke, although he is just as jealous himself to prevent his own sires from "holding" directly from the duke as the latter is to check the baron's going over to the king. everywhere there is this friction over "subinfeudation." "the vassal of my vassal is _not_ my vassal": that is the angry comment daily. all in all, the seigneury of st. aliquis thus covers three hundred square miles, whereof about one-third is controlled by the baron as his personal domain and the remainder by his vassals. perhaps there are two hundred similar baronies and countships dotting france, some larger, some smaller, but in their histories, feudal relationships, and general problems much alike. this fief, however, is especially fortunate in that the baron possesses an old charter, wrung from some tottering carolingian king, giving him the right to collect a sack of grain, a large truss of hay, or a similar quota in kind from every loaded barge traversing down the navigable claire; also to levy a copper obol for every christian foot passenger, and three obols for every mounted traveler or jew (mounted or walking) crossing the very important bridge by the castle. these tolls give messire many fine suits of armor, buy silk gowns for the baroness, and make all the local seigneurs anxious to marry their daughters to the baron's sons as soon as the boys can be knighted. [sidenote: a superior type of baron] st. aliquis, we have said, is happy in its present seigneur. monks, villeins, and petty nobles agree in praising baron conon. when a seigneur is practically a sovereign, everything depends upon his character. if the saints desire to punish certain christians for their sins, let them merely send them an evil, or only an inefficient, quarrelsome baron! like the unlamented garnier, he can soon make their lives into a perfect gehenna. conon iii has now ruled for more than ten years. he has kept out of all private wars but one, a feat almost exceptional; but in that one war he struck so hard and so skillfully that his opponent, the viscount of foretvert, swore on the relics to a peace which cost him a village of peasants and the transfer of two petty sires to the st. aliquis fealty. conon fought also in the great battle of beauvais so as to win the personal praise of the king himself. he compounded with the abbey over the division of the income of a farm in a manner which left him and the abbot firm friends--a singular piece of diplomacy. better still, he held to his point about some hunting rights with the bishop of pontdebois, and finally won most of his claims without being even temporarily subjected to excommunication. his peasants pay their imposts loyally, for the baron not merely protects them from the raids of brigands and rival feudatories; he also represses worse pillagers still, his own seigneurial officers, who were ravaging harpies in all the little thatched villages through baron garnier's day. therefore, conon is called "a very gentle seigneur," which means that he is every inch a lord and which term does not prevent him from swinging a heavy sword, and from knocking down a villein with his own fist when there is need of teaching a lesson. [sidenote: a baronial family] as for conon's family, his good mother, lady odelina, is now resting under the stones of the abbey church; but she lived to see her first-born wedded to adela, the daughter of a rich picard sire, a dame of many virtues. the marriage has been blessed with two healthy sons, françois and anseau--the pampered tyrants of all the castle folk. the baron's household also includes his younger brother aimery, who has just reached the age for knighthood, and his marriageable sister alienor. so far the family had been marvelously harmonious. there has been none of those passages at arms between elder and younger brothers which often make a castle the antechamber to hell. adela is "the very _gentle_ dame"--beloved of husband and revered by vassals and villeins, but whose "gentleness," like her husband's, by no means keeps her from flogging her maids when their sins deserve it. alienor is already going to tourneys and has presented at least three young knights with her stockings to tie to their lances; but she knows that it is a brother's duty to find a husband for one's sister, and conon has promised that whoever he selects will be young, brave, and kindly. therefore alienor is not borrowing trouble. as for aimery, he is proud of being almost as good a hawker and jouster as his brother. he will soon be knighted and rule over petitmur, but his head is full of a visit to the king's court, of winning vast favor, and finally of being given the only daughter and heiress of a great count--in short, of possessing a fief bigger than st. aliquis. there, then, is the little world, ruled by persons perhaps a little more honorable and kindly than the run of north french barons, but by no means of impossible virtue. it is june, a.d. . the sun is just rising. let us enter st. aliquis as the warders unbar the gates; for the castle is the heart of the feudal civilization. footnotes: [ ] long before the assigned date of this narrative, some king or other potentate had assuredly given the lords of st. aliquis _immunity_--_i.e._, exemption from ordinary jurisdiction, taxation, etc., by outside powers, with corresponding privileges for the local seigneurs themselves. [ ] on some fiefs, as on the royal domain at this time, there would be a higher seigneurial officer, the _bailli_, set over the provosts. [ ] the baron of st. aliquis was fortunate if his feudal relationships, conflicting overlords, etc., were not even more complicated than here indicated. there was nothing "simple" about the composition of a feudal barony! chapter ii: the castle of st. aliquis. the castle makes the feudal ages possible. it is because western europe is covered with thousands of strongholds, each of which can stand off a considerable army, that we have the secular institutions of the thirteenth century. to be the owner and lord of at least one castle is the dream of every nobleman, and in fact until he can hoist his own banner from his own donjon he hardly has a defined place in the feudal hierarchy. [sidenote: the castle of st. aliquis] as we have seen, the castle of st. aliquis is now nearly three hundred and fifty years old. since it has been continuously inhabited by enterprising owners, its structure has been as continuously changing. however, if we had come to the barony only fifty years ago, we would have found a decidedly primitive structure. the general plan of heribert's original stronghold was then still retained: first, on the landward side of the triangle above the two converging rivers there was a rather deep moat, next a parapet whereof the lower part was made of earth taken from this same moat, and upon the mound rose a strong palisade of tree trunks. within the palisade were barns, outbuildings, and barracks for such of the baron's men as did not live in the inner stronghold. then last of all was the donjon, the castle proper--a huge square tower built with little art, but which defied attack by mere solidity. the entrance to this grim tower was by a steep inclined plane leading to a small door in the second story. in case of danger, if the palisade were forced, the seigneur and his men retreated into the tower, knocked down the wooden gangway, and shouted defiance to the enemy. the mass and height of the donjon baffled any ordinary methods of attack save that of blockade and starvation--and there would be six months' supply of wheat, salt beef, and ale in the tower vaults. [illustration: typical castle of the middle ages (without large barbican court)] nevertheless, this seemingly impenetrable fortress did not suffice. in the first place, superior methods of siege warfare were developing: the stoutest fortifications could be cracked.[ ] in the next place, if the donjon were hard to enter, it was almost equally hard to sally forth from it. no rapid sortie could be made from the door in the second story; the defense must be wholly passive. finally, this stark masonry tower was a most uncomfortable place, with its cavernous "halls" barely lighted by tiny loopholes, frigid in winter, stifling in summer, unsanitary--in short, almost intolerable for habitation by a large body of men. after the first crusade ( - ) numerous cavaliers came home with great tales of the fortresses of the byzantines and the saracens. during the twelfth century, consequently, castle architecture underwent a remarkable transformation. richard the lion hearted built château gaillard in normandy. his mighty rival, philip augustus, built the famous louvre to dominate paris, and erected other new-style castles with cylindrical towers at montargis, poissy, dourges, and elsewhere. already by the plans are being drawn for a great castle at coucy (built between and ) which is to be almost a model for all subsequent fortress builders, until the advent of gunpowder. [sidenote: castle rebuilt scientifically] baron garnier, whatever his crimes, had certainly understood the art of war. he rebuilt st. aliquis in a thoroughly scientific manner, employing a learned masterbuilder and "sage," an elderly fleming who had seen the best fortifications of the infidels and had lived long in those famous syrian-christian fortresses like krak des chevaliers, which by the mere excellence of construction had enabled small garrisons of western "franks" to defy the full power of saladin. instead of a mere ditch, palisade, and then a single vast tower, st. aliquis has consequently become a huge complex of defenses within defenses, each line of resistance a little harder to penetrate and with every outwork commanded by an inner fortification. if at last you come to the central donjon, it still looms up above you--defiant and formidable, and you can have your fill of desperate fighting, only perhaps to be bloodily repulsed in the end. of course, the donjon can indeed be starved out, but it is not very often that any enemy of st. aliquis will have resources and persistence enough to keep his troops together until the castle supplies are exhausted. he must either get possession pretty quickly or not at all--and garnier's fleming certainly took pains he should not get in quickly! in examining st. aliquis or its rivals, one must remember that they are the creations of men who have devoted most of their thought to the problems of war. every possible contingency has been anticipated. the architect and his employer have practically spent their lives studying "how can a castle be made to hold out as long as possible?" being, despite their sins, highly intelligent men, it is not surprising that they produce remarkable results. we are approaching the castle as the morning mists are lifting from the claire and the rapide. ahead of us, out of the dispersing fog, is rising what seems a bewildering mass of towers, walls, battlements gray and brown, with here and there a bit of green, where a little earth has been allowed to lodge and a few weeds shoot forth. high above all soars the mass of the great central tower, the donjon, from the summit of which baron conon's banner is now idly trailing. we come down a road that takes us over the toll bridge across the rapide and find ourselves in a kind of parade ground where there are only a few cattle sheds and possibly a rude cabin or two for such of the baron's herdsmen as must sleep outside overnight. this open ground is the scene for martial exercises, rallyings of the vassals, and even for tournaments. many people are headed toward the castle, mostly from the village of peasants just westward across the river; but there is also the subprior on a mule, riding over from the abbey, and also a messenger who has spurred down very early from pontdebois with a communication from the bishop. as we near the castle its tower and inner and outer wards become more distinct. we readily believe that it took garnier's architect three years to carry through the work; that all the peasants of the barony had been put to grievous _corvées_ (forced labor) digging, hewing and dragging stone, or working the great derricks; and that ten expert stonecutters and fully eighty less skilled masons had been hired in from paris, rheims, and orléans, besides a master mason who demanded rewards that seemed outrageous for a mere villein and not for a belted knight. [sidenote: the barbican and lists] these speculations end as we come, not to the castle, but to a semicircular palisade inclosing the regular gate on the landward side. this palisade is too high to scramble over; the piles are too sharply pointed and stout enough to stand considerable battering. this outwork is the barbican--the first of the long series of obstacles awaiting the foe. of course, it could not be defended in a regular siege, but its purpose is to stop any surprise attack long enough to enable the garrison to rally, close the great gate, and man the walls. the whole crowd of folk now entering make for the heavy wooden barrier which is just being thrown open by a rather sleepy porter. since it is a time of profound peace, he lets them all stream inside, merely requiring everyone to leave his weapons in his custody. we pass unchallenged, thanks to the kind _fée_ aforementioned, who has rendered us as invisible as the owner of gyges's ring. if, however, we had been guests of noble rank, we would have proceeded onward to the inner gate and rung loudly on a heavy metal gong hanging there. one of the baron's squires would then have greeted us. if we had been the baron's equal or superior in the social scale, conon himself would next have come down to lead us in; if somewhat inferior, we would have been conducted by the squire to the great hall, where we would have removed hood and gloves before the magnate presented himself. but we have much to examine ere we penetrate the seigneurial hall. once inside the barbican, one discovers that between this extreme barrier and the fortress proper there is another open space with a road, and another place for equestrian exercises extending from the claire straight over to the abrupt slopes of the rapide. the palisades run all the way from river to river. this space within the barbican forms the lists, where two young sergeants are breaking in a balky stallion. the lists are a great convenience in peace time, but the real utility is in war, and they are even more important in the castles that have land on every side. they supply a good road by which men can be hurried round the castle circuit in reasonable safety. on the other hand, if the enemy suddenly forces the barriers, he finds himself most awkwardly in a limited space between the palisade and the castle moat, with all the arbalists (crossbows) playing on him from the walls above. inside the lists and next to the masonry walls runs the moat. it is some twenty feet wide, partly filled now with scum-covered rain water. in the spring the varlets have great joy here hunting frogs, but as the year advances it assuredly breeds mosquitoes. it constitutes, however, another formidable barrier to an enemy, and that is its sole object. after crossing these lists, the path leads straight to the drawbridge. this has just been lowered by means of heavy counterpoises swung on a kind of trestle overhead, for even in peace times no seigneur will sleep soundly before the drawbridge is up. the portcullis, the frame of iron bars which is lowered whenever the bridge is raised, has also been hoisted in its groove by the gateway. the heavy oaken gates, faced with metal, have not been unbarred, however. a smaller door, just big enough for a horse, has been opened in one of them, admitting to the castle proper. despite the earlier scrutiny at the barbican, one now catches a watchful eye at the small window in the turret close beside the portcullis. the chief porter has a very responsible position. many a fortress has been lost because he has been careless or unfaithful. he would, in any case, be chargeable if he admitted unwelcome guests or idle rascals. porters are often accused of being gruff, insolent, fat, and lazy, but part of their bad name comes because they have to repel bad characters. [sidenote: the bailey, gates and towers] and now we are about to enter the outer ward, or bailey, of the castle of st. aliquis. the walls and towers of these outer defenses are less formidable than those of the inner ward; yet they seem of massive thickness and imposing altitude. there is a solid round tower covering either side of the gate; to about fifteen feet these twain rise above the moat naked and sheer, then are pierced with narrow slits intended, not to let in light, but to permit archers to cover every inch of the way from the barbican to the drawbridge. even if the foe should cross the moat, shatter the portcullis, and split open the heavy doors, he would be merely at the beginning of terrible hours of ax- and sword-play. he would be in a narrow and low vaulted passage, with many loopholes on either side for archers, and also with slits in the ceiling for pouring down boiling oil, seething pitch, molten lead, and other pleasantries; and if he rushed past all these forms of death into the courts, there, behind him, capable still of very stout defense, would rise the two strong gate towers, rendering every attempt to re-enforce the original attacking party a dice-throwing with death, and making retreat equally dangerous. few leaders, therefore, will be foolish enough to try to storm st. aliquis simply by a desperate rush against the gate. from the two gate towers, right and left, there extends a considerable stretch of sheer wall terminating at either extremity with two more towers which mark the corners on the landward side of the fortress. these four towers, of course, by projecting far beyond this curtain wall, are posted so as to permit a steady fire of missiles on any enemy who may somehow ensconce himself close under the wall. the two sections of curtain wall themselves are some dozen feet thick, with a firm walk along their summit, protected by a stone parapet. to enable the defenders, however, to drop stones and other forms of destruction upon attackers who may be under the very base of the wall and defying the bolts from the towers, a structure of heavy timbers can be built out all along the wall overhanging the moat. these wooden hordings are strong enough to withstand many stones from the casting engines, but they can sometimes be set on fire. in a siege, therefore, they will be covered with raw hides. the same will also be put over the conical wooden roofs which cap the towers. since this is a time of peace, however, the hordings stand weather-stained and bare. to cover the entire woodwork with hides will be one of the first tasks of the garrison in case of a serious alarm. as we survey the outer walls of the castle, it is clear that no enemy will try to batter down the towers. even if he could penetrate their shells, he would merely find himself in a dark, cavernous, vaulted chamber, with the defenders flinging down death from above. he would then have to bore through the inner wall, nearest the court, under every disadvantage. the towers are built so completely of masonry that it is impossible to burn them. winding stairs, leading up through the stonework, conduct from one stage to another; and these staircases are so narrow and tortuous that a single warrior with an ordinarily lively ax can stop a hundred men ascending.[ ] the attack, therefore, must be on the curtain walls. but even here, supposing one has scaled the battlements, more troubles are awaiting. the only way downward from the curtain walls is through the towers at the end of the parapets. to leap into the court inside means broken bones. the gangways along the parapet are intercepted at several points by wooden bridges. these can be easily knocked away, leaving yawning gaps defying any leaper. if you reach the towers they are all barred, and the arbalists are shooting down on the captured gangways from a dozen loopholes. finally, be it said, each tower is a little fortress by itself. it has its own cistern, fireplace for cooking, and storeroom. even if isolated, its garrison can hold out stoutly. so much for the task of attacking merely the outer ward of st. aliquis. [illustration: view of the court and the donjon] [sidenote: inner court and donjon] the problems of the towers and the curtain wall detain one long, for they sum up the fundamental principles of thirteenth-century fortifications. but now before us opens the broad court of the bailey itself, the scene of much of the homely life of the castle; in fact, the place now swarms with people busy with all kinds of activities. the pavement is none too clean. there are large muck piles, and one sees hens and a few pigs and dogs foraging everywhere. a genuine village really exists inside the bailey. to the right of the gate is a rambling, thatched-roof stable where in a long row of stalls the fifty-odd horses of the seigneur are champing their morning fodder. near the stables stand tall ricks of hay. behind these are a second line of inelegant wooden structures: they are the barracks for the less favored castle servitors, and for a part of the heavy-handed men at arms whom baron conon keeps for instant duty. [sidenote: buildings and life in the bailey] on the left side of the gate are several more buildings. to be noted are a commodious carpenter shop where saw and hammer are already plying; a well-appointed smithy where at one ringing forge the baroness's white palfrey is being reshod, and at another the master armorer is putting a new link into a mail shirt. the castle smith's position is no sinecure. he has to keep a great quantity of weapons and armor in constant order; he has to do all the recurring small jobs around the great establishment; and in emergency to manufacture quantities of lance heads and arbalist bolts, as well as perhaps to provide the metal work for siege engines on which may rest the fate of the castle. conon's first armorer is accordingly one of the most important and best rewarded of all the servitors. besides these workshops there is a long storehouse, a repository for not merely the food, but all other kinds of supplies needful in a siege. near by stands a smaller, shedlike structure, puzzling at first to strangers, but which explains itself by the shrill screams and cries issuing thence. it is the baron's hawk house, the mews, where the chief falconer is now feeding the raw meat to the great hawks and falcons in which his noble masters take delight. close to these secular buildings, however, there rises somewhat incongruously an elegant gothic chapel, with soaring pinnacles, a rose window at the end of the small nave, sculptured saints flanking the portal, and within one finds glorious stained glass, more saints' images and carvings, and a rich altar. this is the little castle church to which very many dwellers of st. aliquis, including messire and madame, had repaired piously at gray dawn, and where now good father grégoire has just finished a rather hasty mass. the bailey, in short, is overrunning with activities. horses are neighing, cows are being milked, an overladen donkey is braying. yonder in one corner is a small building with a tall chimney. here is the seigneur's great oven, whither not merely the castle folk, but a great number of the peasants, resort to bake their bread. in front of the chapel bubbles a little fountain, and chattering women, scantily attired, are filling their water pots. children in various degrees of nakedness and dirtiness play everywhere. noises of every kind blend in a hubbub. lastly we notice, close to the inner drawbridge, another building again with a tall chimney. this is the castle cookhouse, where the dinners are prepared for the great hall within. a glance through the door shows the vast fireplace where one can roast a whole sheep or a small beef entire. the cookhouse is located here because of the danger of fire in the inner castle, and because the position is convenient for the great number of the servitors who must eat in their barracks. when it is mealtime, however, this arrangement compels a prodigious running to and fro all through the dinner hour between kitchen and hall on the part of the twenty-odd sergeants and squires who serve baron conon's guests and family. it bothers not the appetites of pious christians that their food is cooked amid contending odors and that many of the doings near the cookhouse make its condition extraordinarily unsanitary. we have now crossed the bailey and its teeming life. before us rises the inner ward of the castle. here are the gate and the walls of the bailey over again, but far more pretentious and formidable. there is another moat filled with muddy water; another drawbridge larger than the outer one. the two gate towers are higher; their structures are thicker, more solid. the curtain walls are so lofty that arbalistiers thereon can pick off the enemy who may have gained the parapet of the outer defenses. finally, between the gate towers and the towers at the end of the curtains, both to right and left, there is interposed an extra tower, making the flanking fire much more close and deadly. consequently, the foe who could force his way into the bailey would thus probably find it merely a bloody cockpit. the retreating garrison would set fire to all the rude wooden buildings, and rake the outer court with their bows and engines. if it would cost dearly to win the bailey, what would it not cost to storm the castle proper? [sidenote: inner court, donjon and palais] the gate to the inner ward is flung wide, but the portcullis still slides in its grooves, being dropped every night to make sure that low fellows from the barracks do not prowl around the seigneurial residence in the darkness. just at present swarms of people are going to and fro between the two great sections of the castle, and jostling and laughing in the narrow passages. as we pass through to the inner ward we realize a certain touch of refinement. the pavement is cleaner. most of the servitors are better dressed and better mannered. before us opens the great court of the castle, set with stone flags and reasonably well swept. here the baron and his brother will practice their martial exercises when the weather is bad and they must avoid the tilting grounds. here the horses will be mounted when conon, adela, and all their noble friends assemble to ride out for hunting or hawking. on either side the stately towers set into the walls frown downward, but our gaze is ahead. straight before one rises first a rather elegant stone building with large pointed windows and a high sloping roof, and then looming before that an enormous round citadel--one that dwarfs all the other towers. it stands at the apex of the triangle; on one side is the castle court, but to right and left the crags at its base are falling precipitously away to the rapide and the claire. the stone building is the _palais_, the actual residence of the baron. the giant tower is the donjon, the great keep of the castle, built on the site of heribert's old stronghold, but twenty times as formidable. the _palais_ is nearest to us, but since the apartments of the seigneur are there, and we wish to examine these later, it is best to pass around one end thereof and visit the donjon first. baron garnier had built his donjon about one hundred and ten feet high and some fifty-five feet in diameter, with walls a dozen feet thick. this size is large, but not extraordinary. at coucy they are planning a tower two hundred and twenty-five feet high and ninety-five feet in diameter. if garnier had built a little earlier he would have made it square, like that pitiless tower at loches, which is only one hundred feet high, but is seventy-six feet on its longest side. to enter the donjon we go over still another drawbridge, although the ditch below is dry, and on penetrating a small door in the masonry we wind up a passageway through the thick wall. passing from the bright morning light of the court, one seems plunged into pitchy darkness. strangers stumble up steep stairways, with here and there a twinkle of light from loopholes a couple of feet high, although barely wide enough at their openings to allow the free flight of an arrow. far below may be caught glimpses of the twinkling, rushing rapide, and of the bright green country stretching away in the distance. [sidenote: the donjon] when st. aliquis was rebuilt by baron garnier's architect, although the donjon was greatly improved, much of the old masonry of the original tower was retained, as well as the general arrangement of the staircases, loopholes, and succession of _halls_, chambers, and lofts. we see what the castle resembled in heribert's day. by a turn or two in the gaunt entrance we come to the original great hall of the castle. it is offensively dark; the windows are mere loopholes at the end of deep, cone-shaped passages let into the walls. even on this balmy june morning the atmosphere is clammy. as our eyes adjust themselves, however, we see that we are in a huge vaulted chamber with a great fireplace, and with a kind of wooden gallery about eight feet above the floor, around the entire circuit. in this great chamber can be assembled a good fraction of the entire garrison. the seigneur or his spokesmen standing in the center or near the fireplace can give orders which every man present can understand. directions can thus be given for any move needful for the defense of the castle. [illustration: upper hall of the donjon] as we shall see, there is now a newer and better hall in the more modern and airy _palais_, but the older hall is still used at great feasts for the overflow of guests. even now are standing long oaken tables, duly hacked by the trencher knives of many boisterous diners; and on the walls--blackened by the smoke from the great fireplace--are hanging venerable trophies of the chase, antlers, the head of a bear, great boar tusks, as well as an array of all kinds of hunting weapons used by departed generations. if we were to follow the staircase down from the hall we would come to an even darker vaulted apartment used sometimes as a supplementary dormitory for the humbler guests, but also (to the astonishment of later-day medical usage) with small rooms set off to be used as a kind of sick ward; because every physician, whether schooled at salerno, cordova, or montpellier, will tell you that darkness is the friend of health and that few invalids can hope to get better unless they are kept as shaded and sequestered as possible. [sidenote: the prison and the watch tower] if we wished to pursue still lower, descending a black staircase with lanterns, the rocks would begin to drip dampness. we could hear the rushing of the rapide against the base of the castle. the journey would end at a barred iron door. within would be a fetid, reeking chamber lit only by two or three tiny chinks in the masonry, and with the bare rock for the floor. here is baron conon's prison. he is counted a merciful seigneur, yet he thinks nothing of thrusting genuine offenders therein and keeping them for weeks, if not months, before releasing or hanging. lucky if maître denis, the turnkey, remembers to bring down a coarse loaf each day, and if the rats do not devour the prisoners' toes; but we shall consider all such nice matters later[ ]. it is alleged that from these lower vaults there is an underground passage leading from the castle to a secret sallyport at the foot of the precipice by the rapide. if a passage exists, however, it is known only to conon and a very few trusted retainers. but not all such stories are false; many castles have such secret passages; and at coucy they are quietly planning to introduce a rather elaborate system of the same. quite possibly st. aliquis possesses something of this nature. far pleasanter is it now to ascend from the main hall through a couple of stages of upper and airier chambers (now used as apartments by part of the castle folk) until by a dizzy ladder we reach the summit of the donjon itself. here on one edge of the broad platform is a little round turret carrying us still higher. from the turret flutters the orange banner of st. aliquis, with some kind of a black dragon (in memory, possibly, of the viking raid) broidered upon it, and the arrogant legend of the noble family, "rather break than bend." to lower this banner were a horrid disgrace. never is it to be struck unless the castle surrenders, when it will be sadly flung into the moat. under the flagstaff is a stout projecting beam rigged with a pulley. here is a gibbet in case the baron wishes to hang offenders as a warning for the countryside. fortunately, however, adela has a dislike to seeing the corpses dangling, and has persuaded conon to order his recent hangings at the ordinary gallows across the claire by the village. on the flag turret is always a watchman; day or night some peasant must take his turn, and even in peace he has no sinecure. he must blow on his great horn at sunrise, at "cover fire" at night, when the baron's hunt rides out and returns, and again when a strange retinue approaches the gate. the whole wide countryside spreads in a delightful panorama below him at present, but on winter nights, when every blast is howling around the donjon, the task is less grateful. no wonder that peasants impressed for this service complain that "watchmen have the lot of the damned." so back through the donjon and again to the castle court. the donjon is purely military. in times of peace it is a mere storehouse, prison, and supplementary barrack for the seigneur's people. in war it is the last position where the garrison can stand desperately at bay. a hundred years earlier adela and her sister-in-law, alienor, would have lived out most of their days in the cheerless dark chambers directly above the main hall. now they are more fortunate. they dwell in the elegant gothic arched _palais_. [sidenote: great hall of the palais] the _palais_ consists of a long, somewhat narrow building thrusting out into the inner court, and of other structures resting against the western curtain wall on one side, but with their larger inner windows looking also into the court. the rooms are high, with enormous fireplaces where great logs can warm the apartments in winter. the ceilings are ribbed and vaulted like a church, and some of the masonry is beautifully carved. where the bare walls are exposed they are often covered with a stucco on which are sketched fresco scenes somewhat after the style of stiff byzantine paintings, or the famous tapestry of queen mathilde at bayeux. all the tints are flat red, yellow, or brown, without perspective or fine lines, and in a kind of demi-silhouette. little touches of green, violet, and blue relieve the bareness, and despite many awkward outlines and other limitations many of the scenes are spirited as well as highly decorative. some of the pictures are religious. we notice "christ on the cross" between the "synagogue" and the "new law," a "last judgment," an episode in the life of st. aliquis himself; also many secular pictures based often on the jongleur's epics. thus from the "song of roland" there is the tearing by wild horses of the traitor ganelon. the windows in this _palais_ betray the luxury of the owner. they are not closed by wooden shutters, as are most other apertures in the castle. they are of glass, with very small panes set in lead. the panes in the smaller rooms are uncolored, although hardly of transparent whiteness, but in the huge dining hall they are richly colored as in a church, giving a jewel-set galaxy of patron saints (_e.g._, st. martin, the warrior saint of france) and of knights and paladins from charlemagne and king artus down, gazing benignantly upon the feasters below. this new hall is, of course, the finest apartment in the castle. here amid wood- and stone-work deeply carved the baron's household sits down to dinner. it is, however, more than a mere dining room. great feudal ceremonies, such as the receiving of homage, here take place. hither also in bad weather or on winter evenings nearly all the castle folk will resort. messire will sit on the dais upon his canopied chair; everybody else will wedge in as closely as possible, and after infinite chatter, jesting, dice playing, and uproar the ever-popular jongleurs will take station near the fireplace, do their tricks, sing songs, or recite romances. the hall is, in short, the focus of the peaceful life of the castle. there are other rooms in the _palais_, but, considering the number of people who have to live therein, they seem rather few. there is little real privacy in st. aliquis. the baron has a special closet indeed, where he can retire and hope that he is not overheard, but the great chamber for himself and the baroness is ordinarily full of servitors. next to the chamber is a second room where the baron's sons sleep while they are little, and where honored guests can be lodged. conon's brother and sister have each a large apartment, but there seems a singular lack of anterooms, boudoirs, and other retiring rooms. it is perfectly good manners to ask noble guests to share the same rooms with the family; and a couple of the baroness's maids will sleep on pallets within her chamber, with the baron's favorite squire just outside the door. as for the lesser folk at night, they often stretch unceremoniously on the tables or even on the floor in the main hall. the possession of a strictly private room is indeed a decided luxury; even a great noble is often able to go without it. [illustration: interior of a thirteenth-century apartment from the restoration by viollet-le-duc. at the left the chair where sits the seigneur, the bed separated by a screen from the rest of the hall; at the back, between the two windows, a cupboard; opposite the fireplace, a large table. tapestries ornament the walls.] [sidenote: tables, rushes and tapestries in hall] the furniture of these apartments seems scanty, but it is at least very solid. in the hall there are lines of tables set upon trestles, faced by long backless seats. here it is often needful to remove these tables to arrange for a feudal ceremony or for a dance; but at one end of the apartment is a raised dais, and at right angles to the others runs the ponderous oaken table of the master. conon faces the hall from a high carved chair under a wooden canopy. the other seats on the dais have the luxury of backs and arms. the fireplace is an enormous construction, thrusting far into the room, where long logs on high andirons can heat the stonework so it will glow furiously for hours. to keep off the heat in winter there are fire screens of osier, but of course in summer these disappear. every festival day the paved floors of the rooms in the _palais_ are strewn, if possible, with new rushes and flowers--roses and lilies, flags and mint, making a soft crackling mass under one's feet. they are fragrant and pleasant while fresh, and even through the winter are allowed to remain to protect against the chill of the floor. by springtime they are dried and are very filthy, for the diners throw their bones and bits of bread and meat into them, and the dogs and cats roaming about cannot devour all of such refuse. certain seigneurs, indeed are introducing the use of "saracen carpets," gorgeous rugs either imported from the east or made up in france after imported patterns; but these are an expensive innovation, and conon as yet keeps to his river rushes. of another luxury, however, he is rightly proud. stowed away in carefully guarded cupboards is a quantity of admirable wall tapestries, some of the precious sendal (taffeta) silk, some of hardly less valuable sicilian woolen stuff. their designs are of blazing magnificence. there is one of great elaboration showing "the seven virtues and the seven vices," another giving a whole sequence of scenes concerning charlemagne. but such precious ornaments must be kept for great occasions. the order, "hang the tapestries," is a sign to the servitors that conon contemplates a tourney or a great feast or a visit from the duke. for to-day the _palais_ contents itself with its simple fresco decoration. the bedroom furniture is equally simple. the chamber of the baron and his wife is lit by three windows with arched tops pierced into the masonry, overlooking the castle court. there is a little table by the fireplace holding a board of chessmen and there are a few backless stools and long narrow benches. in the window places are comfortably upholstered "she and i" seats facing one another. opposite the fireplace is a chair of state for the baron, with high carved back and arms, a wooden canopy of equally heavy carving, and a footstool covered with red silk. there are several ponderous wardrobes, and especially a number of very massive iron-bound chests containing valuable garments, jewels, and the like. bureaus and chests of drawers hardly exist in this age, and ordinary chests take their place. indeed, no bedroom is fitted properly unless it has a solid chest at the foot of the bed for the prompt reception of any guest's belongings. when a castle is taken the cry, "break open the chests!" is equivalent to calling to the victors, "scatter and pillage!" near one of the windows in the wall there is also a large crucifix carved of dark wood, and beneath it on a shelf is a small silver box richly chased with figures of saints and angels. this is a reliquary containing a trophy brought from the holy land by a crusader--a cluster of hair of st. philip the apostle, likewise some ravelings of the robe of st. anna, mother of the virgin. before these sacred objects the baron and baroness kneel on red-silk cushions and say their prayers morning and night. [illustration: a thirteenth century bed reconstructed by viollet-le-duc, from a manuscript in the bibliothèque nationale.] [sidenote: furniture and beds] but the central object of the chamber is the bed. to have a fine bed for the master and mistress is the ambition of every feudal household. it stands under a great canopy, with heavy curtains of blue taffeta. the bed itself, a great mass of feather mattresses and gorgeously embroidered coverlets, projects its intricately carved footboard far into the room. the whole structure is set upon a platform. when the baron and baroness have retired, their attendants will pull the thick curtains and practically inclose them in their own secluded bedroom. the curtains cut off air, but that is no disadvantage, because every physician tells you that night air is most unhealthful. this nearly completes the furnishings of the chamber, save for various perches, wooden hooks, and racks set here and there for clothes and sometimes for the baroness's hunting hawks, and two bronze lamps swinging on chains, which give a very imperfect illumination. if more brilliance is needed (and if the great fireplace is not throwing out a glare) one can do as they do in the great hall for extra lighting--set resinous torches in metal holders along the walls. however, for ordinary purposes the baron and baroness prefer the less odorous wax candles. in fact, a very tall wax candle stands near to the bed and is allowed to burn all night. this keeps away pixies and the devil, and makes things generally more cheerful for christians. the other apartments of the castle are similarly furnished, although with less magnificence. of course, in the barracks for the lower servitors and the men at arms each man is lucky if he has a large bag crammed with straw for a bed, a solid blanket, and a three-legged stool whereon to sit by day. thus have been inspected exterior, the stone, and the wooden aspects of st. aliquis. the task is next to see the doings of the people who give to the unyielding fortress its significance and life. footnotes: [ ] see chap. xiv. [ ] often at dark turns in these towers the floor would be made of wooden scaffolding, easy to destroy; and the attacker would (if not wary) suddenly tumble to the cellar of the tower. [ ] see ch. x. chapter iii: how the castle wakes. baronial hospitality. whatever the sins of the men of the thirteenth century, they are not late risers. the lamps and candles are so poor that only rarely, when there is a great festival or imperative work to be performed, do persons remain about many hours after sunset. in winter the castle folks possibly spend nearly half of their entire time in bed; in summer, thanks to the long evenings, they would hardly get sufficient sleep save for a noon siesta. some seigneurs will actually rise considerably before sunup, hear mass, mount their high turret, survey the landscape, then descend to order the washing horn to be blown. we hear, too, of ladies who rise at dusk, have chaplains chant matins while they are throwing on some clothes, then go to the regular chapel mass, next complete their toilet and take a walk in their garden, all before breakfast. there are, indeed, stories of noble folk sleeping even in summer right up to a.m., but these backslidings follow only a deplorable carouse. conon and adela are neither indefatigable risers, nor among the slothful. they are seldom found in bed at cock-crow, and the baron is already warning his young sons that "he who sleeps too long in the morning becomes thin and lazy." so at gray dawn william, conon's first body squire, has yawned on his pallet by the chamber door, tugged on his own clothes, then hastened to the great bed to assist his master to dress. this is one of a good squire's prime duties, but he need not divest his lord of any nightgown. nightdresses are no more used in the thirteenth century than are table forks. conon has been sleeping between the sheets, with only the clothing of a newborn babe, although, curiously enough, he wraps around his head a kind of napkin, precursor of the later nightcap. when the baron has donned a part of his clothes gervais, the second squire, brings in a metal basin of water and a white towel. the age is one of great contradictions in matters of cleanliness. baron conon washes his face and hands carefully and frequently. he also takes complete baths pretty often, using large wooden tubs filled with hot perfumed water. personally he seems an extraordinarily neat man, and so are all the higher-rank people. but the age has never heard of polluted wells and other breeding spots for malignant fevers. flies are harmless annoyances. numerous evil smells can hardly be prevented, any more than cold weather--the saints give us grace to bear them! in short, cleanliness stops with care of the person. preventive sanitation is as unknown as are the lands which may lie across the storm-tossed atlantic--"the sea of darkness." there is an old rhyme which is supposed to give the right times for the routine of the day: "rise at five, dine at nine, sup at five, to bed at nine, is the way to live to be ninety and nine." sometimes dinner came later than nine, but never, if possible, much after ten. people have sometimes become distressed because the meal had to be postponed until noon. this was natural, for everybody is stirring at daybreak and for breakfast probably has had only a few morsels of bread washed down with thin wine--a poor substitute even for the coffee and rolls of the later continental breakfast. [sidenote: a baron's routine business and diversions] having dressed and washed, the baron goes down to mass at the chapel. attending daily mass is a duty for every really pious seigneur. one of garnier's infamies had been his gross irregularity in this matter. if there had been no chapel in the bailey, the service could have been held in a vestibule to the hall of the _palais_. after mass is over, conon is ready for business or pleasures. it is a time of peace; and, truth to tell, the baron would really be not a little glad of the excitement, bustle, and strenuous preparation which come with the outbreak of war. the list of things he can do to divert himself in times of public quiet seems limited: he can hunt, fish, fence, joust, play chess, eat and drink, listen to the songs of the jongleurs, hold his court, walk in the meadows, talk with the ladies, warm himself, have himself cupped and bled, and watch the snow fall. this last amusement is hardly practicable in june. being bled is not commonly reckoned a regular sport in other ages! neither can he hold court--receive his vassals and dispense justice--save at intervals. the jongleurs ordinarily reserve themselves for the evenings. conon's secret hankering for a war is, therefore, somewhat explicable. if this is a fortunate day, however, the horn on the turret will blow, and then the gong at the bailey gate will reverberate. a visitor of noble rank has arrived. nothing can ordinarily be more welcome in castle communities. little isolated fractions of humanity as they are, with the remainder of the world seemingly at an extreme distance, the coming of a stranger means a chance to hear news of the king's court, of the doings of the emperor frederick ii, of the chances of another crusade, of the latest fashions in armor, of the newest methods of training hawks, nay, possibly of rumors of another brave war like that which culminated in the glorious battle of bouvines. unknightly, indeed, is the seigneur who does not offer profuse hospitality to a noble visitor; and any priest, monk, or law-abiding merchant will be given a decent, though less ceremonious, welcome. no wonder the inns everywhere are so bad, when the lords of so many castles grow actually angry if a traveler will not tarry perhaps for days. [sidenote: hospitality to guests] there are stories of knights who have deliberately caused the roads to be diverted to compel travelers to come close to their castles, where they can be politely waylaid and compelled to linger. conon is not so absurd, but if to-day a guest of noble rank approaches the castle, all the ordinary routine ceases. at the outer gate the strangers are met by william, the first squire. if he reports that their chief is a baron, the visitors have the gates unbarred before them; they ride straight over both drawbridges to the inner court. conon himself leads in the horse of his chief guest, and when the visiting nobleman dismounts he usually kisses him upon mouth and chin, although, if the strange knight is an elderly man, or of very exalted rank, he shows his respect by kissing only his shoulders. adela and her maidens at once conduct the visitors to a chamber, where the best feather beds are piled high in their honor, and next skillfully take off their armor, bathe their feet,[ ] and even assist them to don loose clean clothes--a kind of wrapper very pleasant for indoor wear. meantime their horses are being stabled and given every attention. only after the visitors are dressed, refreshed, bathed, and perhaps fed, will conon courteously inquire for how long he is to enjoy their company and whether they are making st. aliquis merely a stopping point or have come to him on business. non-noble guests do not receive such ceremony, unless they are high churchmen--bishops, abbots, and their direct subordinates--but even a poor villein, if he appears on a fit errand, is welcome to a solid meal and a bed on the rushes in one of the halls.[ ] a jongleur is always received heartily and entertained with the best; the payment will be in songs and tricks after supper. on most feast days, furthermore, the gates of st. aliquis will open wide. conon's servitors will say to everyone, "if you are hungry, eat what you please!" there will be simply enormous gorging and guzzling at the baron's expense. yet if there are no outside guests the baron is far from being an idle man. since he has been stirring at a.m. he is able to accomplish a great deal during the morning. all the stables must be inspected; directions are given about a brood mare; the noisy falcon house is surveyed; various stewards, bailiffs, and provosts come in with reports about the peasants, the baron's farms, and especially the contention with a neighboring seigneur's woodcutters about the right to take timber in a disputed forest land--a case calling for major diplomacy to avoid a brisk private war. then, too, although this is not a court day, the baron as the dispenser of justice has to order two brawling peasants to be clapped in the stocks until sundown, and to direct that an ill-favored lad who had been caught in an honest villein's corn bin shall have his ears cropped off. the castle is, in fact, an economic unit all by itself. if the baron is idle or preoccupied he leaves its management to deputies; but a good seigneur knows about everything. the estate has its own corn lands and pasture, its stacks of hay, its granaries and storehouses, its mills, cattle byres, slaughter houses, and salting sheds. practically every scrap of food actually needed in the castle is grown locally. the innumerable women and varlets wear coarse woolen cloth made from wool raised, sheared, carded, spun and woven on the seigneury. the ordinary weapons and tools required in war are made at the smithy in the bailey. the result is that the castle people do very little buying and selling. conon has a certain income in silver deniers, but, except for the important sums he is laying by for a tournament, his sister's marriage, perhaps a private war, and other like occasions, he spends it almost entirely on the finer articles of clothing, for superior weapons, for cookery spices, and for a few such luxuries as foreign wines. these can be bought from visiting packmen or by a visit to pontdebois during the fair seasons.[ ] st. aliquis therefore presents what is to us a curious spectacle--a sizable community wherein many of its members seldom handle that thing called "money" from one month to another.[ ] [sidenote: comradery and organization of castle folk] conon, on many mornings, is thus kept busy adjusting petty matters concerning the estate. the seigneur is the center, the disposing power for the whole seigneury, but he is not the despot. the castle is one huge family, and shares its joys and troubles together. the upper servitors hold their position by a kind of hereditary right. guilbert, who presides over the smithy, is son of the smith before him. in similar case are the chief cook, the master huntsman, and many others. even the dubious post of baronial executioner is transmitted by a kind of hereditary prerogative. for conon to dismiss any of these subordinates save for very obvious reasons would be resented by all their fellows and produce a passive rebellion unwelcome to the most arbitrary seigneur. even tyrannous baron garnier had to wait a suitable opportunity ere changing an unwelcome servitor. every person has his own little sphere of influence and privilege. the successful baron respects all these "rights" and handles each inferior tactfully. the result is that there is a great deal of comradery and plain speaking. the baron and baroness must listen to flat contradictions every day. "you are absolutely wrong, messire," says herbert, the cowherd, to-day, when conon directs him to wean certain calves. "i shall execute no such order." and the baron (who would have fought a mortal duel with a fellow noble ere accepting such language) wisely acquiesces, with a laugh. herbert is "his man" and as such has his own sphere of action, and, besides, herbert and all his fellows will fight for their seigneur to the last drop of their blood, and obey all strictly military orders with touching fidelity. indeed, the st. aliquis people are somewhat like grown-up children. they are often angry, turbulent, obstinate, contentious, even exchanging cuffs and blows. the women are almost as passionate as the men. but tempers cool with equal rapidity. two varlets who almost drew knives this morning will be communing like twin brothers this afternoon. furthermore, despite much apparent friction, the three-hundred-odd people who sleep behind the walls of st. aliquis are fairly well organized. first of all the baron has his three squires, youths of friendly baronial families who are being "nourished" by conon preparatory to knighthood and whose education will be described later.[ ] they are, of course, "noble," and are looking forward to ruling their own castles. noble, too, is sire eustace, the seneschal, the baron's old companion in arms, who carries the great gonfalon of st. aliquis into battle, and who, in peace times, is chief factotum and superintendent of almost everything about the fief. the marshal who has charge of the stables is also "the son of a good house," and the chamberlain, who has oversight over all that interior economy which does not pertain to food, drink, and mealtimes, is an elderly, childless knight who became lamed in the service of the baron's father, and who really holds an honorable sinecure. there are, besides these, four other petty nobles, whose estates are so small that they find it pleasantest to live at st. aliquis, ride in the baron's hunts, and command his men at arms. the remainder of the castle servants are indeed non-noble; but there is nothing dishonorable in personal service, provided you serve a lord higher than yourself. conon would feel complimented if, on a visit to paris, he were asked to carry a great pasty and set it before the queen. the importance of a baron is somewhat gauged by the number of his squires and noble servitors. many a poor sire has to put up with only one squire, and perhaps a seneschal. as for conon and adela, they have a cherished ambition that in their sons' day, at least, the st. aliquis butler, cellarer, dispenser, and even the master falconer should be of gentle blood also; but that would be putting their household practically on an equality with the duke's. [sidenote: dinner, supper and nightfall] when dinnertime comes there will be a great rush for the hall, but the ceremonies of the table will be told later.[ ] of course, on common days one will not expect a banquet--only one or two plates of meat, some fish, a few vegetables, bread, and common wine, but all in abundance. hunger seldom troubles st. aliquis. if the weather is fine, very likely dinner and supper will be served in the garden, outside the barbican, under pleasant shade trees, close to the purling rapide. there will be long tables covered with linen dyed with montpellier scarlet. the honored guests will have cushioned benches; the remainder will sit on almost anything.[ ] supper may be either in the hall or in the garden, according to circumstances. it is a long time between dinner and supper, and appetites are again keen. after supper, if by the presence of jongleurs there are excuses for torches and music, the castle folk join in diversions or even in dancing, until a large silver cup is solemnly handed to the baron. he drinks deeply. all his guests are similarly served. then he rises and the company goes to bed. if there are honored visitors, conon will escort them to their chambers himself, and take another sup of wine with them ere parting for the night. the seneschal meantime makes a careful round of the walls, to satisfy himself that the outer drawbridge is raised, the sentries posted, and that everything is safe. then he will transmit the ponderous keys to be taken to the baron's room till dawn. the seigneur is undressed by his squires and reposes under an avalanche of feather beds thick enough to provide a vapor bath. soon all the lights are extinguished throughout the whole black mass of the castle, save only the tall taper in the master's apartment. so the castle sleeps through the darkness, unbroken save for the occasional "all is well!" from the yawning sentry on the turret, until the thrushes and blackbirds begin their noise in the garden and in the trees by the rivers. then again st. aliquis resumes its daytime business. footnotes: [ ] hospitality sometimes went to such a point that we are told the ladies of the castle assisted a visiting knight to take a complete bath--a service quite innocently rendered and accepted. similar customs, of course, obtained among the greeks of the _iliad_ and _odyssey_. [ ] see ch. xvii. [ ] see ch. xxii. [ ] even when sums of money are mentioned in connection with peasants' dues, etc., one may guess that often payments in kind are really in question. [ ] see ch. xi. [ ] see ch. vii. [ ] mediæval men did not use the floor to the extent of the chinese and japanese, but they were certainly often willing to dispense with seats even indoors, and to sit on their haunches upon the pavement or rushes, "turk fashion." chapter iv: games and diversions. falconry and hunting. the baroness' garden. if baron conon has been fortunate enough to receive a noble guest, almost the first question is how to divert the stranger. the inevitable program will be to constrain the visitor to tarry at least long enough to cast hawks or to chase down a deer. if that is not possible, at least he will be courteously urged to attempt some game, and it will be most "ungentle" of him to refuse. indoor games are in great demand where bad weather often makes open sports impossible and where bookish diversions are limited. the baron frequently plays with his own family when there are no outside guests, and all the household are more or less expert. to understand them is part of a gentle education for both sexes. indeed, there is no better way for a noble dame and a cavalier to begin a romance than to sit through a long afternoon studying one another's faces no less than the gaming table. some of these diversions are decidedly like those of a later age. for example, if all present are reasonably literate they can play "ragman's roll"! burlesque verses--some suitable for men, some for women, and all often deplorably coarse--are written on slips of parchment wound in a roll. on each slip is a string with some sign showing for which sex it is intended. everybody has to draw a roll, then open and read it aloud to the mirthful company. the verses are supposed to show the character of the person drawing the same. also, even grown-up folk are not above "run around" games which are later reserved for children. high barons play blind-man's buff; seigneurs and dames sometimes join in the undignified "hot cockles." a blindfolded player kneels with his face on the knee of another and with his hands held out behind him. other players in turn strike him on the hand, and he tries to guess who has hit him. if he is correct, the person last striking takes his place. of course, a large part of the sport is to deliver very shrewd blows. the fact that such a game can be in vogue shows again that even the high and mighty are often like hot-blooded children abounding in animal spirits. these games conon will not press upon his guests. he will urge on them backgammon, checkers, chess or, if they seem young and secular, perhaps dice. backgammon is called "tables." it is a combination of dice playing plus the motion of pieces on a board which goes back to roman times. the boards and methods of play are so like those of a later age that one need not comment thereon. backgammon is a popular diversion, but hardly more so than checkers (anglice "draughts") known in france as "dames." here also is a game that hardly changes essentially from age to age. the checkermen at st. aliquis are square, not round. otherwise, no explanation is needed. [sidenote: backgammon, checkers and dice] what men like conon really enjoy, however, are games of dice. nevertheless, since the church has often censured these cubes of ivory, he and his baroness do not dare to use them too often; besides, they realize the havoc often wrought among the young by dice throwing, and wish to keep their own sons from temptation. in parts of france there are laws reading: "dice shall not be made in this dominion, and those using them shall be looked upon as suspicious characters."[ ] all such enactments are usually dead letters, and a high justiciar can ordinarily punish merely the manufacture and use of loaded dice. although church prelates rail vigorously, their complaints are not merely that games of chance are, _ipso facto_, sinful, but that the blasphemies constantly uttered by losing dice players form a means of populating hell. dice playing assuredly is extremely common. it is even impiously called "the game of god," because the regulation of chance belongs to providence. did not the holy apostles cast lots between justus and matthias to select a successor to the wicked judas; and can good christians question means acceptable to st. john and st. peter? so gamesters will quiet their consciences. vainly does king philip augustus command that any person swearing over dice in his royal presence, no matter how high his rank, shall be cast into the river. dice are everywhere--in the travelers' and pilgrims' wallets and in almost every castle, hut, or town dwelling. let any three or four men come together for an idle hour and fortunate it is if a set of dice does not appear to while away the time. the thirteenth century is innocent of cards; dice form the substitute. the swearing is evil, but the gambling is worse. there are at least ten gambling games, some with three dice, some needing six. adela has been warning françois, her eldest son, concerning a recent instance of reckless playing. a young squire, whose father held lands of conon, set forth to seek his fortune at the king's court. he halted at pontdebois, where he met an older soldier of fortune at the tavern. the poor young man was induced "to try a few casts." soon he had lost his travel money; next his horse; next his armor. in desperation he began pledging his ordinary vesture to the tavern keeper (who acted as a kind of pawnbroker). ill luck still pursued, and he was reduced to his bare shirt[ ] before a friend of his father's, chancing about the inn, recovered his necessary clothes between them and sent him home, utterly humiliated. such calamities are constant. dice are daily the ruin of countless nobles and villeins--but the accursed gaming continues. it is even rumored that in certain disorderly monasteries these tools of the devil often intrude further to demoralize the brethren. [illustration: the game of chess an ivory plaque of the fourteenth century (musée du louvre).] [sidenote: chess in great esteem] no such ill odor, however, attends that game in which conon delights most. to play at chess is part of an aristocratic education. in a jongleur's romance we hear of a young prince who was brought up "first to know his letters," and then "to play at tables (backgammon), and at chess; and soon he learned these games so well that no man in this world could 'mate' him." françois and anseau, the baron's sons, make no such boasts, but both know the moves, and françois takes great pride in having lately forced a visiting knight to a stalemate. great seigneurs and kings carry chessboards around with them on campaigns and are said to amuse themselves with chess problems immediately before or after desperate battles. plenty of other anecdotes tell of short-tempered nobles who lost self-control when checkmated, broke the chessboards over their opponents' heads, and ended the contest in a regular brawl. this royal game has doubtless come from the orient. caliphs of the infidels have long since boasted their skill in taking rooks and pawns, but in western lands about the first record comes from the time of pope alexander ii ( - ), to whom complaint was made that a bishop of florence was "spending his evenings in the vanity of chess playing." the bishop's enemies alleged that this was forbidden by the canons prohibiting dice. but the bishop retorted that "dice and chess were entirely different things: the first sinful; the second a most honorable exercise for christians." the pope tactfully refrained from pressing the matter. nevertheless, austere churchmen regarded the game as worldly, and impetuous religious reformers insisted on confounding it with games of chance. it was only in that a council of paris forbade french clerics to play chess, just as it (for about the thousandth time) forbade dice--despite which fact the bishop of pontdebois spent a whole afternoon over the chessboard the last time he visited the castle and could test his skill on the baron. as for the nobility, no one thinks of refusing to play, although naturally it is the older knights who have the patience for long contests. according to the _song of roland_, after charlemagne's host had taken cordova the emperor and all his knights rested themselves in a shady garden. the more sedate leaders immediately played chess, although the younger champions selected the more exciting backgammon. the chessmen are often made of whalebone and imported from scandinavia. they are models of warriors. the kings have their swords drawn; the knights are on horseback; in place of castles we have "warders," a kind of infantrymen; the bishops hold their croziers; and the queens upbear drinking horns like the great ladies in a northern house. conon, however, has a fine ivory set made in the east; and oriental models differ from the norse. the infidels, of course, have no bishops; instead there is a _phil_--a carved elephant; and since moslems despise women, instead of a queen there is a _phrez_, or counselor. chessboards are usually made of inlaid woods, or even metals, and conon has an elegant one with squares of silver and gilt, the gift of a count whose life he once saved in battle. needless to say, chess is a game in which the women can excel. alienor is well able to defeat her brother, despite his boasting; and among the duties of the ladies of a castle is to teach the young squires who are being "nourished" by its lord how to say "check." chess is supposed to be a game of such worth and intricacy as not to need the stimulus of wagering. but, alas! such is the old adam in mankind that scandalous gambling often goes on around a chessboard. at festivals when nobles assemble, if two distinguished players match their skill, there is soon an excited, if decently silent, crowd around their table. soon one spectator after another in whispers places wagers to support a contestant; the players themselves begin to bet on their own skill. the final result may leave them almost as poverty-stricken as the dicers in the tavern, as well as compromising salvation by awful oaths. [illustration: a game of ball (strutt)] young nobles also kill much time with out-of-door games resembling tennis and billiards. the tennis is played without rackets, by merely striking the ball with the open hand. the billiards require no tables, but are played on level ground with wooden balls struck with hooked sticks or mallets, somewhat resembling the hockey of another age. here again reckless youths often wager and lose great sums. lads and young maidens are fond, too, of guilles--a game resembling ninepins, although the pins are knocked down, not with balls, but with a stick thrown somewhat like a boomerang. of course, they also enjoy tossing balls, and young ladies no less than their brothers practice often with the arbalist, shooting arrows with large heads for bringing down birds which take refuge in bushes when pursued by the hawks. [sidenote: hawking] but chess, dice and every other game indoors or outdoors pales before the pleasure of hawking or hunting. there is no peace-time sensation like the joy of feeling a fast horse whisk you over the verdant country, leaping fences, and crashing through thickets with some desperate quarry ahead. it is even a kind of substitute for the delights of war. if a visiting knight shows the least willingness, the baron will certainly urge him to tarry for a hunting party. it will then depend on the season, the desire of the guests, and reports from the kennels and mews and the forest whether the chase will be with hawks or with hounds. master huntsmen and falconers are always at swords' points. their noble employers also lose their tempers in the arguments as to venery and falconry, but the truth is that both sports are carried on simultaneously at every castle. if fresh meat is needed, if most of the riders are men, if time is abundant, probably the order is "bring out the dogs." if only the sport is wanted, and the ladies can ride out merely for an afternoon, the call is for the hawks. [illustration: lady with a falcon on her wrist from a thirteenth-century seal (archives nationales).] hunting hawks are everywhere. last sunday adela and alienor rode over to mass at the abbey church. the good brethren chanting the service were nowise disturbed when each of their high-born worshipers kept a great hooded hawk strapped to her wrist during the whole service.[ ] it is well to take your hawks everywhere with you, especially when there are crowds of people, to accustom them to bustle and shouting; but we suspect another reason for always taking hawks about is that the carrying of a hunting bird on your wrist is a recognized method of saying, "i am of gentle blood and need not do any disagreeable work with my hands." [sidenote: complicated art of falconry] falcons are counted "noble birds"; they rank higher in the social hierarchy of beasts than even eagles. if one cannot afford large hawks and falcons one can at least keep sparrow hawks; and "sparrow hawk" is the nickname for poor sires who only maintain birds large enough to kill partridges and quails. in short, the possession of a hawk of _some_ kind is almost as necessary for a nobleman as wearing a sword, even with knights who can seldom go out hunting. however, it takes a rich noble like conon to possess a regular falconry with special birds, each trained for attacking a certain kind of game--hares, kites, herons--with the expert attendants to care for them. [illustration: the falcon hunt thirteenth century; from a german manuscript in the bibliothèque de bruxelles.] falconry has become a complicated art. very possibly the good folk in st. aliquis will have their bodies physicked or bled by physicians much less skillful in treating human ills than conon's falconers are in treating birds. to climb high trees or crags and steal the young hawk out of the nest is itself no trifling undertaking.[ ] then the prizes must be raised to maturity, taught to obey whistles and calls, and to learn instantly to do the bidding of the master. in the baron's mews are more than a score of birds; gerfalcons, saker hawks, lanners, merlins, and little sparrow hawks squawk, peck, and squabble along with huge goshawks. the male birds are generally smaller than the female, and the latter are reserved for striking the swiftest game, such as herons. some birds will return of their own accord to the hand of the master after taking game, but many, including all sparrow hawks, have to be enticed back by means of a lure of red cloth shaped like a bird. the falconer swings his lure by a string, and whistles, and, since the falcon is accustomed to find a bit of meat attached to the lure, he will fly down promptly and thus be secured. conon's head falconer is only a villein, but he is such an expert that recently the count of champagne offered a hundred paris livres for him. this important personage is himself the son of a falconer, for the science runs in families. he is a man of shrewd knowledge and a real wizard at breaking in young birds, teaching them to strike dummies and decoys, to remain contented in their cages or hooded on their perches, and yet not lose their hunting spirit. he has precise methods of feeding--so much meat, preferably poultry, and so much of vegetables, preferably fresh fruit. he takes long counsel with conon how a recalcitrant goshawk can be induced to sit quietly on the baron's fist. he also teaches young françois to carry his little sparrow hawk so it will not be incommoded by any horse motion or be beaten upon unpleasantly by the wind, and how to adjust its hood. [sidenote: professional jargon of falconry] there are few more acceptable presents to a nobleman or, better still, to a lady, than a really fine bird. abbots send five or six superior hawks to the king when craving protection for their monasteries. foreign ambassadors present his royal grace with a pair of birds as the opening wedge to negotiations. the "reception of hawks" is indeed a regular ceremony at the paris court. most of conon's hawks have come from fellow cavaliers who craved his favor. the st. aliquis gentry pride themselves on understanding all the professional jargon of falconry. only peasant clowns would confess themselves ignorant thereof; yet even among nobles few speak it really well. the other day a pretentious knight dined at the castle. he put his gerfalcon on the perch provided in the hall for such use by the guests. but, thunder of heaven! how great seemed his foolishness when conon courteously led the subject around to falconry! "he said: 'the _hand_ of the bird' instead of 'the talon'; 'the _talon_' instead of 'the claw'; 'the _claw_' instead of 'the nail.' it was most distressing to find such a man with a claim to courteous treatment!" [illustration: noble holding a falcon in each hand thirteenth century; restored by viollet-le-duc, from a manuscript in the bibliothèque de bruxelles.] of course, at some excesses in falconry conon draws the line. he considers impious his neighbor the viscount of foretvert, who sprinkles his hawks with holy water prior to every hunt, and says a prayer over them adjuring, "you, o eagles, by the true god, the holy virgin, and the holy prophets, to leave the field clear for our birds and not to molest them in their flight." the church has never authorized this, though the viscount's worldly chaplain certainly condones the practice. everything about falcons must be compatible with their nobility. the glove on which they are carried is embroidered with gold. the hood which keeps them blindfolded is likewise adorned with gold thread, pearls, and bright feathers. every bird has attached to his legs two little bells engraved with his owner's name. high in the air they can be heard tinkling. if the bird is lost the peasants discovering it can return it to the owner--and woe to the villein who retains a falcon found in the forest! the local law provides that either he must pay a ruinous fine or let the falcon eat six ounces of flesh from his breast. as for stealing a hunting bird outright, there is hardly a speedier road to the gallows; it is what horse stealing some day will become in communities very far from france. assuredly it is an exhilarating sight to see the castle folk go hawking on a fine morning. the baron, baroness, and all their older relatives and guests, each with bird on gauntlet, are on tall horses; the squires and younger people have sparrow hawks to send against the smaller prey, but the leaders of the sport will wait until they can strike a swift duck or heron. dogs will race along to flush the game. horns are blowing, young voices laughing, all the horses prancing. conon gives the word. away they go--racing over fences, field and fallow, thicket and brook, until fate sends to view a heron. then all the hawks are unhooded together; there are shouts, encouragement, merry wagers, and helloing as the birds soar in the chase. the heron may meet his fate far in the blue above. then follow more racing and scurrying to recover the hawks. so onward, covering many miles of country, until, with blood tingling, all canter back to st. aliquis in a determined mood for supper. [sidenote: hunting serious business] hunting is more serious business than falconry. the castle folk do not care much for beef and mutton; they prefer venison and boar's meat, and the great woods to the east of the castle supply food no less than diversion. hunting is a pursuit quite allowable to pious laymen, and in moderation is even commended by the church. by hunting one benefits one's soul, for thus we "avoid the sin of indolence, and, according to our faith, he who avoids the seven mortal sins will be saved; therefore, the good sportsmen will be saved." the huntsmen's saints--st. germain, st. martin, and above all st. hubert of liège, a renowned hunter of the eighth century[ ]--are invoked in countless castles oftener, one fears, than such greater saints as st. peter and st. paul. [illustration: a hunter from a seal of the thirteenth century (archives nationales).] there are many dangerous beasts in the great forests spread over france. charlemagne (the tale runs) was once nearly hugged to death by a hard-pressed bear. every nobleman has met with very ugly boars and also powerful stags who fought desperately. as for the ladies (who, after all, are of one blood with their brothers) the hunt is almost the closest they can come to martial pleasures. adela and her sister-in-law can wind horns, follow stags, control dogs almost as well as conon and aimery. of course, they could ride from early girlhood. on occasion of ceremony they ride sidesaddle, but when hunting and hawking they go astride in wholly masculine manner. françois has been riding now for years, and even little anseau, barely seven, can cling to the back of a high steed and keep beside his mother, unless the hunt becomes extremely furious. the equipments for hunting are simple. the only real luxury is in the hunting horns, the great olifants whose piercing notes can ring a mile through the still forests. these horns are made of ivory, chased with gold, and swung from each important rider's neck by a cord of silk or fine leather. the hunters wear leather gauntlets and use a bow and arrows, a "danish ax" (a kind of tomahawk), a boar spear (the favorite hunting weapon), and also a large knife for emergencies. as the party mounts in the castle court, around them are leaping and yelping the great pack of dogs--white in teeth, red tongues, straining the leashes and barely controlled by their keepers. dogs are loved almost as much as falcons, and conon has a large collection of greyhounds, staghounds, boarhounds, and even of terrible bloodhounds. the kennels are replenished constantly, for stags and old boars can kill many dogs ere they are finally run down and speared. the gift of a litter of fine puppies is, therefore, often as welcome as a cast of hawks. [sidenote: chasing down a great boar] it is a happy day if a beater comes in with tidings of "a wild boar, the strongest of which anyone has ever heard tell, in the forest of pevele and vicogne near the free holdings of st. bertin." the baron will call out all the castle folk, and, if time admits, will send to some favorite vassals a few miles away to join the sport. with ten pairs of hounds and at least fifteen huntsmen and beaters he will thus organize the pursuit. the hunt will start at dawn, and it will take much of the forenoon to reach the forest where the boar has been discovered. then (recites a jongleur) will begin "the baying and the yelping of dogs. they are unleashed. they bound through the thicket and find the tracks where the boar has dug and rooted for worms." one of the keepers then unleashes blanchart, the baron's best bloodhound. conon pats his head and they put him on the track. the hound soon discovers the boar's lair. "it is a narrow place between the trunks of two uprooted oaks, near a spring. when the boar hears the baying of the hound he stands erect, spreads his enormous feet, and, disdaining flight, wheels around, until, judging himself within reaching distance of the good hound, he seizes it and fells it dead by his side. the baron would not have given blanchart for one hundred deniers. not hearing his barking he runs up, sword in hand; but he is too late; the boar is gone." after that there is nothing for it except to keep up the chase relentlessly until evening, with the whole company gradually scattering through the forest until conon at last overtakes the chase. but the baron is now alone save for a few dogs. "the boar has finally come to bay in front of a thicket. he begins by refreshing himself in a pool; then, raising his brows, rolling his eyes, and snorting, he bares his tusks and dashes upon the dogs, and rips them open or tears them to pieces, one after another, all except three of the best greyhounds. then conon arrives, and first of all he sees his dogs stretched out dead. 'oh, son of a sow,' cries he, 'it is you that have disemboweled my dogs, have separated me from my friends, and have brought me i know not where! you shall die!' he leaps from his steed. at his shout the boar, despite bushes and ditches, leaps upon him swift as an arrow. conon lets him come straight on, and, holding the boar spear straight before him, strikes at his breast. the point pierces the heart and goes out at the shoulder blade. mortally wounded, the boar swerves to one side, totters, and falls."[ ] so the chase ends and the dogs are avenged. the baron has to blow his horn many times ere his party finds him. luckily the boar has run back somewhat toward st. aliquis. they are therefore able to get home in noisy triumph that night, and all the castle women are under the red torches outside the gate to "oh!" and "ah!" at the boar and to praise the prowess of their seigneur. [illustration: the stag hunt twelfth century; from a window in the cathedral of chartres.] conon is fortunate in being able to return home without more adventures. his high suzerain, king philip augustus, while a young prince, once followed a boar until he was lost in the forest, and became justly anxious; but just as he was commending himself to god, the virgin, and "st. denis, the protector of the king of france," to his great relief he met "a charcoal burner, grim to behold, with a face black with charcoal, carrying a great ax on his shoulder." this honest peasant guided the prince to safety. [sidenote: hunting across peasants' lands] one important part of the st. aliquis population, however, regards all hunting parties with far less satisfaction. the chase often goes straight across the peasants' fields, with twenty horses beating down the newly seeded ground or even the standing crops. this is the baron's absolute privilege and any protest is treasonable. the villeins have not simply to submit to this, but if deer nibble or boars root upon their fields, they can merely try to scare the ravagers off. their lord and his friends alone may use arrow, blade, or spear against the game. the st. aliquis peasants bless the saints that this time the boar kept conveniently in the forest and did not sell his life dearly in a half-ripe cornfield. hawking and hunting are two great out-of-door sports, always excepting martial exercises and downright war; although sometimes aimery and other young men, for a tame diversion, take crossbows and try to shoot birds in the meadows. if conon is naturally the master of the hunt, adela is as invariably mistress of a very important place--the garden. castles are disagreeable residences. even with the newer _palais_ rising beside the grim donjon, they are usually dampish, illy lighted, and subject to uncanny odors. in northern france there is enough confining weather in any case. therefore, the more reason there is, the moment the sun shines, for hastening where there are sweet air, bright flowers, and delightful greenness. the castle garden is outside the barbican, shut off by a dense hedge from the exercise ground. in it are not merely many beds of flowers, but fruit trees and a group of venerable elms much older than the first crusade. also, there is a broad, fine stretch of closely cropped grass, shaded by the trees for most of the day. here all kinds of things can occur. at long tables the whole castle will dine and sup in fine weather. here conon will assemble his vassals for ceremonious council. here will be played innumerable games of chess. and here especially, if a few jongleurs can be found to saw their viols on fête days, all the castle folk, noble and villein, will rapturously join in dances, not in stuffy hall under midnight lamps, but in bright daylight with the merry feet twinkling on god's soft green grass. [sidenote: the castle garden] adela has taken great pains with her garden, which fell into a bad condition during baron garnier's day. she often councils with brother sebastian at the abbey, a real botanist with a true love of plants and flowers. one side of the beds is adorned with roses, lilies, and marigolds. on the other grow useful herbs such as lettuce, cresses, mint, parsley, hyssop, sage, coriander, and fennel. with these, too, are also poppies, daffodils, and acanthus plants, while a vegetable garden supplies the castle with cucumbers, beets, mustard, and wormwood. the fruit trees yield a sizable crop of apples, quinces, peaches, and pears. there is a kind of hot-house in which the baroness has tried to raise figs, but with no great success; but, of course, there is no difficulty in maturing grapes and cherries; indeed, cherry festivals are among the most familiar and delightful holidays in all this part of france. "life," say monkish writers, warning the thoughtless, "though perhaps pleasant, is transitory, 'even as is a cherry fair.'" "crooked" heman (the hunchbacked gardener) has considerable skill even without the teachings of brother sebastian. he practices grafting successfully, although his theories on the subject are absurd. he is trying to develop a new kind of plum and is tenderly raising some of the new "agony" pears--a bitter variety for pickling. true, he believes that cherries can grow without stones if you have the right recipe, and that peach trees will bear pomegranates if only you can sprinkle them with enough goats' milk. this does not prevent large practical results. his tools are simple--an ax, a spade, a grafting knife, and a pruning hook; but, thanks to the unlimited number of peasant clowns which the baroness can put at his disposal, he keeps the garden and orchard in admirable order. heman's office is the more important because the garden does not exist solely as a pleasure spot or for its fruits and vegetables. flowers are in constant demand, whenever obtainable, for garlands and chaplets. even as with the greeks, no feast is complete without them. wild flowers are in favor, and many a time adela's maids are sent out to gather and wreathe woodbine or hawthorn; but, of course, such a supply is irregular. on every social occasion from early spring to the edge of winter the castle garden must, therefore, supply its garlands. it is, accordingly, one of the essential working units of st. aliquis, along with the stables, the mews, and the armory. footnotes: [ ] such a law was actually enacted for the entire kingdom of france in . [ ] a mediæval manuscript contains a vivid picture of two gamesters, one of whom had only a shirt left; the other had been reduced to sheer nakedness. their companions had evidently stripped them almost completely, leaving them to compete for one garment! [ ] we hear scandalous stories of bishops and abbots who did not think it unfit to take their hawks to church. it is alleged that they would strap their precious charges to the altar rail while they were performing the holy offices. [ ] by the thirteenth century a material fraction of the better falcons seem, however, to have been hatched and bred in captivity, thus avoiding this perilous exercise. [ ] the story had it that he was converted to a religious life after meeting in the woods a stag bearing between his horns an image of the saviour. st. hubert's feast day was always faithfully celebrated by kings and nobles. [ ] the quotations are from the story of the boar hunt in the romance _garin le lorrain_, with baron conon substituted for duke begoy in the original. chapter v: the family of the baron. life of the women. conon, we have said, has lived in great harmony with his baroness. well he might. a short time ago a visiting cavalier, who had learned to string words after the south country troubadour fashion, saw fit to praise adela after this manner: "she has fair blond locks and a forehead whiter than the lilies. her laughing eyes change color with her mood. her nose is straight and firm. her fresh face outvies the white and vermilion of the flowers. her mouth is small and her teeth are white like snow on the wild rose. white are her fair hands, and the fingers are both smooth and slender." also the baron is very proud of his sister, for whom he is planning a worthy marriage. a breton jongleur, who found st. aliquis's hospitality grateful, sang thus of alienor: "passing slim is the lady, sweet of bodice and slender of girdle. her throat is whiter than snow on branch, and her eyes are like flowers set in the healthful pallor of her face. she has a witching mouth, a dainty nose, and an open brow. her eyebrows are brown, and her golden hair is parted in two soft waves upon her forehead."[ ] [sidenote: types of beautiful women] both of these laudators exaggerate. neither adela nor alienor has a monopoly of good looks; yet a life of eager exercise in the open has given them both a complexion which many a town-pent rival might envy. their positions in the castle, as at once the gracious hostesses to equals and the unquestioned mistresses over hundreds of dependents, bestow on them dignity and "noble" assurance. each lady rejoices in the good fortune of being blond, a first prerequisite to beauty--for in all the romances there is hardly one brunette maiden who comes in for praise. their hair falls down the length of their arms, to the owners' great satisfaction, and is worn in two long braids, entwined with ribbons, or on gala days with gold thread, resting in front over their shoulders. adela, at least, has long since become complaisant to all kinds of flatteries, though alienor is still thrilled when a jongleur or sentimental knight assures her that she has "lips small as an infant's," "cheeks the color of peach bloom," "teeth of perfect regularity," "breath sweet as the censer swung above a church altar," and that "her beauty suddenly illuminates the whole castle." both of the ladies are tall and slender, again the ideal type of femininity; and they have unconcealed pity for the poor viscountess of foretvert, who is short, plump, and afflicted with dark hair. [illustration: coiffure of a noblewoman twelfth century (cathedral of chartres).] alienor's mother is dead, but her sister-in-law is enough older to take her place somewhat and give much well-meant advice, which the younger damsel must take meekly. adela often admonishes thus: "my fair sister, be courteous and meek, for nothing else so secures the favor of god and of mortals. be friendly to small and great. i have seen a great duchess bow ceremoniously to an ironmonger. one of her followers was astonished. 'i prefer' replied she, 'to have been guilty of too great courtesy toward that man, than guilty of the least incivility toward a knight.' also one must shun foreign fashions at festivals and tourneys, lest one become foolishly conspicuous; and above all beware of lofty headgear, lest you resemble stags who must lower their heads on entering a wood, and in order that you may not by your loud fashions make everyone stare at you as if you were a wild beast." recently, too, adela has been giving sisterly advice on how to walk becomingly: "look straight before you, with your eyelids low and fixed, gazing forward at the ground six fathoms ahead, not changing your look from one place to another, nor laughing, nor stopping to chatter with anybody upon the highway." conon, too, has beset poor alienor, with all the superiority of an elder brother. he has commended the instructions of a certain _trouvère_ (north french minstrel) to a young noblewoman. she must not talk too much; especially she must not boast of the attentions paid by young knights. when going to church she must not "trot or run," but salute "debonairely" all persons she meets. she must not let men caress her with their hands or kiss her upon the mouth. they might misconstrue such familiarities. she must not go around with part of her body uncovered, undress in the presence of men, nor accept presents from any man not a kinsman nor her accepted lover. [sidenote: good manners for noblewomen] the _trouvère_ instructor also goes on to warn his fair pupils against scolding in public, against overeating, and against getting drunk, "whence much mischief might arise." unless she is ugly or deformed, she should not cover her face coquettishly. "a lady who is pale faced or has not a good smell ought to breakfast early in the morning! for good wine gives a very good color, and she who eats and drinks well can heighten her complexion." to avoid bad breath eat aniseed and fennel for breakfast. keep your hands clean and cut your nails so as not to retain dirt. when you are sharing the same dish at table with some one else (as is the custom) do not pick out all the best bits for yourself; and beware of swallowing too large or too hot a morsel of food. also, wipe your mouth frequently, but on your napkin, and particularly not upon the tablecloth. also, do not spill from your mouth or grease your hands too much. young ladies also should keep from telling lies.--alienor wishes the impertinent _trouvère_ in purgatory. but following conon and adela, father grégoire, the chaplain, and then even holy brother matthew, the prior of the abbey, takes her in hand. she must avoid sin by never letting her mantle trail disgracefully, lest she seem like a fox whose glory is in his tail. her maids must avoid repeating gossip. she must never travel without proper retinue, lest she be caught in compromising situations. she must attend mass regularly and not be satisfied "merely with hearing low mass and hurrying two or three times through the lord's prayer and then going off to indulge herself with sweetmeats." alienor should also avoid all games of chance, including backgammon (advice, indeed, at which conon laughs) and not to waste too much time even at chess, nor to take indecent pleasure in the low songs and antics of the jongleurs. no wonder the poor girl vows she will perversely do these very things at first opportunity![ ] alienor tells herself, however, that she is fortunate she is not troubled by worse things than hortatory friends. champions of "equality of sexes" from a later age can become horrified over the legal status of women in the feudal centuries. females can never bear arms; they must remain perpetually as minors before the law. even a great heiress will be under severe pressure to take a husband who will perform the military duties of her fief as soon as possible. if a baron dies, leaving only a young daughter, the suzerain can complain that he has been injured in one of his most important rights--his claim to armed service from the fief holder. where now is the vassal to follow his banner? perhaps a decent suzerain will wait until the heiress is twelve. then he will "give" her to some battleworthy follower. she will not have any real choice, even if the bridegroom is old, ugly, and brutal. on the other hand, many a fatherless girl becomes terribly anxious to be married. only married women have a fixed status in feudal society. only a husband can keep an heiress's lands from shameless plunder. there is the familiar story of a young noblewoman who went straight before the king and said: "my father has been dead two months. i demand of you a husband." she never dreamed of suggesting any particular husband. _that_ was the suzerain's business; but to leave her in unprotected celibacy was an outrage which no lord had a right to inflict upon an orphan. [sidenote: position of women in castles] legally and morally, husbands have the right to treat their wives harshly if the latter provoke them. every girl around st. aliquis knows the story of the silly wife who often contradicted her husband in public, and how, after he had vainly remonstrated, "one day raised his fist, knocked her down, and kicked her in the face while she was prostrate, and so broke her nose." the story conveys the plain lesson that she was directly to blame, "for it is only right that words of authority should belong to her lord, and the wife's duty requires that she should listen in peace and obedience." it is, indeed, repeated as something rather exceptional that adela has recently boasted to certain relatives: "my husband since our marriage has never once laid hands on me." not that all castellans are brutal--but after all, men will be men, lose their tempers, and treat their wives accordingly. everybody knows the scene from an epic poem where a certain king is angered at a tactless remark by his queen, and therefore "shows his anger in his face, and strikes her in the nose so hard that he draws four drops of blood, at which the lady meekly says 'many thanks. when it pleases you, you may do it again!'" such submissiveness is the best way to disarm a husband's anger. conon has been mildly ridiculed among his fellow knights because he takes counsel with his wife. minstrels like to make fun of such cavaliers and to commend the baron who told his officious spouse: "woman, go within and eat and drink with your maids. busy yourself dyeing silks. such is _your_ business. _mine_ it is to strike with the sword of steel!"[ ] of course, many knights do worse things than to tell their wives not to meddle, and, if not obeyed, occasionally knock them down. it has been told how baron garnier imprisoned his unhappy consort. this was harsh, but not exceptional. philip augustus, the reigning king, kept his unlucky bride, ingebord of denmark, long years in captivity, notwithstanding the menaces of the church; holding her tight in the gloomy tower of Éstampes, where she complained she had not enough either to eat or to wear. many nobles sometimes imitate their lord. thus over in burgundy, gautier of salins recently threw his wife into prison, whence, however, she contrived to escape to her parents. in any case, when, for the sake of her fiefs, a girl of twelve to eighteen is wedded to a husband of forty or fifty, all kinds of unhappy things can happen. the devil can fill the poor damsel's mind with love for a handsome squire. her lord may neglect her scandalously until suddenly he finds himself required to avenge "his honor" by some deed of startling cruelty. such things make the kind saints weep. not without reason does conon make discreet inquiries concerning a certain widower knight who has sought alienor's hand: "does he horsewhip his servants save for good cause? did he leave his last wife to mope about the hall while he spent his months riotously at the king's court?" nevertheless the chatelaines and baronesses of these parts are not always meek doves at the mercy of their husbands. are they not sprung themselves from a domineering stock? are they not reared around a castle, which is a great barrack, and where the talk is ever of feuds and forays, horses, lances, and armor? many a noble lady can answer her husband's fist with a rousing box on the ear, and, if he is not a courageous man, make him quail and surrender before her passions. her habits are likely to seem very masculine. if she can quarrel like a virago, she can also prove a she-wolf in times of danger. a knight will ride away to the wars, leaving his castle under the command of his wife and feel certain that it will be defended to the inner donjon. the rough men at arms will obey her orders as implicitly as her husband's. in short, the feudal noblewoman is, as might be expected, a compound of mortal weaknesses and excellencies, but all of these qualities are somewhat naïve and elemental. in any case the castle women cannot complain of being shut up in a harem. they have perfect freedom to meet strange men. if we accept the epic poems, when noble maidens believe a visiting knight to be very handsome they do not hesitate to tell him so to his face. in many love stories the first advances come from the lady, and not infrequently these advances are rather coldly received by the knight. your average mail-clad cavalier is a man of strong passions, but he is often more interested in war and the chase than in fair maidens. he is seldom a philanderer. [sidenote: grossness of castle life] if we visited the castles around st. aliquis and listened to typical jongleurs' tales, we should gather abundant material for monkish preachments. noble ladies are said to make few difficulties about inviting male visitors to their chambers to sit on their beds while they are still within the same--or entering the room of a male guest and sitting on _his_ bed while conversing very familiarly. women often meet strangers in scandalously insufficient garments. ladies also talk with the uttermost freedom to men, quite as openly as young men will talk on ticklish matters among themselves. many a story, jesting question, or "gab" which is utterly coarse, not to say worse, will be exchanged in mixed company. young women are seldom well chaperoned. in place of the duenna there is the "waiting woman," herself apt to have her own lover and ready to help her mistress push matters with hers. if there is a sensual intrigue, all criticism ceases if there is, at the end, a formal marriage; but many romances (according to the current stories) in no wise end in marriages. a wedding is by no means the standard climax even to a happy love affair. the monks, of course, are scandalized at less harmful things than these. they assert that the fair sex, besides being sinful coquettes, are spendthrifts, ruining their husbands by their own extravagance. women as a sex are inordinately fond of false hair, rouging, and other forms of giving a lie to the faces which god has vouchsafed. as for controlling them, brother guyot, of provins, wrote in despair thus: "the wisest are astray when they wish to judge or correct a woman. she has never found her master, and who can flatter himself that he knows her? when her eyes weep her heart laughs. there are men who teach astronomy, necromancy, geometry, law, medicine, and music; but i have never known a person who was not a fool to take _woman_ for a subject of study." all the above seems true. yet when due allowances are made, the number of noblewomen who lead happy, honorable lives is great; and if many barons are unkind to their wives, many others reckon them as their greatest treasures. if reasonable care has been taken not to force the mating of obviously uncongenial couples, a decent respect is likely to result, even after a marriage arranged wholly by outsiders. if, in many of the epics, sundry fair ladies seem unprudish, very many others are superlatively faithful, devoted to their husbands, foes to all evil thoughts and seducers, and know how to draw the line very sharply between those familiar attentions which courtesy demands and those where real sinfulness begins. even a baron who will curse his wife roundly and switch her shoulders treats her also as his _juré_, the holder of his pledge, to whom he can trust his honor and leave the command of his castle when he rides to war. [sidenote: accomplishments of castle women] "a great deal depends upon the woman herself," adela assures alienor. husbands and wives are shut up together in a castle often for weary months, and a clever wife can easily make herself indispensable to her husband, and then rule the whole barony. in short, in treatment of women, as in all things else, the feudal age is a jumble of contradictions. you can find the worst and the best. "a good woman suffices to illuminate a kingdom," a poet declares; while even a crusty monk writes that "we ought to love, serve, and honor woman, for out of her we all come." and what, in one sense, is the intense worship of the virgin but a sign that woman is extraordinarily venerated and very powerful? "god, thou son of st. mary"--is that not a standing invocation among the knights? as for the pursuits of the women, there is little about the castle to which they cannot devote themselves. sometimes they have even to replace the men on armed expeditions. adela is grateful that she has not had to imitate the great countess blanche of champagne, who (while guardian of her young son) has recently, in , conducted an invading army into lorraine and burned nancy, and then again, near château-villein, has led her knights in person and won a real pitched battle. adela, however, understands all the technic of defending the castle in a siege, she can help her husband about the entire peace-time economy of the seigneury, check up the provosts's accounts, sift out the complaints of the peasants, arrange the alms to the poor, and, best of all, knows how to manage the local bishop and abbot, with a mingling of piety, harmless coquetry, and firmness--a great asset for the weal of the barony. her greatest task, however, is to direct the perpetual weaving, knitting, embroidering, and sewing of the castle women. even if some of the finer cloth is imported, nearly all the garments must be made up in st. aliquis; and the ladies must set their maids as good an example with their needles as the baron must furnish to his men with his sword. the chambers of the _palais_, and even the garden in summer, seem given over to incessant cutting and sewing; and many a time can you watch the fair alienor, like the girl in the romance, "seated in her brother's chambers, working a stole and 'amise' in silk and gold, right skillfully; and she made it with care, and many a little cross and many a little star she sets therein, singing all the while the 'song of the cloth'"--a gentle, lilting air suitable for the movements of her white hands and her needle. it was when so engaged that her brother, coming in early from the hounds, vowed he would not spare the dowry to get her a gallant husband; and that night he cast five deniers to the jongleur who praised her to her face before the applauding hall: she is the rose, the lily, too, the sweetest violet, and through her noble beauty, stately mien, i think her now the finest queen which mortal eyes have ever seen. simple, yet coy, her eyes flash joy: god give her life without annoy and every bliss whereof i ween! [sidenote: customs at births and baptisms] of course, the prime centers of adela's life are the rearing of her children and the management of her servants. when little françois and anseau were being born, the castle bell, and that, too, of the village church, were all the time rung furiously to induce the saints to ease their mother's labor. sensible father grégoire had to interpose his ghostly authority to check the midwife from at once plunging the feet of the newly born into icy water to toughen them to the cold, or rubbing their cheeks with a gold piece to make them rich. of course, conon was delighted each time they told him, "a sturdy son!" on françois' advent he called all his vassals to a feast. "be joyous!" he proclaimed. "there is born the seigneur from whom you will hold your lands. he will give you rich furs, white and gray, beautiful arms, and horses of price. yes, in twenty years my son will be dubbed a knight!" [illustration: cradle thirteenth-century manuscript in the cambridge library (green).] the young st. aliquis barons were rocked in beautifully carved cradles. they were bathed before a great fire and wrapped, not merely in the usual long baby clothes, but in little robes of silk and furs, even of precious ermine, to proclaim their noble rank. they were, of course, baptized at first opportunity, because unbaptized children had very dubious chances in the next world. adela had been unable to go to the ceremony for either, but there had been a great gathering of relatives and vassals; for a christening is the formal acknowledgment of the child's legitimacy and settles many claims to inheritance. a child must have three godparents, two of its own sex and one of the other. at the font, one of these holds the babe round the body, and each of the others grasps a leg. then the priest dips the child completely in the water. "bare as a babe at baptism," runs the saying. of course, the higher the rank of the godparents, the luckier the infant. françois is proud already because the duke of quelqueparte calls him "godson," and anseau because he is styled the same by the high countess of blois. up to seven the young boys were left to the care of their mother. adela nursed her own sons, although wet nurses were the rule in many noble families; but at least three maids were constantly in attendance on each young sprig of st. aliquis. neither françois nor anseau is spared the wholesome diet of many blows. monkish preachers are always warning against sparing the rod and spoiling the child, and every father and mother heeds this particular admonition. truth to tell, conditions round a castle often tend to make boys little demons of rascality. all the hall has laughed at the epic "daurel and beton," in which a child at four was clever enough to steal his guardian's gloves, and at five to play chess and dice and to ride a tall horse. but françois and anseau are growing up reasonably honest, thanks to frequent dermal pain. they have enjoyed a great variety of toys, most of them of types as old as the pyramids and which will be a delight in succeeding centuries. there are dolls with hempen wigs, carved wooden soldiers with helms and hauberks, windmills, all kinds of animals made of baked clay, wooden horses, and, of course, an armory of wooden weapons. the scores of children swarming the bailey are at their disposal as playfellows, with the sons of the higher officers preferred. there are innumerable games of the tag variety, but already françois is learning to marshal his playmates in military companies. what greater delight than to defend some tower against their father's old foe, foretvert? it will be lucky if they do not filch real arbalists and shoot deadly bolts at one another. [sidenote: education of young noblewomen] françois is now being taken in hand by his father and taught many things needful for a baron's son to know before he is sent away to be "nourished" by some friendly seigneur. he has no sisters, but his aunt alienor is just emerging from the usual education of a girl of family. if there had been a local nunnery she might have been sent to the convent school. as it was, conon took in the daughter of a petty noble, a kind of sister under minor vows, who was half teacher, half attendant. this good soul has given alienor rather more of bookish learning than françois will probably obtain. the young lady has learned to read and write romain (north french) and at least to read latin. the result is that she devours every romance manuscript which she can borrow or can persuade her brother to buy. she has been taught arithmetic fairly well; she has learned the names of the chief stars and constellations and the legend about the "way of st. jacques" (the milky way). she has picked up a knowledge of healing herbs and is not afraid of the sight of blood, nor does she flinch when binding up a wound. warfare and tourneys require that young girls should become expert nurses and even make shift to set shattered bones. of course, she can ride, and at hawking or hunting upon her dear roan marchegai can keep up with the best; and, like every fortunate maiden in france, her lips are perpetually light with songs--pious or secular, from quaint little chants in honor of the virgin to the merry easter time in april sings each small bird gentle, "_zo fricandés, zo, zo!_-- _zo fricandés, zo!_" assuredly, father grégoire and the monks have not neglected her religious education. she has learned many prayers, besides the credo, ave, and paternoster, which every christian child must memorize as soon as possible. her brother one easter gave her a finely illustrated psalter, and she has most of the chants by heart. by constant attendance at mass she knows practically the entire service and understands its symbolism. she has plenty of quaint little superstitions, but no degrading ones. at bedtime she repeats a prayer which is popular with all the girls of france: "i implore thee again, virgin mary, mayest thou, with all the saints and the elect of god, keep close to me and council me, and further all my prayers and desires: and be with me in all my sorrows and necessities, in all that i am called upon to do, to say, or to think; on all days, at all hours, through all the moments of my life." her dolls, of course, have been much finer, and have been retained much longer, than those of françois. in her chamber her pet falcon is seldom lacking from his perch--a fact which does not add to cleanliness. she has also a caged magpie which she is laboriously teaching to talk. at the last fair she longed vainly for a rare eastern parrot, but has consoled herself with a very small lap dog presented by a friendly vassal. cats abound in the bailey, but they are not pets for noblewomen. there is something plebeian about them. ill-famed old crones always possess black cats, which possibly partake of the devil. the church, however, does not support this last belief, because in most nunneries the sisters are forbidden to keep any animals except cats, which evidently belong less to this world than dogs, the companions of secular warriors. there is one thing which alienor really loves even better than riding and hawking--_a long, hard dance_. the mania young people have for dancing is sinful. the church vainly tries to restrain it. preferably, alienor would dance with a handsome knight or squire, yet if these lack, the most indifferent music and company will suffice. the truth is that her robust, vigorous body demands a violent outlet. it is vain for the graver adela to tell her of the count who allowed so much dancing in his castle that finally at a _bal_ on christmas day so many joined the revel and all danced so violently that the floor of his great hall suddenly collapsed. the whole company were flung to the cellar, and the foolish count's own daughter was the first body to be taken out. at the time of the great church festivals, of course, comes the delight of the mystery plays, and alienor herself has participated therein, once as an angel and once also as queen esther at the easter play arranged at pontdebois by the cathedral clergy. she has hopes now that next easter she can be herodias's daughter--which is surely the best part open to women, except that of the holy virgin herself. [sidenote: castle servants] while adela is, on her part, graciously assisting her family, she is also more explicitly directing her servants. she need not reckon the lack of domestic help among her troubles; hundreds of young men and women from the peasants are only too glad to enter service in return for a straw pallet, a suit of clothes yearly, and a seat in the great hall after the regular diners have risen. money wages need hardly be considered, although everybody expects a few obols at christmas and easter. the importance of a baron is partly indicated by the number of his dependents wearing his insignia, "eating his bread," and attending him and his lady everywhere. conon is hardly less vain than his peers. the result is that st. aliquis has twice as many servitors as are really required. the courtyards swarm with busy idlers, although there is a certain organization and hierarchy of service, and all but the least responsible lads and damsels enjoy the honor of having at least _one_ inferior whom they can afflict with cuffings and snappish orders. adela commands some twenty young women. one or two of these are _pucelles_, daughters of petty nobles and entitled to a certain consideration, even as are the baron's squires. they dress their mistress and alienor, accompany them, and discreetly share their pleasures. the others, strong-limbed aiglentine, jeanette, martine, and their sisters, by their loose, sleeveless aprons betray peasant origin. they have been carefully selected by the baroness from thrice as many candidates. she has taken pains to learn whether they come of honest parents, are greedy or inclined to drink, are respectful, and whether they are accustomed merely to answer on receiving an order, "it shall be done pretty soon."[ ] [sidenote: duties of servants] these maids are trained to clean the apartments; next to wipe down all the stools and benches; next to feed the "chamber animals"--dogs and cage birds. after that the mistress must assign to them their task of weaving, cutting, sewing, etc. they are fed plentifully, "but only on one meat, and have only one kind of drink, nourishing but not heady, whether wine or otherwise." they must also eat promptly, "not reposing on their meal, or halting or leaning on their elbows," and "they must rise as soon as they begin to talk and lounge about." after supper they must go immediately to bed, unless with the remainder of the castle they sit up for a jongleur. so passes the routine of many days until at last the prospect dawns of an event which will tax the full administrative capacities of the baroness, and which sets adela and aimery each in a different kind of a flutter. conon is about to give his sister in marriage and immediately after that to knight his brother. there will be a festival which will carry the name of st. aliquis all over northern france. footnotes: [ ] these quotations are from arnaut de maruelh and marie de france, respectively. [ ] all the above advice to noblewomen is from contemporary etiquette books or clerical writers. the trouvère quoted is robert of blois, a writer of the thirteenth century. [ ] students of the _odyssey_ will recall a similar command which telemachus addressed to his mother, penelope. homeric society and feudal society had many viewpoints in common. [ ] the directions about engaging servants given in mediæval handbooks on domestic economy contain much practical common sense for any age. chapter vi: the matter of clothes. a feudal wedding. inasmuch as from time immemorial a wedding has seemed primarily a matter of clothes, what better place than this wherein to consider the costumes of the good folk of st. aliquis? assuredly, the scripture warns us, "take no thought saying ... 'wherewithal shall we be clothed?'" but that admonition (so adela tells the abbot) was doubtless intended only for the holy apostles, not for a christian woman who must make a fair showing for her husband in the face of heaven knows how many critical baronesses and countesses. already western folk have made that great change in their general style of costume which is to last for many generations later. the greeks and romans _wrapped on_ their garments; all of them were forms of slightly elaborated shawls, fastened with fibulæ or buckles, but devoid of buttons. even as late as frankish times the garments of charlemagne's contemporaries seemed fairly loose, after the antique model. but with the feudal age has come elaborately made clothing which must be _put on_ and securely fastened. we have reached the epoch of the shirt, the stocking, and even of objects later to be styled "trousers." perhaps the life constantly spent in the saddle requires this; also, the demand for garments easily worn under the hauberks, the great coats of mail.[ ] the great transition has been made. the men of st. aliquis wear garments strange enough to another epoch, but without those sartorial differences which will separate the twentieth century from the age of nero. [sidenote: materials for clothing] another thing to observe is that nearly all garments are still made of wool, save, indeed, the leathern leggings and gauntlets of the hunters, and crude garments of skins for the peasants. cotton and silk, if not quite unknown, have been rare, with linen not very common. the woolen fabrics have usually been coarse, home spun literally, made up in the castles or farmhouses. such garments are warm and durable, but they are prone to collect dirt, hard to wash, and very irritating to the skin. probably it is the general use of woolen clothing, along with the fact that much of the population possesses no other raiment than what it is wearing incessantly every day, which accounts for the number of skin diseases, from leprosy downward, which are direfully prevalent. matters are improving, however. more flax is being spun up into fine linen. people of quality change their clothes pretty often. cotton and silk are coming from the levant at prices that permit the ordinarily rich to command them. wash day is even developing into a fixed institution around most castles. all this makes for health and comfort. still, the great majority of all garments are woolen; and, holy saints! how the fleas jump out of a villein's doublets whenever you beat their wearer! conon normally dons the following peace-time garments. first, his squire helps him into underdrawers of fine white linen; next come long hose which can be of various fabrics or colors. upon a gala day he will proclaim himself to be a rich baron by wearing silk hose; otherwise they are of fine wool. good taste forbids stockings of brilliant color, they should be black, brown, or, at most, black with red stripes. after that comes the chemise, a shirt of white linen, but _sans_ cuffs or collar. [illustration: a king in the twelfth century wearing pelisson restored by viollet-le-duc, from a manuscript of the bibliothèque nationale.] the baron is now ready for his regular outer garments. he will put on his pelisson. this is a long fur-edged garment, very warm and pleasant in winter when the castle is a barnlike place. in summer it is often hot, and as substitute one wears the _cotte_ without fur and made of very thin stuff. over the pelisson is thrown the bliaut, a tunic, fairly loose, which is pulled on over the head like a shirt. the best bliauts are of silk, but for common use one wears fustian or, perhaps, even cotton. finally, if the baron is going abroad, he will swing his mantle over his shoulders. it is a semicircular cape, with a fur lining even in summer, and very likely ornamented by many silk tassels. the shoemakers are already masters of their art. anybody can buy well-cobbled leather shoes or high boots, but if a nobleman wishes to dress in state he will wear cloth shoes, and display his wealth by having them plated with gold and embroidered with jewels; for good taste here permits elaborate ornaments. [sidenote: women's garments] conon's most variable garment is his headdress. in the house, or on state occasions, he wears a chaplet of flowers, or even a thin gold wreath of floreated design; outdoors he is likely to appear as do meaner men, in a cloth bonnet--a kind of phrygian cap of bright color. if, however, the weather is bad, he will probably pull on a _chaperon_. this is a combination cap and cape which is drawn on over the head, and which sticks up or is pulled back in a kind of peak, at the same time covering cheeks and shoulders, while the face shows through a long slit cut in the upper part. [illustration: wreath made of metal flowers sewed on braid thirteenth century (church of st. thibaut; côte-d'or).] these are the orthodox male garments, while the female dress is much the same, albeit with certain simplifications here and elaborations elsewhere. adela's maids ordinarily put upon her a long linen chemise, preferably white, which descends to her knees. over that comes the pelisson, again with the fur edging. it can be made of some very fine wool or silk, and falls over the chemise clear to her feet. above this again is the bliaut, sometimes worn rather loosely, but more often close fitting and showing off the figure. the baroness's maids lace it tightly and take pains adjusting the long trailing sleeves. it is held in place by a girdle of woven cords, preferably of silk. the bliaut, of course, can be of very fine material, and ornamented with gold embroideries and pearl beadwork. finally there is the mantle, a loose trailing cloak, often cut as a long semicircular cape and made, on gala occasions, of the richest stuffs available. plenty of elegant fabrics can be had by the wealthy. you can bring back from the champagne fairs figured silk, woven with silver and gold thread; also very heavy silks woven with large threads of white, green or red. this is the fair _samite_ whereof the poets delight to sing. but perhaps more useful is the thin, airy, shimmery sendal silks, useful both for delightful summer garments and for making those brilliant banners which noble ladies give to the knights of their choice. naturally, too, there are plenty of oriental silks, with strange egyptian and persian figures. for humbler wear (if homespun is not desired) you can buy all kinds of of honest woolens; flemish and picard, champagne products, or those from languedoc. they come in serges and rough goods, as excellent as anyone could ask. linen is available bleached to a dazzling whiteness for those who have the price; but cotton cloth is still costly, although the mercers often spread out to the ladies "silk at a marvelously low price" which is really naught but cotton, woven up, perhaps, in sicily. however, the finest samite and sendal cannot take the place of suitable furs. _wearing furs is practically a sign of nobility_, like wearing a sword or carrying a hawk. many a petty noble will cling to his frayed tippet of black lambskin, even in the hottest weather, merely to proclaim that he is not a villein. fox- and wolf-skins and civet are, of course, common, but your high noble seeks something better. he will line his pelisson and other garments with red or white marten, black sable, with the gray of the beautiful northern squirrel, and especially (if his purse can compass it) with ermine, the precious fur of the white weasel. the choicest furs probably come from those dim countries called "russia." you cannot make a noble friend a much more acceptable present than a fine ermine skin; and many a baron has pledged lands to the jews merely to satisfy his wife's taste for miniver, a superior form of marten. in fact, there is more extravagance over furs than over jewelry, or even over falcons! [sidenote: luxurious fashions] fashions in dress do not change around st. aliquis so rapidly as in other ages, yet there are constant innovations. for example, the surcoat is coming in. originally it was a longish woman's garment, but recently a fine knight riding down from rheims wore one cleverly adapted to masculine necessities. it was a close, sleeveless jacket cut short at the hips and made with big armholes for easy movement. conon must have one very soon. inevitably too, at the king's court all kinds of new fashions, luxuries and ornamentations are to be observed. women cover themselves with gold embroidery, wear gold buttons, and gold girdles set alternately with agates and sapphires. they protect their hands with chamois-skin gloves, and swing a silken alms purse from silver chains at their belts. fine cavaliers load themselves with a dozen buckles set with sardonyx, and pieces of enamel, and even wear small emeralds in the embroidery on their mantles. pointed shoes are coming much into style, with the use of colored thongs to bind them to the feet. [illustration: felt shoe thirteenth century (various monuments).] yet the st. aliquis simplicity is hardly undermined. except on fête days the seigneur is not much better clad than the upper servitors, and adela never ceases to warn her sister-in-law against extravagance of dress. "consider always your husband's rank and fortune, but never disgrace them by seeming to devote too much study to your costume or by constantly plunging into new fashions. before leaving your room be sure your appearance is neat, and see especially to it that the collar of your gown is well adjusted and is not put on crooked."[ ] the dress of the humbler folk is of the above nature, of course simplified, and of more sober hue. blue is the color of the baronial house and nearly all its lord's followers wear bliauts of that color. this is their livery, because twice per year there is a distribution (a _livraison_) of garments to all whom conon undertakes to clothe and feed. [illustration: winter costume in the twelfth century from a manuscript in the bibliothèque nationale (viollet-le-duc).] noble folk thus display their rank by wearing furs. they also show it by their headdresses. when the baron wishes to put on dignity he assumes a velvet bonnet in place of the ordinary cloth one. on formal occasions, however, this bonnet will be embroidered with gold thread and become his "cap of presence." sometimes these caps are elaborated and made with a flattened square top. these are the _mortiers_, and in generations later great lawyers and doctors will wear the mortar-board as a professional badge long after the high barons have absolutely discarded the fashion. as for the head covering of women, the thirteenth century is as yet rather innocent of those towering constructions of peaks and veils common in the succeeding age. even noblewomen are usually content (as we have seen) with the long braids of their hair intertwined often with ribbons. if the sun is hot or the weather bad they will wear thin veils or solid woolen hoods, according to the seasons; and on gala days they will don either floral chaplets or genuine crowns of gold and pearls, according to the wealth of their fathers or husbands. [illustration: headdress of a man popular in the thirteenth century (tomb of saint-denis).] [sidenote: hair dressing and beards] conon's appearance differs from that of his grandsire's in one important particular. until rather recently gentlemen had their hair cut short in front, although rather long behind, and wore beards, often divided into a great many little tufts which they might even wind with gold thread. by , however, noblemen were usually smooth shaven, although the hair was allowed to grow to some length and sometimes was arranged in little curls. thus ended a long struggle, for the church has for generations disapproved of lengthy beards; many a bishop has warned that "they are the sign of the children of belial," and the great pope gregory vii uttered a regular anathema against them. the reign of the barber is renewed, and the st. aliquis tonsor twice or thrice per week scrapes over the chins of all the knightly males in the castle. for the servitors and villeins, however, there is no such luxury. all the humbler folk wear beards of great bushiness, as well as unsanitariness; and their hair is cut so seldom that often it can be almost braided like the women's. every person of consequence wears a ring. its signet device is often equivalent to a personal signature. all a man's friends know his ring and will give credence to messengers who produce the same. women give rings to their lovers, as well, of course, as receiving rings in return. it is believed that many rings have charmed virtues. conon's signet has been in the family at least since the first crusade. it has a green egyptian turquoise cut with a serpent, and is called "the luck of st. aliquis." the servitors profess confidence that so long as the baron keeps this ring the castle cannot be taken; and françois has already had his head filled with such stories as that of the father who on his deathbed gave his son a ring, "the virtue of which was that whosoever should wear it should have the love of all men"; or the tale of princess rigmel, who gave to her lover a ring so potent that "whoever bore it upon him could not perish; he need not fear to die in fire or water, nor on the battlefield nor in the mêlées of the tournament." [illustration: costume of a noblewoman thirteenth century; restored by viollet-le-duc, from various monuments.] such are the ordinary articles of costume and adornment. one need not dwell on the buckles and brooches, the golden pins and the jewel-set necklets which adela treasures in her coffers. they come from oriental, byzantine, or venetian workshops. some are very beautiful, but fine jewelry, generally speaking, has changed comparatively little from age to age. [sidenote: cosmetics and false hair] the baroness is not above certain frivolities of toilet herself, but alienor's approaching marriage has given her fair opportunity to admonish the younger lady on the sins of false adornments. indeed, these iniquities are thundered against nearly every sunday at the churches, because the shrewd preachers know that all the men in the congregation will grin approval the fiercer the invectives become. women are regularly accused "of turning their bodies out of their natural form" by means of laces and stays, of dyeing their hair, of painting their faces. it is affirmed that david was first impelled to desire bathsheba because she combed her long hair at a window too openly, and all her sore troubles came justly upon her "for the overgreat attention which she sinfully gave to the ornamenting of her head." then, in another sermon, there is approvingly repeated the sarcastic story by the monk guyot of provins, that the saints have brought suit at the assize of god against the race of women because the latter have used so much color for their faces there is none left wherewith to paint the holy images in the churches! the noble ladies are told that when they smear on vermilion, saffron, or quicksilver, or apply poultices of mashed beans and mare's milk to improve their complexions, they are adding centuries to their durance in purgatory, if not taking chances of eternal damnation. [illustration: coiffure of a woman thirteenth century (cathedral of rheims).] lastly, there is the iniquity of false hair--as if the good god did not know the proper amount of herbage to grow from each female head! once there was a holy man who could heal the sick. a young noblewoman suffered from grievous headaches. the miracle worker took one glance at her towering headpiece. "first," said he, "remove that scaffolding which surmounts your head. then will i pray for you with great confidence." the sacrifice was too great, and she refused; yet erelong her anguish became unendurable and the holy man was recalled. he compelled her to cast away all her false hair and colored bands and swear never to resume them. immediately then he began to pray--and, behold! her headache departed. these sermons and adela's sisterly warnings produce as much result as such admonitions can. alienor will go through life, now dreading for her comeliness and now for her soul, but never quite imperiling either. yet she is surely less frivolous than the family rivals, the foretvert dames--who (tasteless creatures!) could adorn a whole cathedral of saints' images with their paint pots. there are sometimes seen around st. aliquis certain obnoxious people who are compelled to wear conspicuous garments in order that others may be warned and thus avoid physical or moral contamination. if you meet a man with a gray coat and a scarlet hat, pass at a distance--he is a leper. if he has a big circle of saffron cloth sewed on his breast, look to your money--he is a jew. if he has a cross sewed on each side of his breast, say a prayer--he is a released heretic. finally, if you go to pontdebois and come upon sundry unveiled females in scarlet dresses, accost them not if you are a decent man--they are women of the town. at last we have seen the general nature of the garments which are to make gay alienor's wedding. it is time for the wedding itself. marriage, in noble families often does not mean the union of two souls, but of two fiefs. the average baron marries to extend his seigneury and to rear up sons to defend it. a wife represents an estate and a castle. not many young men marry before they have been knighted. after that they are glad to enter into holy wedlock, for the normal way an aspiring young cavalier whose father is living can gain independence is through his wife's dowry, unless his father allows him a share of the barony. [sidenote: ages for marriage] since young men are not often knighted until late in their teens or even beyond twenty, weddings on their side seldom take place early. girls, however, become marriageable sooner. south country troubadours assert that love can begin to claim a girl when she is thirteen; she is then eligible for marriage. if she has not "given her heart" by the time she is twenty-one there is no hope for her, save in a nunnery; and old maids find no recognized place in society whether in castle, city, or peasant hut.[ ] [illustration: a royal marriage in the thirteenth century from a manuscript preserved in the british museum (green).] of course, couples can marry younger than that. not many years earlier count baldwin vi of hainault was wedded to countess marie of champagne. the bride was only twelve, the bridegroom only fourteen. boys and girls are thus sometimes merely "so many pieces on a chessboard," to suit the ambitions of guardians. if a noblewoman's husband dies she need not expect to be a widow very long, for a man is required to manage her fief. it was one of the greatest proofs of conon's mother's strong character and ability that when his father died she prevented baron garnier from forcing her into nuptials with one of his boon companions--a roistering daredevil who, as guardian of her children, would have ruined them, body and soul. also, if an heiress's husband does not prove suitable to the prevailing powers, strange things can happen. in , when the crown of jerusalem became vacant, isabella (the new queen) was forcibly separated from her husband, the seigneur onfroy, by the barons of the crusaders' realm, and was given to a more powerful noble, conrad of montferrat. twice the poor queen's husbands died, and twice her barons forced new spouses upon her. the wishes of isabella herself, who sincerely cared for onfroy, were in nowise consulted. in all the romances you can find stories of marriages consummated with amazing haste. there is, _e.g._, the tale of the old baron aimeri, who wished to find his son an heiress. the lad, unaware of what was to happen, was summoned into the presence of a duke, his father's friend. "young sir," said the duke, "you are of high lineage. i am going to give you my pretty daughter." the boy stood silent while the pucelle was brought in. "belle," said her father, "i have given you a husband." "blessed be god!" she replied promptly. the next to come in was a bishop. the ceremony was immediately over; the young people were mated for life, seemingly before either could get his or her breath. here, at least, the lad was as much the helpless tool of his elders as was the maid. a story in the "lorraine" romance makes the proceedings hardly less precipitate. the count of flanders is resolved to give his bereaved sister to his valiant friend, fromont. she had never seen this hero, but has heard much about him. suddenly her brother takes her by the hand, saying, "my beautiful and dear sister, let us converse a little apart." then he announces "to-morrow, you shall have a husband." the lady protests that she has been a widow only a month and has an infant son. "you will do this, however, my sister," insists the count. "he whom i give you is far richer than your first husband." then he says much in praise of fromont, whereupon the lady responds, "sire brother, i will do according to your desires." thereupon, runs the story, "they did not wait a day, they did not wait an hour. on the spot they proceeded to the church. clerics and priests were notified. there they were blessed and married." [sidenote: church control of marriages] this is a strange state of things, but, fortunately, the church comes partly to the rescue. it demands first that the maiden shall be at least fifteen years old (a point sometimes waived), that she shall not be too closely related to the man, and that she shall give her "free consent" (another matter not always investigated). the question of the "forbidden degrees" is, however, a bar to many projected alliances. the church endeavored formerly to forbid the marriage of cousins up to the seventh degree, but that rule had proved unworkable, since god-parents were reckoned the same as relatives. the lateran council of has therefore ordained invalid marriages between cousins through the _fourth_ degree; and the saints know that this rule makes complications enough, considering how the great families are interrelated! of course, the regulations are wise, otherwise heiresses would always be given in an outrageous manner to near kinsmen. on the other hand, the forbidden degrees are sometimes a little trenched upon to give the contracting parties an excuse for repudiating each other in case they get tired of their bargain--although here again is a practice which the church treats with just anger.[ ] the church does not formally permit divorce, but it cannot thwart many of the currents of the age. nobles frequently repudiate their wives for trivial reasons--mere ill health, for instance; and often the women take the initiative. there are worldly bishops who will give their help toward an annulment on grounds of "lack of inward consent." again, if a very desirable marriage with a cousin comes in question, often a "dispensation" can be obtained from the same complaisant authorities. it is easy to become cynical if you study how easily the "holy bonds of matrimony" can be put on and off by the powerful, although sometimes a great pope like innocent iii will teach even a mighty king a lesson, as philip augustus learned when he tried to repudiate poor ingeborg of denmark. if a maiden has a father, a competent brother, or an uncle she is lucky. otherwise, the bestowal of her hand belongs to her suzerain. this right to bestow heiresses or the widows of vassals on faithful retainers is one of the most precious privileges of a great seigneur. many a knight is kept loyal by the hope that presently his lord will say: "one of my barons is dead without sons. i will give you his fiefs and his daughter"; or, "take the widow of the late sire x.... you may have the land along with the lady." under feudal usage it is well-nigh impossible to deprive an heiress of her estates directly, but her marriage practically gives her husband the ownership of the property. no wonder the duke of quelqueparte is anxious to see whether the sickly count of greve is about to die and leave only a daughter, so that he can secure the desirable allegiance of the baron of st. saturnin, who has been a widower now these six months, yet has remained still "uncomforted" just in hope of this particular happening. [sidenote: scandalous relationships] what wonder if under these conditions strange romances occur; if the lady gives "her love and kiss" to some young knight, not her husband; if south country troubadours assert that "married couples cannot truly love;" and if barons sometimes bring irregular consorts straight into their castles, while perhaps winking at their wives' uncanny doings? all this is true. yet, as stated before, not everything is bad. girls are taught not to expect too much of their spouses. they usually accept the situation as they accept stormy or sunny weather. besides, if some fathers or guardians are scandalously careless in disposing of their charges, many fathers and brothers are full of honest affection and accept the duty of marrying off their daughters or sisters as a solemn responsibility; and if they are wise custodians the results are usually happy. there is no need of pitying alienor too much because she has not the right to elope. conon has negotiated a most satisfactory marriage. he will give his sister to sire olivier, the eldest son of the count of perseigne. the perseignes are a great burgundian family with many castles, and counts think themselves a little higher in the social scale than do barons, but st. aliquis is also a powerful fief, and its alliance will be useful to perseigne when he has his expected war with the vidame of dijon. conon will give the young couple his outlying burgundian castle (not of great value to himself) and the alliance will enable him to talk roundly to his uncivil neighbors. a most excellent match; another sign that st. aliquis has an extremely sage seigneur! alienor is now nearly seventeen and has been thinking about a wedding since before she was fifteen. her nurses have long since reviewed all the eligible cavaliers for her. her great dread has been lest she have to wed some old and very stupid man--as befell her cousin mabila, who had been sent away tearful and pouting to picardy, the bride of a three-times widower. who can measure her relief when conon declared he would not give her to old st. saturnin? it was all very well for the jongleurs to sing, "an old man who loves a young maiden is not merely old, but a fool!" the thing has happened so often! her ideal is to have a "damoiseau (squire or young knight) just with his first beard"--one who is brave, valiant, and is, of course, courteous and handsome. she had once hoped that conon would give a great tourney and award her to the conqueror; but this desire faded when she learned that the victor in the last tourney was ugly and brutal. she has been on very brotherly terms with william, conon's first squire, but william is still too young, and it is not always honorable for a squire to push intrigues in the house of his lord. thus she is in a very open state of mind when her brother says to her one day: "fair sister, i have arranged your marriage with olivier of perseigne. he is a gallant cavalier. any maiden might rejoice to have him. consider well what i say because (here he adds a phrase which he hopes will not be taken too literally) i would not have you wed him against your wish." if alienor has anything against olivier, if her antipathy were violent and based on reason, conon, as a genuinely affectionate brother, might give it weight; but in fact, though she has met olivier only a few times at a tourney, at the christmas fête at the duke of quelqueparte's court, and once when he stopped at the castle, she has not the least objection. he has certainly large blue eyes, blond hair, a large nose, and a merry laugh. he is reported to be kind to his servants, generous to a fault, and not overgiven to drinking or brawling. at the tourney he broke three lances fairly against a more experienced knight. his family is excellent and her brother's desires are obvious. she will not have to live too far from st. aliquis. what more could be said? after a few hours of decent reflection she informs adela that she will comply with conon's wishes. after that the castle takes on a joyous activity. [sidenote: betrothal ceremonies] before the wedding had come the betrothal. it was a solemn ceremony, blessed by the church. sire olivier visited the castle with a great following of relatives and met the shy and blushing alienor. in the chapel, after suitable prayers by father grégoire, the pair had awkwardly enough exchanged their promises! "i will take you for my wife." "and i for my husband." after this there would have been great scandal had either side turned back. the church affirms energetically, however, that betrothal is _not_ marriage. otherwise the affianced pair might have considered themselves somewhat wedded on trial, only to repudiate their obligations later. also, not merely the young couple, but their parents or guardians, had to be present and add their consent; and, of course, all the pledges were sworn to over the holiest relics available. olivier, during all this happy time, has lodged at the castle of a friendly vassal of st. aliquis, and he rides over frequently to visit his betrothed. he is excellently bred and knows everything expected of a prospective bridegroom of good family. the alliance has been largely negotiated by his parents, but he has been consulted, understands that alienor is witty and beautiful, and he is wholly aware of the worldly advantages of being conon's brother-in-law. at meals he and his beloved are allowed to sit together and above all to eat out of the same porringer, when he delicately leaves to his intended all the best morsels. he consults a competent jongleur, and with his aid produces suitable verses praising his fiancée's beauty. he gives her a gold ring with both his own name and hers engraved thereon. in return, besides a sleeve and a stocking to hang on his lances (gifts which she has already sent in mere friendship to other cavaliers), she bestows a lock of her hair set around a gold ring; likewise a larger lock which he may twine around his helmet. the happy pair are permitted to take long walks together, and to promenade up and down the garden, with olivier holding his lady in the politest manner by one finger--the accepted method of showing intimacy.[ ] we have said that conon is resolved to knight his brother at the same time he gives his sister in marriage. this involves holding a tourney and many other proceedings really unnecessary for a wedding; but, of course, it will attract a much greater number of guests and advertise the prosperity of the baron of st. aliquis to all northwestern france. the knighting and tourney will come after the bridal, however, and it is easier to explain the two things separately. we omit the gathering of the wedding guests--the coming of distant counts, barons, and sires; the erection around st. aliquis of a real village of brilliant tents and pavilions; the ceremonious greetings; the frenzied efforts of the castle folk to make all ready; the inevitable despair, not once, but many times, of adela, who directs everything. at last it is the morning of _the_ day, in midsummer. no rain and, blessed be st. martin, not too much heat. alienor is surrounded by a dozen women, old and young, arraying her for her wedding. [sidenote: dressing the bride] there is no regular bridal costume. alienor does not dress much differently from what she does on easter or at some other major festival. her two great braids of hair are weighted down over her breasts with an extra intertwining with gold thread. her chemise is of very fine saffron-tinted linen. her pelisson is completely fringed with magnificent ermine, the gift of the countess of perseigne, and the garment itself is made of two cloths sewed together, the inner of fine wool, the outer of beautiful bendal of reddish violet. the whole is laced tightly until alienor can hardly breathe. above this garment floats the elegant bliaut, of green silk with long sleeves, many folds, and a long train. there is more silk embroidery and elaborate flouncing. fairest of all is the girdle, made of many pieces of gold and each set with a good-luck stone--agate to guard against fever, sardonyx to protect against malaria, and many similar. in the clasp are great sapphires which baron garnier originally "acquired" from a town merchant shortly before he hanged him. finally, there is the mantle--again of silk intricately embroidered and dyed with a royal purple. alienor's pointed shoes are of vermilion leather from cordova, with still more of gold-thread embroidery. while one female minister is clasping these, her chief pucelle is putting on a small saffron-colored veil, circular, and held down by a golden circlet--a genuine crown; beautifully engraved and set with emeralds. inevitably the whole process of dressing is prolonged. alienor is too excited to feel hot or pinched, but her attendants find her very exacting. they bless the virgin, however, that she is not as some noble brides, who fly into a passion if every hair in their eyebrows is not separately adjusted. meantime, in a secluded part of the castle, the groom has been wrestling with a similar problem, assisted by his two squires, although requiring less of time and agony. his legs are covered with fine brown silk stockings from bruges; but it is effeminate to wear a silk shirt--one of fine white linen will answer. his pelisson is like his bride's, although less tightly laced--of cloth and silk, trimmed with rich fur; and the outer color is pale red, inevitably with much gold embroidery around the neck and sleeves. his bliaut does not come below his knees, but it is of blue sendal silk; his mantle is also edged with fur and of the same color as his pelisson. simple as it is, it must hang exactly right. everybody will ask, "did the groom wear his mantle like a great baron?" the squires take a long time adjusting it. olivier's shoes are of very fine leather. on his crisply curled hair they set a golden chaplet set with flashing gems--very much like that worn by his bride. hardly are the happy twain ready before the wedding procession forms in the bailey. so large a company could never crowd into the castle chapel. it will go across the bridge over the claire to the parish church by the village--a gothic structure sufficiently pretentious to suit the occasion. the perseignes reckon a bishop among their cousins, and he is on hand to officiate. [sidenote: marriage procession and ceremony] so the procession forms. ahead go a whole platoon of jongleurs puffing their cheeks for their flutes, twanging their harps, or rasping their viols. the feudal age delights in music, and does not mind if sometimes melody is exchanged merely for a joyous noise. alienor comes next. she is on a black mule with extra long ears and a finely curried shining coat. his harness is of gold and his trappings of scarlet samite. she has been swung into the saddle by her eldest brother ("alas! that her father, who should do this, is dead!" murmur all the women), and he as her guardian leads the mule. olivier rides a tall white palfrey with a saddle of blue leather. his mother, adela, and all the st. aliquis and perseignes female relatives follow on other mules, led by gayly dressed squires. then come all the noble guests, the duke of quelqueparte at their head. no wonder there is no work being done in all the villages for miles around, and that all the villeins are lining the road, doffing caps, and cheering as the dazzling cortége sweeps past. the details at the church we pass over. among other features to be noted is the fact that the bride is swung down from her mule upon a great truss of straw, that the bishop meets them at the sacred portal, and that outside the actual building olivier and alienor exchange those vows which form the essential part of the marriage ceremony. after that conon's chief provost recites in loud voice all the estates, horses, fine garments, and servitors which the bride brings as her dowry. this customary publication may avert bitter disputes later. next the happy pair scatter newly coined silver deniers among the swarm of ill-favored mendicants permitted to elbow and scramble among the more pretentious guests. finally, the church is thrown open. the great nave opens mysterious and dark, but galaxies of candles are burning and the lofty stained-glass windows gleam like jewels. olivier and alienor occupy seats of honor in the choir, while the bishop says the very solemn mass of the trinity and pronounces a special blessing over them. "let this woman," intones the prelate, "be amiable as rachel, wise as rebecca, faithful as sarah. let her be sober through truth, venerable through modesty, and wise through the teaching of heaven." so at last the mass ends. the "agnus dei" is chanted. the bridegroom advances to the altar and receives from the bishop the kiss of peace. then he turns, and right at the foot of the great crucifix embraces his wife and transmits the kiss to her. this act completes the ceremony. away the whole company go from the church. they have been condemned to silence for nearly two hours, and are glad now to chatter like magpies. when back at st. aliquis they find the great hall has been swept, garnished, and decorated as never before. the walls of the hall are hung with the pictured tapestries or beautiful pieces of red and green silk. your feet crush fresh roses and lilies scattered on the floor. alienor almost bursts with delight at the number of high-born cavaliers and dames who press up to kiss and congratulate. all the remainder of her life she will match weddings with her friends: "i had so many counts and barons at my marriage." "but i had so many!" all these guests, however, expect to receive presents--bliauts, mantles, goblets, and other things, each suitable to the recipient. it is well that conon has saved many livres in his strong box. the presenting of the gifts by the host is quite a ceremony; each article has to be accompanied by a well-turned speech. by the time this reception to the bride and groom is over the trumpets sound furiously. they tell that the feast is ready in the fragrant garden under the trees. there is a fine tent of blue silk for the bridal party and the more exalted guests. all the others must sit on long tables open to the glad sunshine. [sidenote: the marriage feast] what messire conon's guests have to eat and drink is so serious a topic that we must tell thereof separately. we speak here merely concerning the festivities of the wedding. olivier and alienor are served by two barons as squires of state. the groom drinks from a great goblet, then sends it to his wife, who ceremoniously finishes the draught. in the bridal tent there is a reasonable amount of decorum, but elsewhere (blessed martyrs!) what noise and tumult! all the villeins appear to be there, and burghers have even wandered up from pontdebois. it will never do to have men say, "the bride was charming, but her brother stinted his hospitality." enough food and drink is gorged and guzzled to stave off a famine next winter. the jongleurs keep quiet during the first part of the feast; later they earn their dinner by singing of the loves of jourdain and orabel or of berte, who was the faithful wife of girard of roussillon through all of her lord's adversity. at many of the tables the jesting and horseplay become unspeakably ribald. after the wine circulates two petty nobles quarrel; one strikes the other with a drinking cup, but the sergeants pull them apart before they can whip out swords. after three hours of this some guests are sleeping stertorously under the trees; but those nobles who have kept their wits go to another large tent, and, despite their heavy meal, dance with vigor. the bride and groom are expected to dance together, and everybody is prepared to admire the beauty of one and the grace and strength of the other. as evening advances a priest appears. he solemnly blesses the nuptial couch strewn with roses, while the new couple piously kneel. the couch is then "censed" like an altar, and the women guests join in the bizarre usages of "putting the bride to bed." the morning after the marriage the newly wedded pair attend mass in the castle chapel. here they are expected to make privately all kinds of vows of good conduct, and alienor especially promises always to obey her husband, and call him dutifully "mon sire" and "mon baron." the festivities will last two weeks longer, and conclude with the dubbing of knights and the tournament, whereof more presently. after that olivier and his wife will depart for their burgundian castle without anything like a honeymoon to strange parts.... so they celebrate the wedding at st. aliquis. very far is it from being a love match of a later day; yet there is a decent hope of happiness for the two most deeply interested. a new spirit in the relations of men and women has been creeping into the world since greek and roman days, and if this spirit too often manifests itself in illicit romances it is something if romantic love can exist at all, and if, also, in many an instance (as the jongleurs already like to tell us), their story can run that "thus the twain were wedded, and forevermore lived together happily." it was as early as about that the south country troubador, bernart de ventadoun, sang about the great motive which was coming to add beauty to the world: "for indeed i know of no more subtle passion under heaven than is the maiden passion for a maid; not only to keep down the base within a man, but teach high thought and amiable words, and courtliness and the desire of fame and love of truth, and all that makes a man!" footnotes: [ ] of course, the northern climate and the fact that the germanic tribes wore many garments of skins and leather were contributing factors. [ ] from a mediæval _treatise of instructions to a young lady_. [ ] troubadour and romance love stories were thus likely to revolve around very young and flighty people. if they survived this critical period of youth they were likely to be staid and sober enough the rest of their lives. [ ] how serious the problem of the "forbidden degrees" could be is shown by the case of the pious louis vii of france, who put away his wife, the great heiress eleanor of aquitaine, because he was the fifth in descent from hugh capet, who had married a sister of the great-great-grandfather of eleanor. of course, the marriage had actually proved uncongenial before this point was raised. [ ] friends would seldom walk arm in arm. two persons of the same sex or of different sexes would walk familiarly hand in hand, or, if especially friendly, one leading the other by a single finger. chapter vii: cookery and mealtimes. now it is as certain as that god reigns in heaven, that if one desires a wedding and a tournament, although the first thought must be of raiment, the second must be of food and drink. when conon bids adela make ready for the festivities, straightway that prudent dame sends for the butler and the cellarer and takes account of everything stowed away in the great vaults under the castle. then she orders the chief huntsman muster all his beaters and course the forests, not for sport, but for victuals. at the same time nets are set out in the claire; purveyors with their carts are ordered up from pontdebois, and a messenger is even sent to troyes to bring back a tun of rare grecian wine. all available maids from the village are requisitioned to make great pasties, and a master cook is imported from paris to prepare special cakes and pastries. in short, it is no light thing even for the huge st. aliquis household to prepare to feed several thousands without aid of those miracles which caused five loaves and two fishes to suffice in the days of our blessed lord. for the baron's feast the great fireplace in the bailey cookhouse is insufficient. they build fires in the open out in the tilt yard or garden and all day perspiring varlets stand feeding on great logs over which roast long spits of chickens and geese, or boil caldrons of meat. in the cookhouse, where the finer dishes must be prepared, the master cook has a true arsenal of utensils--pots, trivets, mortar and pestle, a table for mincing herbs, pothooks, caldrons, frying pans and gridirons, saucepans, platters, a pepper mill, dressing board, scummer, ladle, and many things else. there is no lack of help in the kitchen. half a dozen loutish boys gladly work there all day long (receiving, incidentally, many of the cook's hard knocks) in return for being allowed to lick the pans and gnaw the scraps, so cheap is human labor. [illustration: cooks from a manuscript in the bodleian library at oxford (wright).] [sidenote: cookery and mealtimes] on ordinary days we would marvel at the quantity of boiled meat served at st. aliquis. about the only way to preserve meat is to salt it (the vats of the castle are full of salted meat kept against winter or a siege), and this flesh must ordinarily be boiled. the result is that a great copper meat pot seems always in action, with a boy pumping the bellows to make the caldron bubble. but fowls and fresh meat are often boiled as well. butcher's meat, however, is less welcome at feasts than is game. an ideal dish is a stag, roasted whole in the great fireplace, crisped and larded, then cut up into quarters and served on very large plates. upon such dishes is poured a hot, steaming pepper sauce. therefore a stag will be served at the wedding banquet besides many other kinds of choice game. [illustration: pork butchers (bourges)] since there are no iceboxes, unsalted meat must be eaten soon after being killed, although your feudal epicure is not squeamish. beef and mutton are often killed, cut up, and cooked almost on the spot. there is a story of a butcher who, coming late to a town, got a lodging at the priest's house, and to pay for his quarters killed the sheep which they ate for supper. but pork is probably the commonest meat. conon has great droves of hogs fattening out in his oak forests, which supply abundant crops of acorns. pigs seem to penetrate almost everywhere save into messire's and madame's chamber. they are the general scavengers and apparently replace plumbing and sewerage systems. they infest castle courts and the streets of towns. in the crown prince of france was killed in paris by a pig which ran between the legs of his horse as he rode from the hotel de ville to the church of st. gervais. people will tell you that pork promotes leprosy, but, nevertheless, they devour it. pork, too, is the main substance of those great sausages and black puddings in which everybody delights, especially on easter, when you break your lenten fast with as much heavy food as possible. veal, too, is desirable, as is the flesh of kids; but lamb is by no means so much in favor. almost all kinds of birds are counted edible. herons, cranes, storks, cormorants, and such fowl as can be taken by hawks are in preference, but crows are considered very fair eating. the flock of stately swans by the mouth of the rapide has just been depleted, for these elegant birds are kept for the kitchen rather than for ornament. as for small fowl--thrushes, starlings, blackbirds, quail, partridges, and cuckoos--the varlets can bring in as many as possible with their crossbows and snares. young rabbits, likewise, are welcome, but older rabbits are too tough save for the diet of the least-considered villeins. everybody knows the saying, "an old hare and an old goose are food for the devil!" there is plenty of poultry around st. aliquis. most christians hold that birds are of aquatic origin, hence, like fish, can be eaten on fast days, although the church opposes this opinion, and is slowly overcoming it. chickens have been fattened for the feast by shutting them up in dark coops and gorging them. droves of geese have been coming in from the fields, great honking armies, crowding the narrow way, hissing and biting, but all propelled steadily ahead by the cracking whips of the small goosegirls. ducks are more commonly preferred in their wild stage; but out in the exercise ground several peacocks have been preening themselves, and at least two of these are now sacrificed to make a gala dish to serve the highest seigneurs, for peacocks are counted especial "food for the brave." indeed, there is the old proverb that "thieves have as much taste for falsehood as a hungry man for a cooked peacock."[ ] fish is hardly in great request. one is likely to have too much of it on the numerous fast days. still, out of the claire they draw excellent barbel and eels; there are carp in a near-by pond, and splendid trout in the brooks that feed the rapide. the lads bring in many. if you go to paris you can eat salt herring taken in the north sea. all through the spring, furthermore, the st. aliquis folk have had their fill of frogs' legs from the castle moat and the numerous bogs, and conon has a "snail bed" to provide snails for garnishings and salads during lent and on fridays. [sidenote: game birds and poultry] one cannot stay at the castle long and not discover the vast importance of soup. one partakes thereof at least twice per day: "dried peas and bacon water," watercress soup, cabbage soup, cheese soup, and "poor man's soup" (made up of odds and ends collected on short warning), and fish soups for lent. all the better soups are spiced with marjoram, sage, and sweet basil, if not with the favorite condiment, pepper. but what are soups compared with meat pies? whenever the castle cook is in doubt how to please their lordships he decides upon a noble pasty. much thought has been concentrated upon this subject. there are little poems to be memorized by illiterate cooks explaining this triumph of their mystery--_e.g._, that they should use "three young partridges large and fat, not forgetting six quail put on their side"; add to these thrushes, some bacon, some sour grapes, and a little salt. then if all is made aright, the crust nicely rolled of pure flour, and the "oven of proper heat with the bottom quite free from ashes," when all is baked enough "you will have a dish to feast on"! other pasties can be made of chickens, venison, salmon, eels, pigeons, geese, and other kinds of meat. probably, in fact, more energy goes into making the pasties than into any other one form of culinary effort. the st. aliquis folk are not at all vegetarians, but they cannot eat meat forever, and the poorer peasants seldom touch flesh save on important feast days. the cooks have at their disposal onions and garlic, cabbages and beets, carrots and artichokes, lentils and both long and broad beans, peas, turnips, lettuce, parsley, water cress--in short, nearly all the vegetables of a different age save the all-important potato. turnips are in favor, and figure in far more dietaries than they will do later. cabbages, too, are in request: there are roman white cabbages, huge easter cabbages, and especially the senlis cabbages, renowned for their excellent odor. cucumbers are supposed to cause fever, but herman raises some in the garden for the salads. as always, bread is the staff of life. naturally, the villeins have to use flour that is very coarse and made of barley, rye, or oats--producing black bread, before which noble folk shudder. it is one of the signs of messire's prosperity that all his household are ordinarily fed on white bread. in the castle ovens they make a great variety of loaves--huge "pope's" or "knight's" loaves, smaller "squire's" loaves, and little "varlet's" loaves, or rolls. there is a soft bread made of milk and butter, a dog bread, and two-color bread of alternate layers of wheat and rye. then there are the table loaves, sizable pieces of bread to be spread around the tables, from which courteous cavaliers will cut all the crust with their knives and pass the remainder to the ladies, their companions, to soak up in their soup. the servants have less select common bread, although it is still wheaten. finally, there are twice-baked breads, or crackers. these are often used in monasteries, also in the provisioning of castles against a siege. [sidenote: breads, pastries and cheese] fancy jellies, pastries, and sweet dishes are coming into vogue, although they have not reached the perfection to be attained by later french cookery; but for the st. aliquis feast they are able to prepare great molded structures of lions and suns, made of white chicken and pink jelly. the quantity of spices used is simply enormous. to enjoy food thus charged, especially with pepper, is an acquired taste, which developed following the first crusade. the cooks, too, use a liberal supply of mustard, and a favorite sauce is made from strong garlic. fresh and pickled olives are sent up from provence, likewise a good deal of olive oil; but the oil used in common cooking is often extracted from walnuts or even from poppies. another favorite flavoring is with rose water. all through june you can see great basins of water filled with rose petals steeping in the sun. the liquor thus obtained will add zest to sauces for the next twelve months. there is also a certain whitish substance known as "sugar." it comes from the levant, in small irregular lumps. its flavoring qualities are delightful, but it is too expensive to use in cookery. a small quantity is passed about among conon's higher guests, to be eaten as a confection. the ordinary sweetening is still that of the greeks and romans, honey, supplied from the well-kept hives of the bees belonging to the monastery. cheeses hardly figure in feasts, but for everyday diet they are important. on feast days they often replace meat. their varieties are legion--white, green, large, small, etc. some places produce famous cheeses exported all over france, and in paris one can hear the street venders shrilly chanting: "buy my cheese from champagne, or my cheese from brie!" as for eggs and butter, they are gifts of the kindly saints, to carry men through lent and fast days. theologians have said that hens were aquatic creatures, like other birds; that hence good christians could eat their eggs freely. but butter (by some unaccountable notion) if eaten during times of abstinence, must be freshly churned. it must not be salted, nor used for cooking purposes. passing next to beverages, be it said that the st. aliquis denizens are fairly abstemious folk. all of them sometimes get tipsy, even adela and alienor, but only seldom. conon's servants help him to bed once or twice per year. down in the villages there are disgraceful guzzlings among the peasants, especially on saints' days. but the beverages are not very alcoholic--one must absorb a great deal to be really upset. the region grows its own wine for ordinary consumption, and a little thereof is shipped to paris and even to flanders and england, along with the more famous vintages of gascony, saintonge, macon, rheims, the marne, and the orleanais. the most desirable french wine is that of st. pourcain, in auvergne, and the baron has a carefully cherished tun of the same in his cellars. poems, indeed, exist in praise of this st. pourcain wine, "which you drink for the good of your health." on occasions of great state, however, imported wines will be produced, mainly because they are unusual and expensive. the st. aliquis feasters are consequently offered heady cyprian and lesbian from the levant, also aquilian from spain, and not a little rhenish from the german lands, less distant. [sidenote: wine, beer and other drinks] in the autumn when the apples and pears are falling, the peasants will make cider and perry, and get outrageously drunk when these beverages grow hard; but outside of normandy such drink seldom appeals to castle folk. there are also in common use many substitute wines, really infusions of wormwood, hyssop, and rosemary, and taken mostly to clear the system; although "nectar" made of spices, asiatic aromatics, and honey is really in request. the great competitor of wine is beer. in northern france we are in the dividing zone between the land of the winepress and the land of the brewhouse. everybody drinks beer and makes beer. the castle has a great brewhouse; likewise the monastery. beer is made of barley, and only late in the middle ages will hops be added to add to the zest. really fine beer is _god-ale_ (from the german "good" and "ale") or "double beer." common beer is "small beer." since the crusaders have returned from the east, spiced beer has been growing in favor--charged with juniper, resin, gentian, cinnamon, and the like, until the original taste has been wholly destroyed. the st. aliquis folk do not, however disdain buttermilk. this they like to ferment, boil up with onions and garlic, then cool in a closed vessel. the product is _serat_, the enjoyment of which is surely difficult for a stranger. another form of beverage is not quite unknown. some physicians prescribe water of gold and allege it "prolongs health, dissipates superfluous matters, revives the spirits, and promotes youth." also it "greatly assists the cure of colic, dropsy, paralysis, and ague." of a surety, it aids the patient temporarily to forget his troubles. yet this is hardly more than a costly medicine. many years later it will become more common; but its name will be changed to "brandy." the usages even of a great dinner depend largely on the customs of everyday life. one cannot understand the splendors of the marriage feast of sire olivier and alienor without knowing what goes on regularly in the hall of st. aliquis. when the day is started we have seen how everybody arises to a very light breakfast of bread and wine, although sometimes, as in the epic of doon of mayence, when the work promises to be arduous, the baron's squire may bring him a favorite pasty because "eating early in the morning brings health and gives one greater courage and spirit." dinner also, we have discovered, can begin as early as nine in the morning, and a good part of the day's business comes after this heavy meal. sometimes when dinner is late you do not serve your guests any regular supper, but when they go to bed have the attendants bring cakes and fruits and wine. if you entertain guests, however, always it is proper to try to make them eat and drink as much as possible. there is a story of an overhospitable count of guines who not merely constrained any knight passing through his dominions to a feast, but kept quantities of white wine always on hand, so that if his visitors asked to have their red wine diluted with water, they might be hoodwinked by seeing a white liquid mixed in their goblets. in this way he once rendered the whole suite of a bishop gloriously intoxicated! the ingenious bartolomes of granvilla has laid down the following requisites for an ideal banquet: ( ) a suitable hour, not too early nor too late; ( ) a pleasant place; ( ) a gracious and liberal host; ( ) plenty to eat, so one may choose one's dishes; ( ) the same as to things to drink; ( ) willing servants; ( ) agreeable company; ( ) pleasant music; ( ) plenty of light; ( ) good cooking; ( ) a seasonable conclusion; ( ) quiet and repose afterward. a marriage feast and a tourney can hardly provide this twelfth desideratum, but they ought, with proper management, to supply everything else. [illustration: servants bringing the food to the table from a manuscript of the thirteenth century in the library of munich (schultz).] [sidenote: service at table] the tables for the notables are laid and served by two classes of attendants; first by conon's three squires, aided on this grand occasion by several young nobles who have actually received knighthood; second, by the older professional servitors of villein stock. the first class of attendants are resplendent in bliauts of colored silk with fur trimmings. most of the dishes will be passed to them by the soberly clad villeins, then to be presented on bended knee by noble hands to noble guests. the whole process is under sire eustace, the old seneschal, who orders about his platoons of attendants with as much precision as he might command the men at arms for defense of the castle. it is part of a squire's education to learn to wait on table. one may have to do this for some superior all one's life, unless one be king or emperor! conon's squires have been taught to stand at perfect ease; not to roll their eyes or stare blankly; not to laugh save when guests are laughing; to keep their finger nails clean and hands well washed. if they sit at table themselves they are models of propriety. they do not gobble down their food, but put a little from every plate into the basket of collected leavings for the poor; they do not chatter, nor fill their mouths too full, nor chew on both sides of the mouth at once, nor laugh or talk with a mouthful, nor make a noise by overeating, nor handle cats or dogs during mealtime, nor wipe their knives on the tablecloth, nor pick their teeth publicly, nor wipe their noses with their fingers, nor (last but not least) spit across the table or beyond it.[ ] the tables are nearly always long and narrow. in the great hall they are fixed and of heavy oak planks, but there are plenty of light tables of boards to be set on horses, if the seneschal suddenly says, "the weather is fine; messire will dine in the garden." the favored guests are provided with cushions, and, of course, in the hall the baron and his immediate friends and family sit on the long master-seat on the dais, facing the company, and with the baron's own chair under a canopy. this canopy is the sign of high seigneurial privilege. one will be set for conon even when he sits in the garden; and he will never surrender his place save when he entertains a superior, like his suzerain the duke, or when, as at present, all other claims fade before those of a bridal couple. indoors or outdoors, it is no mean art to lay the tables. enormous tablecloths have to be spread out smoothly, and set with napkins neatly doubled; also at each place a suitable drinking vessel, and a knife and spoon. these articles, gold or silver, are carefully handed out by the seneschal. they represent a good fraction of the portable wealth of the castle and must be laboriously counted before and after use. the knives are sharp steel for serious business. the drinking cups are often of bizarre forms--lions, birds, and dragons, while for the humbler folk there are huge cups of wood and also large "jacks" of leather. at every place, too, there must be a good-sized cake of fine white flour, and between every two places there is a large porringer (pewter or silver) to be shared by each pair of guests. [sidenote: entering the dining hall] feast day or fast day, it is the loud blast on trumpets which sends the mighty and the humble bustling toward the garden or the hall. of course, at a wedding feast there is some little formality, but ordinarily in the st. aliquis household the good-natured jostling and scampering is prodigious. men and women live close to nature and are always conscious of rousing appetites. on ordinary days when you entered the baron's hall, you would take your turn at the lavatory close to the entrance. here would be several little washstands with pitchers and basins, and everybody would fall in line in order of precedence: first, any visiting clergy; then visiting knights; then the seigneur's family, etc. the hand washing presents a great chance for flirtation among the young: olivier and alienor had great delight "passing the towel" to each other during their betrothal. but now at a great festival, when you enter the special banqueting tent you are met by two handsome varlets. the first holds a water jug and a small basin. water is dexterously poured over your fingers, and as promptly wiped off by the second varlet, and each guest patiently waits until the persons ahead have enjoyed this courtesy. so they enter the tent, and the magnates make for the seats of honor. the placing of the company has been a matter of serious deliberation between messire conon and the sage sire eustace. of course, to-day the bride and groom take the canopy. at olivier's right must be the officiating bishop. at the bishop's right must be the suzerain duke of quelqueparte, and at olivier's left must be the bride and the count and countess of perseigne. all that is standardized. but how locate the dozen other counts and barons who, with their dames, have honored the bridal? will the old rival foretvert stomach it now if he is seated farther from the canopy than the count of maric, who is richer and of a more ancient house? bloody feuds have started from failure to seat guests properly. it is a matter for supreme diplomacy. so far as possible, a lady is placed beside each cavalier. the two will use the same dish and the same goblet during the entire feast--obviously another case where one is compelled to test one's brains while selecting partners. [illustration: young girls of the nobility serving at the table from a thirteenth-century manuscript of the library of munich (schultz).] [sidenote: serving the banquet] so the feast begins after grace by the bishop. an endless procession commences between the cookhouse and the banqueting place--boys running with great dishes which they commit to the more official servitors to pass to the guests. it is a solemn moment, followed by cheering, when into the bridal tent, with clash of cymbals and bray of trumpet, sire eustace in a bright scarlet bliaut enters, waving his white wand and followed by all the squires and upper servants, each carrying shoulder high a huge dish of some viand. a great haunch of the stag is set on the table. the baron's carver cuts ample slices, while two jongleurs blow at their flutes. he holds the meat "by two fingers and a thumb" (no fork), plying a great knife as a surgeon might his scalpel. equal skill is demanded of the cup-bearers when they fill the flagons, not spilling a drop. even the bride and groom are now hungry and ready for the venison. the banqueters have little need of plates. they take the loaves lying ready, hack them into thick slices, place the pieces of meat upon the same, then cut up the meat while it is resting on the bread. these "trenchers" (_tranchoirs_) will not ordinarily be eaten at the feast; they go into the great alms basket for the poor, along with the meat scraps. however, the higher guests to-day enjoy a luxury. silver plates are placed under their bread trenchers. for most guests, however, the bare tablecloth is bottom enough for these substitutes for the porcelain of another day. whatever does not go into the alms basket will be devoured by the baron's dogs, who attend every meal by prescriptive right. indeed, early in the feast the duke of quelqueparte benevolently tosses a slice of venison to a fine boarhound. time fails to repeat all the good things which conon and adela set before their guests. the idea is to tempt the appetite to utter satiety by forcing first one dish upon the feasters, and then another. there is not really a good sequence of courses. most of the dishes are heavy; and inasmuch as vegetables are in great demand on common occasions, the average banquet seems one succession of varieties of meat. the noble folk in the bridal pavilion have at least a chance to eat their fill of these comestibles: [sidenote: typical bills-of-fare] first course: slices of stag, boar's head larded with herb sauce, beef, mutton, legs of pork, swan, roasted rabbit, pastry tarts. second course: pottage of "drope and rose" mallard, pheasant and roast capon, pasties of small birds. third course: rabbits in gravy heavily spiced with onion and saffron; roasted teal, woodcock and snipe; patties filled with yolk of eggs, cheese, and cinnamon, and pork pies. no salads, no ices, no confectionery; nevertheless, some of the dishes are superb--notably the swan, which is brought once more on with music, prinked out as if he were alive and swimming, his beak gilt, his body silvered, resting on a mass of green pastry to represent a grass field, and with little banners around the dish, which is placed on a carpet of silk when they lay it on the table. the cooks might also serve a peacock with outspread plumage. instead, toward the close of the repast, two squires tug in an enormous pasty. amid an expectant hush conon rises and slashes the pasty open with a dagger. instantly out flutter a score of little birds which begin to dash about the tent; but immediately the baron's falconers stand grinning at the entrance. they unhood a second score of hawks which in a twinkling pounce after the wretched birds and kill them, to the shouts and delight of the feasters, right above the tables. inevitably there is confusion, rustling by the ladies and merry scrambling, before the squawking hawks can be caught, hooded, and taken away. in fact, from the beginning the feast is extremely noisy. everybody talks at once. the appearance of the stag has started innumerable hunting stories. the duke has to tell his loyal lieges how he slew a bear. two of the baron's dogs get to fighting and almost upset the chair of a countess. everything is very merry. [illustration: a feast of ceremony in the twelfth century it was the custom during the repast to bring in enormous pâtés which held little live birds: these flew about the hall when the crust of the pâté was broken; immediately the servants loosened falcons which gave chase. this part of the feast is represented here.] if an elaborate dinner had been required on a so-called fast day, the cooks could still have met the occasion and yet have kept within the commands of the church; although not merely would there have been much fish, but also more vegetables. the guests could have been served with roast apples garnished with sorrel and rosemary; then might have come a rich soup made of trout, herring, eels salted twenty-four hours, and salt whiting soaked twelve hours, almonds, ginger, saffron, and cinnamon powder. if possible to bring them up from the ocean, there would have been soles, congers, turbots, and salmon--and in any case these can be had salted--the rivers in turn supply pike (preferably with roe), carp, and bream. for side dishes there can be lampreys, porpoise, mackerel, and shad served with juice of crab apples, rice, and fried almonds. finally might come stewed or ripe fruits--figs, dates, grapes, and filberts; the whole washed down with spiced wine (hippocras). to the minds of men of a later age this fast-day dinner might seem only a little less gorging than the orthodox feast upon meats. but elaborate as is this wedding banquet, at last everybody has had his fill. the concluding baked pears, the peeled walnuts, dates, and figs have been passed. the noble dames have chewed their unfamiliar sugar plums. a last cup of spiced wine is handed around, but nobody has drunk too much to become worse than merrily talkative. before rising the guests have all very properly "thought of the poor," called in the servitors and piled all the loose food upon great platters to be kept for the needy. to-day, in fact, all the indigent in the region are eating voraciously at the outer tables, but on the morrow of a festival day you will see a great collection of halt, sickly, and shiftless hanging around the barbican in just expectation that conon and adela will order a distribution.[ ] at last the bishop returns thanks; basins, pitchers, and towels are again carried around. then the guests rise, some to mingle with the less exalted visitors outside, some to repose under the shade trees, some to listen to the jongleurs who are now tuning their instruments, and many (especially the younger) to get ready for the thing we have seen they liked almost the best--extremely vigorous dancing. outside of the state pavilion the service has naturally been less ceremonious and the fare less sumptuous, but all of the countryside has been welcome to wander into the castle gardens and to partake. greasy, unkempt villeins have been elbowing up to the long tables, snatching joints of meat, bawling to the servitors to refill their leather flagons, and throwing bits of cheese and bread around in an outrageously wasteful manner. thousands of persons, apparently many of whom will be happy if they can have black bread all through the winter, are trying to-day to avenge past hunger by devouring and drinking just as much as possible. sire eustace is continually calling; "another tun of wine! another vat of beer! another quarter of beer!" these viands for the multitude are not select, but there are bread, flesh, and drink without stinting. fortunate it is that conon has not _two_ marriageable sisters, or there would be naught left to eat on the seigneury! [sidenote: wholesale hospitality] as the shadows lengthen everybody seems satisfied. the villeins and petty nobles lay down their flagons. groups of friends, if sufficiently sober, begin to sing songs in a round, each member improvising a doggerel verse, and the group thundering out the chorus. but many of the guests do not retain wits enough for recreations. while their noble hosts are dancing, the others throw themselves on the grass in companies to watch or listen to the jongleurs: then as the wedding dances finish, olivier and alienor come out of the great tent to take their seats on flower-wreathed chairs before the principal minstrels, and by their presence give some decorum to what threatens to become a disgracefully confused and coarse form of reveling. for a great feast the jongleurs seem, in fact, almost as indispensable as the cooks. we have now to ask the nature of north french minstrelsy.[ ] footnotes: [ ] peacocks, as especially desirable poultry, practically took the place of the turkey of later days. [ ] the existence of many of these prohibitions in the etiquette manuals shows that they were not unneeded. [ ] see p. . [ ] what actually was involved in the way of mere victuals for a public feast in the middle ages is shown by the following record of the hospitality dispensed by an archbishop of york, england, in . there is no reason for believing such lavish "feeding of the multitude" was not fairly common also in france a little earlier. this festival required, by formal record, " quarters of wheat, tuns of ale, tuns of wine, oxen, sheep, calves, swine, swans, , geese, , capons, , pigs, dozen quails, , mallards and teal, cranes, kids, , ordinary chickens, , pigeons, and over stags, bucks, and roes." in addition there were made up " , cold venison pasties, , dishes of jelly, , baked tarts, , hot venison pasties, , hot custards" and proportionate quantities of spices, sweetened delicacies, and wafer cakes. evidently the archbishop was deliberately planning to feast the entire population of a considerable area of england. conon's hospitality herein depicted was, of course, nothing like this. chapter viii: the jongleurs and secular literature and poetry. the st. aliquis folk delight in music. it is very desirable for a cavalier to have a rich voice and know how to twang a harp. aimery, soon to be sire aimery, can sing and play as well as many minstrels. adela spent many hours at her viol and at a little portable organ before family cares took up her time. five or six of the servitors hold their places mainly because they can play so excellently at those impromptu dances which conon gives on every possible occasion.[ ] you cannot linger long around the castle without hearing the lutes, the flutes, and the castanets, and in confining weather in winter the music keeps up almost the whole day long. [illustration: small portable organ of the thirteenth century from a manuscript in the bibliothèque nationale.] however, variety is the spice of life. it is a red-letter day when a new jongleur or, better still, a troupe of jongleurs arrive. they will teach new music, new songs, new tricks to the regular denizens, and break up that desperate monotony which sometimes causes the barons to fret with a pent-up energy and to precipitate new wars merely to get relief. as for a great fête like the present, obviously a large corps of entertainers must be mobilized. the mere news through the region that messire proposed a marriage feast and a tourney has been enough to start many such itinerant gentry toward st. aliquis. sire eustace was overwhelmed with offers of assistance and has had to chase away some of the would-be entertainers almost by force. [sidenote: varieties of dances] jongleurs are versatile people, and each of them has his specialty. their name, "jongleur," like "charity," covers a multitude of sins. some of them are merely expert players upon the viol, and supply music for dancers. the dances of noble folk are simple: often enough fair dames and cavaliers merely take hold of one another's hands and whirl themselves furiously in a circle, while the music goes faster and faster until the revelers cease and almost sink of exhaustion. then there are variations when the cavaliers decorously drop from the ring and bow to their ladies; or the "dance of the chaplet," at the end of which each cavalier ceremoniously kisses his lady on the cheek--kissing between equals being quite proper if it is not on the lips. it takes rather more skill, as at present, when young aimery dances an intricate galliard with the daughter of the baron of bovri. the two performers stand opposite to each other, advancing, bowing, and retiring, every step made to music; then at last the cavalier makes his bow to the lady, takes her by the hand, thanks her, and leads her to her seat. after that another noble couple dances the _tourdion_, a similar performance, but faster and with more violent action. for all this competent musicians are indispensable. but a good jongleur is far more than a musician. he can dance himself, with intricate acrobatic figures impossible for the unprofessional; he can sing love songs, chant or recite romances; and, if he has companions, even present short farces and comedies. he is probably possessed also of series of tricks and sleight-of-hand accomplishments, which appeal more to the groundlings than do high-flown poetic recitals. if he can reach the summit of his profession he will be received at castles almost as the equal of the seigneur, and be able to retire rich, after having been showered with such gifts as palfreys, furs, jewels, mantles of red cloth, and, of course, with much money. jongleurs recall with pride their fellow-minstrel tallefer, who gallantly led the charge of the normans at hastings, trolling the song of roland as he tossed up his sword and caught it again in the very face of the english, and who fell in the battle only after making as much havoc among the foe as would a paladin. [illustration: acrobats reproductions by the english archæologist strutt, from various fourteenth-century manuscripts in england.] [sidenote: depraved mountebanks] there is a great distance, however, between such pretentious folk and the run of minstrels. a little while since a mountebank pair called at st. aliquis. they called themselves by grotesque names, "brise-tête" and "tue-boeuf." when they had disposed of a pork pasty, the seneschal made it plain they had better pay for their dinner. thereupon tue-boeuf produced a harp, and brise-tête leaped on the table, flung his arms and legs about, and showed himself a regular acrobat. after that his companions set the lads and girls to "ah-ing!" by swallowing knives and by apparently eating red brands right out of the fireplace. next the twain joined in a witty dialogue presenting a clutching priest wheedling money out of a miserly burgher; and finally tue-boeuf began telling stories so outrageous that adela (not more squeamish than most dames) bade her sister-in-law to retire. so the two kept the whole hall laughing through a rainy afternoon, and conon contented his entertainers each with a denier.[ ] they slept on the straw under the tables and were off early the next morning. their repertory was probably exceedingly limited, and they must have spent their lives wandering from castle to castle, seldom tarrying anywhere more than a single night. other jongleurs have appeared with trick dogs and monkeys, and who could themselves dance through hoops, perform such feats as tossing up two small apples and catching each simultaneously on the point of a knife held in each hand, or prove themselves genuine contortionists, as is declared in the old latin poem: he folds himself, he unfolds himself, and in unfolding himself, he folds himself! it is often a question, indeed, to tell when a jongleur is really anything more than a roving scoundrel. certes, they frequently seem full of thievishness, licentiousness, and lies. with them are frequently low jongleuresses, women capable of corrupting a whole monastery. the church denounces this entire breed, male and female, as "ministers of the devil." all the vices which other ages impute to actors are charged against them, and there is an old jesting question, "which would you rather be, a jongleur or a robber?" answer: "a robber." nevertheless, god knows that people must be amused, and jongleurs are almost indispensable. besides, as we have seen, not all are of this sinful class. the higher grade of jongleurs sometimes travel in considerable companies. they bring an orchestra of music--viols,[ ] guitars, and gigues--long, slim, stringed instruments shaped like a figure eight--and, of course, including flutes, harps, and even little portable organs on which you work the bellows with one hand and press the keys with the other, something like an accordion. horns are not lacking, nor dulcimers, nor cymbals. the feudal ages miss the piano, but otherwise have plenty of sweet-toned instruments. [sidenote: superior type of jongleur] each member of such a troupe has his specialty, and some of the feats are wonderful. there is usually a slim girl who can perform a "herodias's daughter's dance" so magnificently that everybody can understand how the palestinian princess took in the gullible king by her acrobatic feats. she can even dance on her hands and kick her feet in the air, to the great delight of all but the more sanctimonious guests. vainly did the holy st. bernard inveigh against the seigneurs who receive such troupes in their castles: "a man fond of jongleurs will soon possess a wife named poverty. the tricks of jongleurs can never please god." certain it is that at the wedding the bishop and his priests, after a few _pro forma_ coughings, seem laughing as loudly as do the barons at all the tricks of conon's entertainers. [illustration: dancer of the twelfth century restored by viollet-le-duc (musée de toulouse).] a great feast demands enough jongleurs to entertain many different circles. while one bold fellow is keeping the villeins roaring by the antics of his tame bear, while three others (including a woman) are dancing grossly upon a platform before other gaping hundreds, a superior member of their mystery is attracting again many noble guests to the banqueting tent. he is no common performer. messire sent all the way to chalons for him, promising ample reward. maître edmond boasts that he is a christian--meaning he takes his profession as a kind of lay priesthood. he is on friendly terms with great prelates. he never recites the scurrilous little _fabliaux_ assailing the clergy. he knows by heart, however, nearly all the great epics and romances. his rich bliaut of green silk sets forth his impressive figure. his gestures are eloquent. he can work upon the imaginations of his audience and move it to tears, acclamations, or wild excitement. in a later age he would, in short, be a great actor or an equally great "reader"--causing all the parts of a drama to speak through one person. maître edmond has consulted conon as to what romance or epic would please the best. there is a great collection of stories of heroes, usually in a kind of sing-song verse, and claiming very largely to have a breton origin. one whole category revolves around the doings of charlemagne and his peers; another deals with king artus (arthur) of brittany (really britain) and his knights of the round table; still another cycle tells of the trojan war, and sire hector, sire achilles, and sire ulysses, making the ancient ilium into a north french castle besieged by decidedly feudal methods; while others rehearse the mighty deeds of alexander. in all there are at least forty well-recognized epic _chansons de geste_ (songs of mighty deeds), most of them six thousand to eight thousand lines in length, besides many shorter romances. maître edmond knows a surprising number of them all. these bald figures give some idea of the richness of this type of feudal literature. of course, the famous "chanson de roland" constitutes the most splendid narrative. everybody knows the story of how roland and olivier, the favorite peers of charlemagne, were betrayed to the paynim in spain by the foul traitor ganelon; how they sold their lives right dearly after innumerable doughty deeds; how their souls ascended to heaven; and how later charlemagne took terrific vengeance both on the infidels and on ganelon. it is an epic which in later days will be rated equal, if not superior, to its german rival, the "nibelungenlied." but the "song of roland" is now nearly two centuries old and is very familiar. besides, it is too long for one afternoon, and it is hard to pick out episodes. maître edmond proposes some scenes from the stories of troy, but the baron thinks they are not sufficiently sentimental for the occasion. so they agree on the "story of tristan and ysolt." this is fairly well known by the company, but is not threadbare; it gives plenty of opportunity for the women to weep, and the jongleur says that he has a new version not overlengthy. maître edmond, therefore, strides out into the bridal tent, accompanied by a handsome youth in a saffron mantle, who thrums a harp with silver frets. the high jongleur begins his story in an easy recitative which occasionally breaks into melodious arias. it is really a mingling of verse and prose, although the language never loses a certain meter and rhythm. [illustration: thirteenth-century harp from sculpture in the cathedral of chartres.] [sidenote: story of tristan and ysolt] the narrative runs along the conventional lines:--king mark of cornwall was a good man and wise prince. the beautiful ysolt was his wife; the valiant and poetic tristan his nephew. these last two, in all innocency, take a magic potion which compels them to fall in love, and any sinful deeds which follow are excused by the enchantment. king mark suffers for long, trying to forgive, but at last, catching tristan playing the lute in the queen's bower, smites him with a poisoned dart. the unhappy youth, mortally wounded, takes refuge in the house of his friend dinas. while he is still alive, king mark magnanimously says he is sorry for his act, while poor ysolt announces that she will not survive her lover. so tristan sends for his uncle and tells mark that he bears him no ill will; while the king (realizing his nephew is not morally guilty) laments: "alas, alas! woe to me for having stabbed my nephew, the best cavalier in the whole world!" after that mark and ysolt visit tristan and make lamentation over his dying state. he presently causes his sword to be drawn that he may see it for the last time. "alas! good sword, what will become of you henceforth, without your trusty lord. i now take leave of knighthood, which i have honored. alas! my friends, to-day tristan is vanquished!" then, with tears, he bequeathes his sword to his comrade in arms. next he turns to the queen. "very dear lady," he gasps, "what will you do when i die? will you not die with me?" "gentle friend," says ysolt, "i call god to witness that nothing would afford me so much joy as to bear you company this day. assuredly, if ever a woman could die of anguish or sorrow, i should have died already." "and would you like, then, to die with me?" asks tristan. "god knows," replied the queen, "that never did i desire anything more sincerely." "approach me, then," whispers the knight, "for i feel death coming upon me and i should like to breathe my last in your arms." ysolt leans over tristan, who embraces her and presses her so tightly that her heart bursts, and he expires with her, thus mingling their last sighs. needless to say, by the time maître edmond (after much skillful prolongation and stirring of the feelings) has finished, all the noble dames are indulging in sobs, and, indeed, many of the barons blink hard. it is a delightfully tragic story! although the minstrel is of too high a quality to cry "largesse!" when he concludes, like all the humbler jongleurs, there are many deniers thrown his way (which the harpist duly gathers), the duke tells him, "come to my court at christmas and recite the love of launcelot and guinevere--it shall be worth your while," and conon orders that a good aragonese mule be added to the money payment originally promised. [sidenote: a literary baron] maître edmond, has, however, another line of business. his opportunity opens this way. among conon's guests is a baron of harvengt. this rich seigneur has spent much time in the south country. he has learned the gay science of the troubadours. superior minstrels are always welcome at his castle; in fact, he is something of a minstrel himself. indeed, it is claimed he is too much interested in matters which are primarily only for villeins or at best for the women, and neglects his hawks, tourneys, and even his proper feuds with his neighbors. nevertheless, orri de harvengt is an extremely "gentle" man. he possesses a considerable number of books in latin--virgil, ovid, lucan, and others--although a visiting monk has grumbled that nearly all the volumes are by questionable pagans, and that this baron has almost no parchments of saints' lives and church fathers. however, orri spends little time over the latin. he holds that the classical language is best for religious matters, but that for telling of brave deeds and affairs of the heart nothing surpasses romance--the tongue of north france. a friend of orri's was geoffroi de villehardouin, who has written in french an excellent history of the fourth crusade, in which he participated; and although the churchmen complain that "his abandonment of latin means the ruin of all learning," the use of the vulgar tongue for all kinds of books is undoubtedly increasing. for the less formal kind of writings there is already a considerable french literature. conon himself has a book of philosophers' proverbs, a collection of wise saws and maxims that are often attributed to such ancient worthies as homer, Æsop, moses, and solomon, but which have a flavor extremely french. here you can find many a saying that will long survive the thirteenth century, although it is doubtless much more ancient. "a bird in the hand is worth two in the bush"; "all is not gold that glitters"; "god helps those who help themselves"; "a friend in need is a friend indeed"; "still waters run deep"--all are threadbare wisdom around st. aliquis, as well as such maxims as do not transmit so well, such as, "among the blind, the one-eyed man is king"; and, "famine drives the wolf out of the woods." but the bulk of this "vulgar" literature is in poetry. the epics (_chansons_) have been growing ever since a certain turould is said to have composed the "song of roland" not very long after a.d. . we have just seen what a wealth of romances maître edmond has at his disposal. the earlier of these tales are mere recitals of war and adventure; but in the later, though they continue in the north french dialect, the south french (troubadour) influence appears. we have stories turning about lawful or illicit love rather than about lance thrusts. the troubadours of the langeudoc language find now compeers in the _trouvères_ of the northern languedoil. baron orri is a _trouvère_ himself. he has tried his hand at making a _chanson_ on the adventures of the hero renaud of montauban; while composers of less exalted rank prepare the shorter _fabliaux_, _contes_, and _dits_ which abound with comedy and sarcasm, striking at all the vices and follies of society. [sidenote: north french epics and romances] baron orri, however (who is not an original genius), is perhaps to be classed really as an _assembleur_--that is, he adapts old romances and puts them in a new setting. he changes over stories from the languedoc or from the breton to his north french dialect. to-day, at a quiet interval, maître edmond takes him aside. "fair baron, you know that we master jongleurs seldom wish to set written copies of the poems we chant before strangers, but how can i deny anything to so liberal a seigneur as you? i have with me transcripts of a new song concerning charlemagne's paladin, william of orange, and another prepared by the great _trouvère_, robert of borron, concerning the finding of the holy grail by king artus's knight, sire perceval. would you have sight of them?" baron orri is only too pleased. before he quits st. aliquis he will have possessed himself of the precious parchments, and maître edmond becomes the richer by several paris livres. a fine copy of a great _chanson_ is worth its weight in silver. the monks complain that the capital letters are as carefully elaborated in gold, and the miniature illustrations are as delicately executed, as those in a copy of the gospel; and that the bindings of embossed leather make the books so heavy that they require reading stands, before which the ladies, nevertheless (neglecting holier things), seem willing to stand all day long. however, before the wedding guests end their happy day, another entertainer than maître edmond is asked to perform. it is baron orri himself. he has lived so long in the south country that he has caught the troubadour gallantries. stories run that he has left three lady loves in three different castles; that he has had a most romantic duel with a jealous husband, which ended however, in a reconciliation on proof that the friendship had been only platonic; and that he is a past master in all the thirty-four different methods of rhyming and the seventy-four different kinds of stanzas with which the expert bards of southern france serve up their sentimental ditties. at a suitable moment just before the noble guests are gathering for the supper adela addresses him: "we know, kind sire orri, that you are a practitioner of all the 'gay science' of the south. you can sing _chansons_, songs of love; _vers_, the poems of slower movement; _sirventes_, poems of praise or satire; and also are master of the _tenso_, the debate on some tender subject, carried on in courtly verse. honor us with your skill; for our northern poetry is rude and uncourtly beside that of the languedoc." barron orri makes an elegant bow: "ah, gracious lady," he says, "i wish i could convince you that a good refusal were worth more than a poor gift, but doubtless you would think me rude; therefore, i will obey. though many of you, i fear, do not speak the beautiful languedoc tongue, yet in so noble a company i am sure most of you will at least understand me. what shall it be, a _tenso_ by bernart de ventadorn discussing most wittily, 'how does a lady show the greater affection--by enjoining her friend to win renown, or by urging him simply to love her?' or shall i attempt a short _chanson_ by that other high troubadour, arnaut de maruelh?" "the _chanson_--the love song!" cry the company. "ah! very well, my gentle mistresses and lords," answers the minstrel--"you have chosen. and now i pray queen venus to inspire me. here, boy, my harp!" he takes a small lute and touches the strings. his blue mantle floats back in statuesque folds as with clear, deep voice he sings: [sidenote: south french troubadour songs] "fair to me is april bearing winds that o'er me softly blow; nightingales their music airing while the stars serenely glow. all the birds as they have power while the dews of morning wait, sing of joy in sky and bower, each consorting with his mate. and as all the world is wearing new delights while new leaves grow, 'twould be vain to try forswearing _love_ which makes my joys o'erflow.... helen were not worth comparing, gardens no such beauty show, teeth of pearl, the truth declaring, blooming cheeks, a neck of snow, tresses like a golden shower, courtly charms, for baseness hate. god, who bade her thus o'ertower all the rest, her way made straight!"[ ] and so through many similar stanzas. the baron orri's eyes are fixed mischievously on a certain countess with whom he had talked intimately all the afternoon. her husband looks somewhat awkward, but at the end he joins in the warm applause. so the entertainment at the wedding feast ends; and the great secular literature, which is to be the priceless heritage of later civilization, is (despite much crudeness and false sentimentality) being born. hitherto we have seen the life of st. aliquis at peace; now we must gradually turn toward its grimmer aspects and the direct preparations for war. footnotes: [ ] if st. aliquis had been a slightly larger fief, its lord would probably have allowed himself the luxury of a professional minstrel in residence--half musician and half jester. [ ] it was not unknown for jongleurs of this inferior grade to stop at an exciting part of the story they were narrating and say (as in the poem "gui of burgundy"): "whoever wants to hear more of this recital must haste to open his purse; for now it is high time to give me something." the company would thus be straightway held up. or the entertainer would announce, "it was too near vespers," or "he was too weary to finish that day," the result being that he could claim hospitality at the castle of his hosts another twenty-four hours until he could satisfy the general curiosity. [ ] the viol was practically like a violin, although more round and more clumsy. it was played with a bow. [ ] translated by justin h. smith. reprinted by kind permission of g. p. putnam's sons. chapter ix: the feudal relationship. doing homage. some days intervene between the wedding festivities of the sister of messire conon and the adubbement as knight of his brother with the tourney which follows this second ceremony. no baron can be rich enough to make presents to all the knights who frequent the tourney, if they were also guests at the wedding; on the other hand, numerous cavaliers who have no interest in the affairs of olivier and alienor are glad to come and break lances in the jousts and to shatter helmets in the mêlée. most of the original guests at the wedding, however, stay on for the adubbement, and are joined by many others. meantime there are hunts, hawkings, dances, garden feasts, and jongleur recitals. it is all one round of merry excitement. yet gradually there creeps in a more martial note. maître edmond's chants have less to do with parted lovers and more to do with valiant deeds. the bride and groom recede from central gaze. young squire aimery is thrust forward. while the lists are being prepared for the jousting, one can examine the public economy of the seigneury; discover how it is a military as well as a political unit; and learn the process of education which has enabled aimery to claim the proud status of a knight--a _miles_--a first-class fighting man. [illustration: banner of the thirteenth century from a manuscript in the bibliothèque nationale (viollet-le-duc).] [sidenote: types and privileges of fief holders] the status of st. aliquis is typical of that of many baronies. fiefs are not necessarily composed of real estate: for example, one of conon's vassals does homage to him merely for the right to fish for a mile along the claire, and another for the privilege of maintaining the baronial mill, with corresponding perquisites, in an outlying section of the seigneury.[ ] nevertheless, as a rule a "fief" means a section of land held by a person of noble family. he does not own this land by complete right, but pays a kind of rent to his suzerain in the form of military service, of sums of money in various emergencies determined upon, and of various other kinds of moral and material assistance. ordinarily every feudal lordship will center round a castle; or, failing that, a fortalice, a strong tower capable of considerable defense, or a manor house not vulnerable to mere raiders. every noble fief holder claims the right to have his own banner; to a seal to validate his documents; and of late there have been appearing insignia soon to be known as heraldic coats of arms, which will be used or displayed by everybody of "gentle condition." many fief holders also claim the right to coin money, even when their lands are on a very modest scale; but suzerains are gradually curtailing this privilege, base-born merchants churlishly complain that the mints of the lesser seigneurs strike money too full of alloy and of vexatiously variable standards; and, indeed, there is even talk that this privilege of coining is likely to be monopolized by the king. [illustration: the coat of arms of the dukes of bretagne (thirteenth century)] feudalism, if systematized, would seem an admirably articulated system, extending upward from the petty nobles to the king or even the emperor.[ ] the little castellans would do homage to the barons, they to the viscounts, they to the counts, they to the dukes, and they to the supreme suzerain, his grace philip augustus, at paris. actually, of course, nothing of the kind occurs. not merely do many fief holders have several suzerains (as does conon) and serve some of them very poorly, but there is no real gradation of feudal titles. conon, a baron, feels himself equal to many counts and superior to most viscounts. the mighty count of champagne holds his head arrogantly as the equal of the duke of burgundy. of late years, especially since philip augustus began to reign ( ), the kings of france have made it clear that they are the mightiest of the mighty, and deserve genuine obedience. yet even now many seigneurs grumble, "these lords of paris are only the capetian dukes who began to call themselves kings some two hundred years ago. let them wax not too proud or we will send them about their business as our forefathers sent the old carolingians." in short, the whole feudal arrangement is utterly confused. "organized anarchy," despairing scholars of a later age will call it. [illustration: seal of the duke jean of bretagne (thirteenth and fourteenth centuries)] [sidenote: duties of fief holders] yet there are some pretty definite rules about fief holding. generally speaking a fief includes enough land to maintain at least one knight and his war horse. this warrior is obligated usually to lead out a number of armed villeins, proportionate to the number of knights. the conditions on which the estate can be held vary infinitely. the great obligation is military service. the average vassal is bound to follow his suzerain for forty days per year on summons to an offensive war. he is required to give much greater assistance in a strictly defensive war, and especially to aid in the defense of his lord's castle. he has to wait on the suzerain at times, when the latter may desire a great retinue to give prestige to his court. at such gatherings he must likewise assist his lord in dispensing justice--a matter sometimes involving considerable responsibility for the judges. when his seigneur marries off his eldest daughter, bestows knighthood on his eldest son, or needs ransom money, if held a prisoner, the vassals must contribute, and the st. aliquis fief holders are blessing their patron saints that alienor and aimery are not their overlord's children--otherwise they would pay for most of the high festivities themselves. they must also, when their lord visits them, give him proper hospitality in their castles. of course, they must never betray his secrets, adhere to his enemies, or repudiate the pledges made to him. to do so were "treason," the worst of all feudal crimes. we have seen that holding a fief usually implies military service, and that if the estate falls to a woman the suzerain can administer the property until the maid is of marriageable age, and then give her to some competent liegeman. it is about the same if the heir is a boy. the overlord can exercise guardianship over the fief until the lad is old enough to lead out his war band and otherwise to prove a desirable vassal. even when the vassals are of satisfactory sex and age, the suzerain is entitled to a _relief_, a money payment, whenever an old knight dies and his battle-worthy son takes over the barony.[ ] this is always a fairly heavy lump sum; and is still heavier if the fief goes not to the son, but to a collateral heir. also, when the vassal wants to sell his fief to some stranger, not merely must the suzerain approve the change, but he is entitled to an extra large fee, often as much as three years' revenue from the entire holding. nevertheless, when all is said, many fief holders act as if they were anything but humble vassals. happy is many a suzerain when he is so exempt from squabbles with his feudal equals and his own overlord that he can compel his loyal lieges to execute all their promises, and when he can indulge in the luxury of dictating to them the manner whereby they must rule their lands. some of the mottoes of the great baronial houses testify how little the feudal hierarchy counts with the lord of a few strong castles. boast the mighty rohans: "dukes we disdain: kings we can't be: _rohans_ are we!" and still more arrogant is that of a seigneur whose magnificent fortress-château is in the process of erection; "no king am i, no prince, no duke: i'm just the sire of coucy." and to be "sire of coucy" means to dispose of such power that when the canons of rheims complain to king philip against his deeds of violence, the king can merely reply, "i can do no more for you than _pray_ the sire of coucy to leave you unmolested." sometimes, in addition to money payments or personal or military service, a vassal is required to make symbolic gifts in token of loyal intentions. thus annually conon sends to the duke of quelqueparte three black horses; while for his holdings of the local abbey, every june he presents the abbot with a basket of roses and a bunch of lilies, and many other estates are burdened with some such peculiar duties.[ ] [sidenote: barons largely independent] so long as he discharges his feudal obligations a seigneur can run his barony practically to suit himself. if he treats his own vassals and his peasants too outrageously they may cry out to the suzerain for justice, and sometimes the overlord will delight in an excuse to humble an arrogant feudatory. but the limits of interference are well marked. no seigneur should undermine a faithful vassal's hold on his own subjects. every noble will feel his own rights threatened if a suzerain begins to meddle with a dependent, even if the reason for doing so is manifest. many a baron can therefore play the outrageous tyrant if so the devil inspires him. he has (as we have seen) to observe the vested rights of his subordinates on the fief; otherwise he may provoke a dangerous mutiny within his own castle.[ ] baron garnier of st. aliquis, however, has been typical of many of his class. prisoners, travelers, peasants are subject to unspeakably brutal treatment. as has been written concerning one such seigneur: "he was a very pluto, megæra, cerberus, or anything you can conceive still more horrible. he preferred the slaughter of his captives to their ransom. he tore out the eyes of his own children, when in sport they hid their faces under his cloak. he impaled persons of both sexes on stakes. to butcher men in the most horrible manner was to him an agreeable feast." of another such baron, the trembling monks record: "when anyone by force or fraud fell into his hands, the captive might truly say, 'the pains of hell have compassed me about.' homicide was his passion and glory. he treated his wife in an unspeakably brutal manner. men feared him, bowed down to him and worshiped him!"[ ] [sidenote: types of evil and good barons] evidently, such outrageous seigneurs hold their lieges in a kind of fascinated obedience, just as do the emirs and atabegs among the infidels. of course, they treat merchants as merely so many objects for plunder. if they do not watch the roads themselves, they make bargains with professional robbers, allowing the latter to infest their seigneuries in return for an agreed share of their booty. even noble folk are liable to be seized, imprisoned, and perhaps tortured to get a ransom. if you cannot find the deniers, you may leave your bones in a foul dungeon. nevertheless, st. michael and all angels be praised! this evil is abating. in the direct royal dominions such "men of sin" have been rooted out since old louis vi's time. the church is using its great influence against evil sires. the communal towns are waxing strong and sending civic armies to besiege their towers and protect the roads. the better class of seigneurs also unite against these disgraces to nobility. as for baron garnier, he died betimes, for his suzerain the duke (weary of complaints) was about to call out the levy of the duchy and attack st. aliquis. in other words, law and order are gradually asserting themselves after the heyday of petty tyrannies, yet there are still queersome happenings on every seigneury, and the amount of arbitrary power possessed by the average baron is not good even for a conscientious and high-minded man. it is not the theoretical powers of a seigneur, but his actual mental and ofttimes physical ability, which determines the real extent of his power. fiefs are anything but static. they are always growing or diminishing. a capable seigneur is always attracting new lands to himself. he ejects unfaithful vassals and adds their estates to his own personal domain land. he induces his vassal's vassals to transfer their allegiance directly to him. he wins land from his neighbors by direct conquest. he induces his neighbor's vassals to desert to the better protection of his suzerainty. he negotiates advantageous marriage treaties for his relatives which bring new baronies into his dynasty. when his own suzerain needs his military aid beyond the orthodox "forty days," he sells his assistance for cash, lands, or valuable privileges. then, often when such an aggressive seigneur dies, his whole pretentious fief crumbles rapidly. his eldest son is entitled to the central castle, and the lion's share of the barony, but not to the whole. the younger lads each detach something, and the daughters cannot be denied a portion.[ ] the suzerain presses all kinds of demands upon the weakened heir. so do neighboring seigneurs who are the new baron's feudal equals. one little quarrel after another has to be compounded after ruinous concessions. worst of all, the direct vassals of the incoming baron refuse him homage, hunt up more congenial suzerains, or, if swearing fealty, nevertheless commit perjury by the treacherous way they execute their oaths. in a few years what has appeared a powerful fief, under a young or incapable baron seems on the very edge of ruin--its lord reduced to a single castle, with perhaps some question whether he can defend even that. [sidenote: accession to a barony] through such a peril conon passed inevitably when, as a very youthful knight, he took over the estates of his unblessed uncle. only the saints' favor, his mother's wise counsels, and his own high looks and strong arm kept the fief together. but after the vassal petty nobles had been duly impressed with the fact that, even if the new baron were less of a bloody tyrant than his predecessor, he could storm a defiant fortalice and behead its rebellious master, the barony settled down to relative peace. there was a meeting at st. aliquis of all the vassals. conon, clothed in full armor, then presented himself in the great hall. "will you have sire conon, the nephew of your late lord, as your present undoubted baron and suzerain?" demanded sire eustace, the seneschal. "_fiat! fiat!_--so be it!" shouted all the knights. whereat each in turn did homage; and conon was now their liege lord by every christian and feudal law. next conon himself visited the duke of quelqueparte, paid his relief, in turn did his own homage; and henceforth had his position completely recognized. from that time conon had been obeyed by his vassals with reasonable fidelity. they had never refused military service; they had fought round his standard very faithfully at the great battle of bouvines; they had given him no reason to doubt that if he were hard bestead they would discharge the other feudal duties of defending his person at the hazard of their lives, of resigning a horse to him that he might save himself in a battle, or even of going prisoner for him to secure his release, if he were captive. on the other hand, conon had earned their love by proving himself a very honorable seigneur. when his vassal, sire leonard, had died, leaving only a minor son, he administered the lad's fief very wisely and gave it back a little richer, if anything, when the heir came of age. when another vassal had fallen into a feud with a neighboring sire, conon had afforded military help, although it was not his direct quarrel. he had respected the wives and daughters of his petty nobles as though they had been his sisters. in short, on st. aliquis had been almost realized that happy relation mentioned in the law books, "the seigneur owes faith and loyalty to his 'man' as much as the man to his seigneur." nevertheless, conon ("wise as a serpent, but _not_ harmless as a dove," as father grégoire says, pithily) takes nothing for granted. twice he has somewhat formally made the circuit of his seigneury, stopping at each castle, allowing each little sire to show hospitality, and then receiving again his pledges. homage can be done many times. the more often it is repeated the more likely it will be effective.[ ] your vassal who swore fealty last christmas is much more likely to obey the _ban_ (the call to arms) than he who took his oath ten years ago. the st. aliquis vassals have all performed this devoir quite recently, save one, sire andré of the sizable castle of le chenevert, whose father died last lent, and who has waited for the present fêtes to take his vows and receive due investiture. this ceremony, therefore, takes place some day after the wedding feast. there is nothing humiliating therein for sire andré; on the contrary, he is glad to have many of the noble guests be witnesses--they will serve to confirm his title to his father's fief. [sidenote: ceremony of homage] the great hall has been cleared. messire conon sits in his high chair under the canopy. he wears his ermine and his velvet cap of presence. adela sits at his side, with many cavaliers on either hand. the other st. aliquis vassals and the noble leaders of the castle men at arms, all in best armor, stand before the dais in a semicircle. sire eustace holds a lance with a small red pennon. sire andré, in silvered mail and helmet and his sword girded, comes forward, steps up to the dais, and kneels. conon rises, extends both hands, and andré takes one in each of his, then repeats clearly the formula dictated by father grégoire, now, as so often, acting as baronial chancellor: "sire baron, _i enter into your homage and faith and become your man_, by mouth and hands, and i swear and promise to keep faith and loyalty to you against all others, saving only the just rights of the baron of braisne, from whom i hold two farms and certain hunting rights, and i swear to guard your rights with all my strength." [illustration: homage in the twelfth century the future vassal has put his hands in those of his lord and pays him homage; a soldier holds the lance which the lord will give to his subject as a mark of investiture in the domain.] whereupon conon makes reply, "we do promise to you, vassal andré, that we and our heirs will guarantee to you the lands held of us, to you and your heirs against every creature with all our power, to hold these lands in peace and quiet." conon then bends, kisses andré upon the mouth, and the latter rises to his feet. father grégoire holds out a small golden box flashing with jewels, a saint's reliquary. the vassal puts his right hand upon it and declares: "in the name of the holy trinity, and in reverence of these sacred relics, i, andré, swear that i will truly keep the promise which i have taken, and will always remain faithful to sire conon, my seigneur." the first formula has technically been the "homage." the second is the "oath of fealty"; now comes the "investiture." sire eustace steps forward and gives to the vassal the lance, the symbolic token of the lawful transfer to him of the fief. in other places, local custom would make the article a glove, a baton, or even a bit of straw, but some symbol is always required. this act completes the ceremony. sire andré is now in possession of le chenevert and its lands, and cannot be ousted thence so long as he performs his feudal duties. of course, if the fief had been granted out for the first time, or had been transferred to some one not a direct heir, there would be a deed of conveyance drafted in detail, and sealed by many ponderous lumps of wax attached to the parchment with strips of leather. in many cases however, no new document is needful, and, indeed, all through the feudal ages even important bargains are likely often to be determined merely by word of mouth--a reason for requiring many witnesses. there is little danger, however, of a quarrel between such congenial spirits as baron conon and sire andré. at its best, vassalship is not a state of unworthy dependence; it is a state of junior comradeship which, "without effacing distances, created a close relation of mutual devotion"; and if vassals are often rebellious, vassals again and again in history and in story have proved willing to lay down their lives for their lord. there are few sentiments the jongleurs can repeat in the average castle with surer hope of applause than when they recite once more from the "epic of garin," concerning the duke of belin, who declared that there was something more precious than all his riches and power; for "wealth consists neither in rich clothes, nor in money, nor in buildings, nor in horses, but is made from kinsmen and _friends_; the heart of one man is worth all the gold in a country!" footnotes: [ ] the right to profit from certain beehives could constitute a fief, or to a fraction, say, of the tolls collected at a certain bridge. [ ] the emperor of the holy roman empire (germany and italy) was usually acknowledged as the social and titular superior of the king of france, but he was never conceded any practical power over frenchmen. [ ] sometimes the relief was also payable when a new suzerain came in, not merely when the fief changed vassals. [ ] in a south country castle a certain seigneur was obligated, if his suzerain, the duke of aquitaine, visited him, to wait on the duke's table, wearing himself scarlet leggings with spurs of gold. he had to serve the duke and ten knights with a meal of pork, beef, cabbage, roast chickens, and mustard. many other obligations for payments or rendering of hospitality which were equally curious could be recorded. [ ] one might describe the situation by saying that many a baron who would order a stranger or captive to be executed in cold blood without form of trial, would hesitate to have him hanged or beheaded save by the hereditary executioner of the seigneury, who had a vested right to perform such nice matters. [ ] what could go on in feudal families earlier, in the eleventh century, is illustrated by the tale of three brothers, noblemen of angouleme, who quarreled. two of them treacherously invited the third to their joint easter festivities. they seized him in bed, put out his eyes, and cut out his tongue that he might not denounce them. the facts, however, leaked out. their suzerain, the duke of aquitaine, ravaged their lands with fire and sword (thus ruining their innocent peasants), took the two criminals and cut out their own tongues and put out their eyes in retaliation. [ ] the absence of a strict rule of primogeniture in france and other continental countries added much to the complexities of the whole feudal regime. [ ] homage may be likened somewhat to _vaccination_ in a later day--the more recently performed the greater its effectiveness. chapter x: justice and punishments. one of the great duties of a high seigneur is to render justice. it is for that (say learned men) that god grants to him power over thousands of villeins and the right to obedience from nobles of the lower class. indeed, it can be written most properly that a good baron "is bound to hear and determine the cause and pleas of his subjects, to ordain to every man his own, to put forth his shield of righteousness to defend the innocent against evildoers, and deliver small children and such as be orphans and widows from those that do overset them. he pursues robbers, raiders, thieves, and other evildoers. for this name 'lord' is a name of peace and surety. for a good lord ceaseth war, battle, and fighting, and reconciles men that are at strife. and so under a good, strong, and peaceable lord, men of the country are safe." the best of barons only measurably live up to this high standard. yet conon is not wholly exceptional in telling himself that a reputation for enforcing justice is in the end a surer glory than all the fêtes around st. aliquis. justice, of course, does not mean equality before the law. there is one legal measure for country villeins, another for citizens of the commune, another for petty nobles, another for greater nobles of conon's own rank. the monks and priests can always "plead their clergy" and get their cases transferred to a special church tribunal.[ ] the question really is: has a man been given everything due to others of his own class? if not, there is denial of justice. the laws enforced in the st. aliquis region are the old customary laws in use ever since the frankish barbarians' invasions. many of these laws have never been reduced to writing--at least for local purposes--but sage men know them. there are no professional jurists in the barony. sire eustace, the seneschal, understands the regional law better than any other layman around the castle, though he in turn is surpassed by father grégoire. the latter has, indeed, a certain knowledge of the canon law of the church, far more elaborate than any local territorial system, and he has even turned over voluminous parchments of the old roman law codified by the mighty emperor justinian. up at paris, round the king there are now trained lawyers, splitters of fine hairs, who say that this roman law is far more desirable than any local "customary law," and they are even endeavoring (as the king extends his power) to make the code of justinian the basis for the entire law of france. but conditions on most baronies are still pretty simple, the questions to be settled call merely for common sense and a real love of fair play on the part of the judges. one can live prosperously and die piously under rough-and-ready laws administered with great informality. [sidenote: high and low justice] conon has "high justice" over his vassals and peasants. this means absolute power of life and death over any non-noble on the seigneury, unless, indeed, the baron should outrage merchants bound to a privileged free city, or some other wayfarers under the specific protection of the king or the duke of quelqueparte. if strange noblemen get into trouble, it will depend on circumstances whether conon undertakes to handle their cases himself, or refers them to his suzerain, the duke. the right of seigneurs to powers of justice on their own lands even over high nobles is, however, tenaciously affirmed, and it is only with difficulty the duke and, above him, the king can get some cases remitted to their tribunals.[ ] if, however, the alleged offender is a monk, he will be handed over to the local abbot or, if a priest, to the bishop of pontdebois to be dealt with according to the law of the church. even the lesser sires have "low justice," with the privilege of clapping villeins in the stocks, flogging, and imprisoning for a considerable time for minor offenses; and robbers caught on their lands in the act of crime can be executed summarily. but serious cases have to go to the court of the baron as high justiciar, as well as all the petty cases which have arisen on that lord's personal dominions. if the litigants are peasants, the wheels of justice move very rapidly. there is a decided absence of formalities. a great many disputes go before the provost's court, presided over by sire macaire, a knight of the least exalted class, who is conon's "first provost." we shall see later how the baron's provosts practically control the life of the peasants.[ ] one of sire macaire's main duties is to chase down offenders, acting as a kind of sheriff, and after that to try them. among the brawling, brutal peasantry there is always a deplorable amount of crime. the seigneury has been blessed with a comparative absence of bandits, but ever and anon a pontdebois merchant gets stripped, a girl is carried off into the woods, or even the body of a traveler is found by the roadside. all this renders sire macaire's office no sinecure. small penalties are handed down every day, but more serious matters must wait for those intervals when messire conon calls his noble vassals to his "plaids" or "assizes." every fief holder is expected to come and to give his lord good counsel as to what ought to be done, especially if any of the litigants are noble, and also to give him material aid, if needs be, in executing the decision reached.[ ] this last is very important, for if a fief holder is dissatisfied with a verdict, he has a technical right to declare the decision "unjust" and demand that it be settled by "ordeal of battle"--the duel not being between the defeated suitor and his adversary, but between this suitor and his judge! all men know of what happened (according to the "song of roland") in the case of the traitor ganelon. this scoundrel, who had betrayed his suzerain charlemagne and had caused the brave roland's death, was seized by the emperor, but he demanded "judgment by his peers." charlemagne could not deny this claim. he convoked the high barons, whereupon lord pinabel, ganelon's kinsman, announced that "he would give the lie with the sword" to any seigneur who voted for punishment. all the barons were afraid. pinabel was a mighty warrior. they reported an acquittal to charlemagne. the mighty emperor raged, but felt helpless until he discovered the brave knight thierry of anjou, who boldly asserted that "ganelon deserves death." [sidenote: ordeal by battle] instantly pinabel strode forward and cried to the assize of nobles: "i say that thierry has lied. i will fight!" and at once charlemagne took pledges from both champions that they would stand the "ordeal." each warrior then promptly went to mass, partook of the sacrament, and bestowed great gifts on the monasteries. next they met in mortal combat. after a desperate duel thierry smote his foe "through the nasal of the helmet ... and therewith the brain of pinabel went gushing from his head." there was no appeal from that verdict! well content, charlemagne immediately caused ganelon to be pulled asunder by four fierce stallions. however, these noble usages are falling into decadence. certes, it is an unknightly thing when both litigants are young cavaliers, evenly matched, and when the issue concerns honor rather than legal technicalities, for them to insist that the matter be settled merely by a peaceful verdict, as if they had been wrangling merchants. but the church, the men of books, and the higher suzerains discourage this practice, especially when the cases are intricate, and one of the litigants cannot fight efficiently or provide a champion. as for challenging a judge after a disagreeable verdict, the thing is becoming dangerous, for all the other judges will feel bound to support him.[ ] the most likely happening is for the defeated litigant to retire to his castle, summon his followers, and defy the court to enforce its verdict. this happened with a sire of the court of trabey, a neighbor of conon's. said sire, having been ordered by his peers to give up a manor he had been withholding from his young nephew, sent a pursuivant before their tribunal formally declaring war. the entire seigneury had to arm and actually storm his castle before he would submit. however, most st. aliquis cases concern not the nobles, but only villeins, and with these (thanks be to heaven!) short shrifts are permitted. the provost can handle the run of crimes when the baron is busy; but a good seigneur acts as his own judge if possible. even during the festival period it is needful for conon to put aside his pleasures one morning to mount the seat of justice. in wintertime the tribunal is, of course, in the great hall, but in such glorious weather a big shade tree in the garden is far preferable.[ ] here the baron occupies a high chair. sire eustace sits on a stool at his right, sire andré and another vassal at his left as "assessors," for no wise lord acts without council. father grégoire stands near by, ready to administer oaths on the box of relics; sire macaire, the provost, brings up the litigants and acts as a kind of state attorney. [sidenote: trial of villeins] for the most part it is a sordid, commonplace business. two villeins dispute the ownership of a yoke of oxen. a peddler from pontdebois demands payment from a well-to-do farmer for some linen. an old man is resisting the demands of his eldest son that he be put under guardianship: the younger children say that their brother really covets the farm. if the court's decisions are not so wise as solomon's, they are speedy and probably represent substantial justice. but there is more serious business in hand. the news of the fêtes at st. aliquis has been bruited abroad. all the evil spirits of the region have discovered their chance. certain discharged mercenary soldiers have actually invaded a village, stolen the peasants' corn, pigs, and chickens, insulted their women, and crowned their deeds by firing many cottages and setting upon three jongleurs bound for the tourney. they were in the very act of robbing them to their skin when a party of the provost's men, coming up, managed to seize two of these sturdy rascals. sire macaire has also arrested a young peasant who stabbed an older farmer painfully while they wrangled over a calf. this second case is settled summarily. the defendant is of bad reputation. he must stand all day in the pillory, and then to be branded on his forehead with a red-hot iron, that all men may beware of him. as for the alleged bandits, the case is not so simple. they keep a sullen silence and refuse to betray the lair of their comrades who have escaped. the provost intimates that they may be _halegrins_, and outlaws of the foulest type, said to violate tombs and devour human flesh. very possibly they may have belonged to that notorious gang of brigands many of which king philip lured inside the walls of bourges, then closed the gates and slew them, thus capturing all their plunder. such fellows are, of course, food for the crows, but they must not be allowed to get out of life too easily. "let the baron command preparatory torture?" suggests sire macaire, with a sinister smile. conon nods. the two beastlike wretches groan and strain at their fetters. preparatory torture, they know well, is inflicted both to get a confession of guilt and also to extort details about accomplices. it is no pleasure to follow the provost, his guards, and his prisoners to a certain tower, where in a lower vaulted room there are various iron and wooden instruments. we are given to understand that torture is a pretty usual part of criminal proceedings, unless the defendant is a noble whose alleged crime does not touch the safety of the state. it is true that wise men have discouraged the practice. what seems clearer than that which pope nicholas i wrote a.d. ? "a confession must be voluntary and not forced. by means of torture an innocent man may suffer to the uttermost without making any avowal--in such a case what a crime for the judge! or a person may be subdued by pain, and acknowledge himself guilty, though he be innocent--which throws an equally great sin upon the tribunal." nevertheless, the church is said now to be allowing torture in her own ecclesiastical courts, and sire macaire would tell us cynically that "torture is a sovereign means wherewith to work miracles--to make the dumb speak." torture at st. aliquis is administered by a sober-faced man in a curious yellow dress. he is known as maître denis,[ ] the baron's "sworn executioner." he acts as torturer, chief jailer, and also attends to beheadings and hangings. to be a professional hangman implies considerable ostracism. hangmen's families have to marry among themselves, between fief and fief; hangmen's sons follow their fathers' calling. on the other hand, the position is an assured one, with good perquisites and not too much labor. maître denis is a quiet and pious man, who can exhort condemned criminals quite as sanctimoniously as a priest; but his piety never compels him to false mercy. [sidenote: varieties of tortures] there are assuredly many ways of helping transgressors to make a complete confession. forms of torture vary from region to region. in brittany the culprit is often tied in an iron chair and gradually brought near to a blazing fire; but in normandy the effect seems best when one thumb is squeezed by a kind of screw in the ordinary, and both thumbs in the extraordinary (doubly severe) torture. at autun they have an ingenious method. after high boots of spongy leather have been put on the culprit's feet, he is tied near a large fire and boiling water is poured on the boots, which penetrates the leather, eats away the flesh, and vouchsafes a foretaste of the pangs of hell. at orléans they have another method. the accused's hands are tied behind his back, and a ring fastened to them. by this ring the unhappy fellow is lifted from the floor and hung up in midair. if they then desire the "extraordinary" torture, weights of some two hundred and fifty pounds are attached to his feet. he is hoisted to the ceiling by a pulley, and presently allowed to fall with a jerk, dislocating his limbs.[ ] there are, indeed, many simpler, more convenient methods of torture. you can inject boiling water, vinegar, or oil into the accused, apply hot pitch, place hot eggs under the armpits, thrust sharp-cornered dice between the skin and flesh, tie lighted candles to the hands so that they can be consumed simultaneously with the wax, or allow water to drip from a great height upon the stomach. this, curiously enough, is said to break down the most stubborn criminals, as will watering the soles of the feet with salted water, and allowing goats to lick the same. however, the ordinary method is the rack. then the offender is laid on a wooden trestle, cords are bound to his limbs and then steadily tightened with winches. baron garnier in his day took great interest in obtaining a well-made rack. it now is put to proper use in "stretching" the two brigands. happily, these culprits break down after the first of them has undergone a few turns before his limbs are dislocated; and to the provost's satisfaction they howl out sundry details as to how their comrades can be taken. the prisoners are therefore remanded to custody until their statements can be investigated. woe to them if they have lied! in that event there are promised them much keener tortures to make them weary of life. while sire macaire is therefore leading his band after the remaining brigands, maître denis conducts the two captives back to prison. really it is only a few feet from the great hall of state in the _palais_, to the cells under the old donjon. in their confinement the prisoners can hear the revelry of the baron's guests. through their airholes drifts the jongleur's music. they can almost, at times, catch the swish and rustle of the rich dresses of the noblewomen. conon is accounted a merciful custodian compared with his uncle, but he does not let offenders forget their sins because of kindness. [sidenote: prisoners and dungeons] noble prisoners are entitled to relatively comfortable quarters, to double rations of decent food, to give bail if their alleged offense is not a very heavy one, and to be released on reasonable ransom if they are captives of war. villeins have no such privileges. they are fortunate if first they are not stripped naked as a pair of tongs before the lock rattles behind them. they are usually cast into filthy holes, sometimes with water running across the floor, and with reptiles breeding in the mire. in paris, where the king is considered more tender-hearted than the average seigneur, we hear of a cell of only eleven by seven feet in which ten people have been thrust to spend the night. of course, these were not great criminals. the latter might enjoy the _chausse d' hypocras_, where a man had his feet continually in water, or the _fosse_, a jug-shaped round chamber let into the bowels of the rock, into which prisoners must be lowered by a pulley from the ceiling;[ ] or a little-ease chamber, where one could neither sit nor stand. if, however, you have money you can sometimes bribe the turnkeys into letting you have a cell more private and less noisome, with the luxury of bedding and a chair;[ ] but in any case he who enters a feudal prison had better invoke his patron saint. maître denis has not treated the two brigands quite so badly as lay in his power. he has left them their clothes--since they are sure to be executed and he can get the raiment later. he has not put them in the _fosse_ (where baron garnier had sometimes dropped his victims) because of the trouble later of hoisting them out. he gives them coarse bread and some meat not unfit for dogs, at the same time advising them "on his word as a christian" to confer with father grégoire. the miserable pair are not long uncertain about their fate. they have told the truth about the lair of their comrades. the provost's band surprises the spot. six hardened rogues, in the very act of counting their plunder, are overpowered. but why weary messire the baron with the empty form of trying these robbers when there is no mortal doubt of their guilt and no new information is to be extracted from them? their throats are therefore cut as unceremoniously as the cook's boy attends to pigeons. the next day, wholly casually, sire macaire reports his good success to his lord, and remarks, "i presume, fair sire, that denis can hang the two he has in the dungeon." conon (just arranging a hawking party) rejoins: "as soon as the chaplain can shrive them." why, again, should the prisoners complain? they are certainly allowed to prepare decently for the next world, a favor entirely denied their comrades. if there had been any real doubt as to the guilt of the two bandits, they might in desperation have tried to clear themselves by _ordeal_. if they could have picked a stone out of a caldron of boiling water, lifted and carried a red-hot iron, or even partaken of the holy sacrament (first calling on god to strike them dead if they were guilty), and after such a test seemed none the worse, they might have had some claim to go free. _ordeals_ are an old germanic usage. they seem to refer the decision to all-seeing god. but ever since charlemagne's day they have been falling into disfavor. great churchmen are ordinarily too intelligent to encourage them. men learned in the law say that often they wrest justice. brave knights declare the only ordeal worth having is a duel between two champions. [sidenote: ordeals, the pillory and flogging] sometimes, instead of wrangling, clerics have undertaken to prove themselves right by "passing through fire"--walking down a narrow lane between two great piles of blazing fagots, and trusting that heaven will guard them even as it did the three hebrew children in nebuchadnezzar's furnace. such tests seldom are satisfactory. men still dispute about the ordeal of the monk peter barthelmey during the first crusade. he was accused of a pretended miracle and tried to vindicate himself by "passing through fire alive." all agreed that he emerged from the flames alive; yet in a few days he died. his foes said because he was sorely burned; his friends because, although unscathed by the fire, he was merely trampled upon by the crowd that rushed up to discover his fate! the only time one can ordinarily rely upon ordeals is in tests for witchcraft. if an old woman is so accused, she must be tied hand and foot and cast into the river. if she floats, the devil is aiding; draw her out, therefore, and burn her at the stake. if she sinks (as in a case recently at pontdebois) she is innocent. unfortunately, in this instance the poor wretch went to the bottom before they could determine that she was guiltless; but the saints know their own, and doubtless they have given recompense and rest to her soul. naturally many petty offenses do not deserve death. the criminals are usually too poor to pay fines, and it is a waste of honest folk's bread to let them spend set terms in prison. for small misdemeanants it is often enough to drive the rascals around the neighboring villages in a cart, calling out their names amid hootings and showers of offal. but in the village beyond the claire is located the pillory for a large class of rogues. it is a kind of high scaffold with several sets of chains and wooden collars, through which the offenders' arms and heads are thrust, while they stand for hours, in hot sun or winter cold, exposed to the jeerings and pebbles of the assembled idlers gathered beneath. the next stage of penalty is sometimes a public flogging. the prisoner is stripped to the waist and driven around the seigneury. at each crossroads his guards give so many blows over the shoulders with a knotted rope. we have seen how branding was ordered for one young miscreant to put on him an ineffaceable stigma; and not infrequently one can meet both men and women with a hand lopped off, or even an eye gouged out, as a merciful substitute for their true deserts upon the gallows. old baron garnier once, when peculiarly incensed, ordered the "hot bowl"--namely, that a red-hot brazier should be passed before the eyes of his victim until sight was destroyed. but if a villein has committed a great crime he were best dismissed from an overtroubled world. dead men never bother the provost twice. all over france you will find a gallows almost as common a sight in the landscape as a castle, an abbey, or a village. many a fine spreading tree by the roadway has a skeleton be-dangling from one of its limbs. it is a lucky family of peasants which has not had some member thereof hanged, and even then plenty of rogues will die in their beds. considering the general wickedness abroad, it seems as if there were a perpetual race between the criminals and the hangmen, with the criminals well to the fore.[ ] [sidenote: the public gallows] there are almost as many forms of execution as there are of torture. fearful criminals, gross blasphemers, and the like might be killed by quartering: first their flesh might be nipped off by red-hot pinchers and hot lead poured into their wounds; then death comes as a release by attaching a strong horse to each arm and leg and tearing the victim into four parts. witches, wizards, and heretics are, of course, burned, because they thus share the element of their patron, the devil. most malefactors, however, find beheading or hanging the ordinary ending. beheading is "honorable." it is the nobleman's expiation for misdeeds. the victim is not degraded and leaves no stigma upon his children. in england the headsman uses the ax, but in france he ordinarily swings a great two-handed sword. a skillful executioner does his business at one blow--a most merciful form of mortal exit. hanging, however, is "dishonorable." nobles who have especially exasperated their judges are sometimes subjected to it. henceforth people will cry, "their father was a felon," to their disgraced children. when a villein is ordered to die, he is ordinarily hanged, unless some other method is specified. in the village near st. aliquis the gallows is near the pillory. it is not so large as that huge gallows at montfaucon, near paris, which sees the end of so many of the city offenders, and where there is a great series of stone piers with wooden crosspieces, arranged in two stories, making twenty-four compartments in all. there are permanent ladders fixed for dragging up the criminals. when all the compartments are full and additional room is needed for more executions, some of the skeletons are thrown into a deep, hideous pit in the center of the structure. the less pretentious st. aliquis gallows has only four compartments. the structure stands close to the road, that all may learn how energetic are the baron's provosts. two compartments are now empty, however, and sire macaire is glad of a chance to fill them. because the two bandits made prompt confession they are not subjected now to a "previous" torture--that is, to a new racking as an extra punishment before execution. they are compelled, however, to perform the _amende honorable_. this involves being haled to the parish church in the village. a long candle is thrust in the hands of each victim. they are dragged forward by a noose, and at the door of the church cast themselves down and cry; "we have grievously sinned against heaven. our punishment is just. we beg pardon of god and man. may heaven have mercy upon our souls!" then they are forced back to the cart whereon they are being trundled to execution. "riding the cart" is a familiar phrase for going to the gallows. for a noble prisoner to be compelled to take his last journey upon a cart, instead of cavalier-wise upon a horse, is the last touch of degradation. the two bandits, securely pinioned, are placed in a two-wheeled vehicle, attended by maître denis and an assistant, and with father grégoire repeating prayers. they seem followed by all the lewd fellows of the baser sort in the entire region, and even certain knights and dames, come for the tournament, are not above craning their necks and gazing after the noisy procession. a hanging is just infrequent enough in st. aliquis to afford a little excitement. at the gallows maître denis acts with a fearful dexterity. first one, next the other, criminal is dragged up the ladder with the noose about his neck, then swung off into eternity with a merciful speed. a good hangman does not let his victims suffer long. soon a great flock of crows will be flapping around the gallows, giving the last rites to the lawbreakers, and the ogling crowd will slink away. [sidenote: ceremonies at an execution] the poor wretches are fortunate in that their anguish is not prolonged by such customs as obtain at paris. there many death carts stop at the convent of the filles-dieu, where the nuns are obligated to give every condemned criminal a glass of wine and three pieces of bread. this pathetic meal is seldom refused, and a great throng will stand gaping about until it is consumed. father grégoire, too, had mercifully refrained from a long public exhortation at the gallows as to how, literally, "the wages of sin is death," another custom ere offenders are turned off. but after the deed is over, confessor, executioner, and provost do not decline their perquisite after every such ceremony--a liberal banquet at the castle. these proceedings have been unpleasant but not unusual interludes between such happenings as the wedding and the adubbement. it is time to return to young squire aimery, and see how he has been educated and "nourished" preparatory to the greatest event in his life. footnotes: [ ] see pp. , . [ ] of course, a seigneur who grossly molested a peaceable traveling knight, or, for that matter, a villein in lawful errand going through the barony, could be cited before his suzerain's own tribunal for "denial of justice," and might (in clear-cut cases) have his whole position put in jeopardy. [ ] see p. . [ ] on account of the expense and trouble involved in attending the suzerain's court, and because of the risks of acting as judge, this feudal obligation was often poorly discharged. [ ] it was clearly recognized, also, that the "right of duel" was subject to abuses, and successful efforts were made to limit it to ( ) very serious offenses; ( ) cases where there was no direct evidence, but only circumstantial evidence, against the accused. [ ] the case of louis ix holding court under a great tree in the royal forest at vincennes will be recalled as typical of this custom. [ ] outside the barony he would probably be known by the name of the seigneury he served--_e.g._, "maître st. aliquis." down to the verge of the revolution the chief hangman of the capital of france was "monsieur paris." [ ] this method of torture by "squasations" seems to have been the one ordinarily used in the inquisition, which began its unhappy history in the thirteenth century. [ ] this was one of the famous _oubliettes_ ("chambers of forgetfulness") or _vade-in-pace_ (depart-in-peace) cells where the prisoners could be left to starve in pitch darkness, or perhaps be fed by a few scraps flung down from the hole in the vaulting. [ ] it was a great concession in the paris prisons when the government ordered that the jailers in the more public wards should "keep large basins on the pavement, so that the prisoners might get water whenever they wished." [ ] of course, the terrible severity of the penalties made many persons who were guilty of relatively small offenses feel that they had sinned beyond pardon. they would, therefore, plunge into a career of great crimes, to "have their fling" ere the inevitable gallows. chapter xi: the education of a feudal nobleman. to the noble troubadour bertran de born, a congenial comrade of richard the lion hearted, is attributed a little song which seems re-echoed in many a castle. peace delights me not! war--be thou my lot! law--i do not know save a right good blow! [sidenote: nobles delight in war] even a seigneur who nods pious assent to all that the monks and priests affirm in praise of peace wishes in his heart that it were not sinful to pray for brisk fighting. to be a good warrior, to be able to take and give hard blows, to enjoy the delights of victory over doughty adversaries, and finally to die a warrior's death on "the field of honor," not a "cow's death" in one's bed--that is the ambition of nearly every noble worthy of his gentility. bertran de born has again expressed this brutal joy in still greater detail: i prize no meat or drink beside the cry, "on! on!" from throats that crack: the neighs when frightened steeds run wide, a riderless and frantic pack, and set the forest ringing:-- the calls, "help! help!"--the warriors laid beside the moat with brows that fade to grass and stubble clinging:-- and then the bodies past all aid still pierced with broken spear or blade.... come barons, haste ye, bringing your vassals for the daring raid;-- _risk all--and let the game be played!_ clearly other and supposedly more peaceful ages will find in the feudal epoch a very bloody world. there is at least this extenuation. even in france the winters are cold, the days short, the nights long. castles at best are chilly, musty barracks. many people are living in a small space and are constantly jostling one another. thanks to sheer ennui, many a baron becomes capricious and tyrannical. even in summertime, hunts, hawking, jongleurs' lays, and tournaments grow stale. often the average cavalier is in a receptive mood for war just because he is grievously bored. [illustration: costume of a nobleman (thirteenth century)] the countenances of the older warriors around st. aliquis; the great scars on cheek, chin, and forehead; the mutilated noses and ears--tell how strenuous have been most of their lives. the scars are badges of honor. aimery is nigh regretful that there are no slashes on his youthful countenance, although sire eustace, his mentor, grimly assures him "this trouble will pass with time." aimery is now nineteen. his brother gave him a careful training, as becoming the cadet of a great house, and then arranged that he be "nourished"--that is, taken into the family and educated as squire--by a powerful count. unfortunately, just as aimery was about to demand knighthood of his lord, the latter suddenly died. he therefore returned to st. aliquis and waited some months impatiently, until conon could give him an adubbement worthy of the st. aliquis name. from earliest youth aimery has had success in arms held before him as the one thing worth living for. true, he has been taught to be pious. he understands it is well that god has created priests and monks, who may by their ceremonies and prayers enable the good warriors to enter into paradise. but the squire has never had the slightest desire to become a cleric himself. he thanks his divine patroness, st. génevieve, that conon has not treated him as so many younger brothers are treated, and forced him into the church. what is it to become a lazy rich canon, or even a splendid lord bishop, beside experiencing even the modest joys of a common sire with a small castle, a fast horse, good hawks, and a few stout retainers? aimery has learned to attend mass devoutly and to accept implicitly the teachings of the priests, but his moral training is almost entirely based on "courtesy," a very secular code indeed. hence he acts on the advice given him while very young: "honor all churchmen, but look well to your money." another well-remembered warning is never to put trust in villeins. he cannot, indeed, refuse to deal with them. he must treat them ordinarily with decency, but never trust them as real friends. the ignoble are habitually deceitful. they cannot understand a cavalier's "honor." they are capable of all kinds of base villainies. a sage man will have comradeship only with his nobly born peers, and pride is no fault in a baron when dealing with inferiors. [illustration: gothic writing from a thirteenth-century chart.] [sidenote: literary education of young nobles] although he is to be a warrior, aimery has been given a certain training in the science of letters. it is true that many seigneurs cannot read a word on the parchments which their scriveners interpret, draw up, or seal for them,[ ] but this is really very inconvenient. conon is genuinely thankful he is not thus at the mercy of father grégoire. another reason for literacy is that delightful books of romantic adventure are multiplying. the younger brother has, therefore, been sent over to the school at the neighboring monastery, where (along with a few other sons of noblemen) he has had enough of the clerk's art switched into him to be able to read french with facility, to pick out certain latin phrases, and to form letters clumsily on wax tablets--writing with a stylus something after the manner of the ancients.[ ] once possessed of this wonderful art of reading that aimery had while yet a lad, he could delve into the wonderful parchments of romances which told him of the brave deeds done of old. especially, he learned all about the trojan war, which was one long baronial feud between north french cavaliers fighting for the fair helen, imprisoned in a strong castle. his sympathy was excited for hector as the under dog. he read of many exploits which had escaped the knowledge of homer, but which were well known to romance trouvères. he reveled in scenes of slaughter whereof the figures are very precise, it being clearly stated that , greeks and , trojans perished in the siege of that remarkable trojan fortress. [illustration: a teacher holding a ferule in his hand restored by viollet-le-duc from a thirteenth-century manuscript in the bibliothèque nationale.] almost equally interesting was the history of alexander, based on the version of the pseudo-callisthenes. this was very unlike the accounts which other ages consider authentic. the names of the battles with darius were altered, strange adventures with the sirens crept into the narrative, and finally alexander (the tale ran) died sorely lamenting that he could not conquer france and make paris his capital. the story of cæsar is also available, but it seems less romantic, although full of episodes of fairies and dwarfs. for the history of france, aimery has learned that the country was originally settled by exiled trojans; later the romans came, and some time later one meets the great emperor charlemagne, whose exploits entwine themselves with charles martel's defeat of the saracens. charlemagne, we gather, conducted a crusade to the holy land and took jerusalem, although later the infidels regained it. recent french history remains very mixed in the young noble's mind until the great council of clermont ( ), which launched the first crusade. in the century after that great episode, however, the events stand out clearly, and of course he knows all the history of the local baronial houses down to the story of the petty feud forty years ago between two burgundian counts. but what is monk's or jongleur's lore compared with the true business of a born cavalier? when he was only seven or eight, aimery was fencing with a blunted sword. from ten onward he took more regular fencing lessons, first from sire eustace; then from a professional master, a keen gascon, hired by conon. equally early he had his horse, his hawks, and his dogs; he was taught how to care for them entirely himself, and was soon allowed to go on long rides alone into the dense forest in order to develop his resourcefulness, sense of direction, and woodcraft. then, as he grew taller, his brother began to deliver long lectures for his betterment, even as adela had admonished alienor. [sidenote: maxims for youthful cavaliers] one day conon exhorted him in the style of the old count guy advising his son doon in the epic, "doon of mayence." "ask questions of good men whom you know, but never put trust in a stranger. every day, fair brother, hear the holy mass; and whenever you have money give to the poor--for god will repay you double. be liberal in gifts to all, for a cavalier who is sparing will lose all in the end and die in wretchedness; but wherever you can, give without promising to give again. when you come to a strange house, cough very loudly, for there may be something going on there which you ought not to see. when you are in noble company, play backgammon; you will be the more prized on that account. never make a noise or jest in church; it is done only by unbelievers. if you would shun trouble, avoid meddling and pretend to no knowledge you do not possess. do not treat your body servant as your equal--that is, let him sit by you at table or take him to bed with you; for the more honor you do a villein the more he will despise you. after you are married by no means tell a secret to your wife; for if you let her know it you will repent your act the first time you vex her." and with this shrewd thrust at adela the flow of wisdom temporarily ceases. before he was fifteen aimery had thus learned to read and write, to ride and hawk, to play chess, checkers, and backgammon, to thrum a harp and sing with clear voice, to shoot with the arbalist, and to fence with considerable skill. he was also learning to handle a light lance and a shield while on horseback. then came his first great adventure--his brother sent him to the gentle count of bernon to be "nourished." the higher the baron the greater his desire to have nobly born lads placed in his castle as _nourris_, to serve as his squires and be trained as cavaliers. bernon had kept three squires simultaneously, as did conon himself. it is a friendly courtesy to send word to an old comrade in arms (as these two seigneurs had been), saying: "you have a fine son (or brother); send him to be 'nourished' in my castle. when he is of ripe age i will give him furs and a charger and dub him knight." of course, it was a high honor to be reared by a very great lord like the duke of quelqueparte; but younger sons or brothers did not often enjoy such good fortune. petty nobles had to send their sons to the manors of poor sires of their own rank, who could keep only one squire. [sidenote: training of a squire] once enrolled as squire to a count, aimery soon learned that his master was a kind of second father to him--rebuking and correcting him with great bluntness, but assuming an equal responsibility for his training. hereafter, whatever happened, no ex-squire could fight against his former master without sheer impiety. the emperor charlemagne once, in a passion, smote the hero roland in the face. roland turned red. his fist clenched--then he remembered how charlemagne had "nourished" him. he accepted an insult which to him no other mortal might proffer. it is held that no father or brother can enforce sufficient discipline over a growing lad, and that "it is proper he shall learn to obey before he governs, otherwise he will not appreciate the nobility of his rank when he becomes a knight." aimery in the de bernon castle surely received his full share of discipline, not merely from the count, but from the two older squires, who took pains at first to tyrannize over him unmercifully, until they became knighted, and he gained two new companions younger than himself, with whom he played the despot in turn. in his master's service aimery became expert in the use of arms. first he was allowed to carry the count's great sword, lance, and shield, and to learn how the older nobles could handle them. next he was given weapons and mail of his own, and began the tedious training of the tilt yard, discovering that a large part of his happiness in life would consist in being able to hold his lance steady while his horse was charging, to strike the point fairly on a hostile shield until either the tough lance snapped or his foe was flung from the saddle, and at the same time to pinch his own saddle tightly with his knees while with his own shield covering breast and head against a mortal blow. couch, charge, recover--couch, charge, recover--he must practice it a thousand times. meantime he was attending the count as a constant companion. he rose at gray dawn, went to the stables, and curried down his master's best horse; then back to the castle to assist his superior to dress. he waited on his lord and lady at table. he was responsible for receiving noble guests, preparing their chambers and generally attending to their comfort. on expeditions he led the count's great war charger when the seigneur rode his less fiery palfrey; and he would pass his lord his weapons as needed. at tournaments he stood at the edge of the lists, ready to rush in and rescue the count from under the stamping horses if he were dismounted. he was expected to fight only in emergencies, when his master was in great danger; but bernon was a gallant knight, and repeatedly in hot forays aimery had gained the chance to use his weapons. at the same time he was learning courtesy. he was intrusted with the escort of the countess and her daughters. he entertained with games, jests and songs noble dames visiting the castle. he learned all the details of his master's affairs. the count was supposed to treat him as a kind of younger self--intrust him with secrets, send him as confidential messenger on delicate business, allow him to carry his purse when he journeyed, and keep the keys to his coffers when at home. after aimery became first squire he was expected also to assist the seneschal in a last round of the castle at night, to make sure everything was locked and guarded; then he would sleep at the door of the count's chamber. beyond a doubt, since the count was an honorable and capable man, aimery received thereby a training of enormous value. while still a lad he had large responsibilities thrust upon him, and learned how to transmit commands and to handle difficult situations. he was versed in all the ordinary occasions of a nobleman. when he became a knight himself, he would be no tyro in all the stern problems of feudal life. [illustration: maneuvering with a lance in the thirteenth century restored by viollet-le-duc, from a manuscript in the bibliothèque nationale.] thus conon's brother came within four years to be an admirable _damoiseau_ (little lord), an epithet decidedly more commendatory than its partial equivalent "squire" (_ecuyer_, shield bearer).[ ] [sidenote: martial exercises, the quintain] of course, his military training had proceeded apace. soon he was allowed to tilt with his horse and lance at the _quintain_. this is a manikin covered with a coat of mail and a shield, and set on a post. the horseman dashes up against it at full gallop, and tries to drive his lance through shield and armor. there are many variations for making the sport harder. after aimery could strike the _quintain_ with precision he took his first tilt against an older squire. never will he forget the grinding shock of the hostile lance splintering upon his shield; the almost irresistible force that seemed smiting him out of the saddle; the dismay when he found his own lance glancing harmlessly off the shield of his opponent, slanted at a cunning angle. but practice makes perfect. when he finally returned to st. aliquis his own brother was almost unhorsed when they tried a friendly course by the barbican. so aimery completed his education. if he has failed to learn humility, humanity to villeins, and that high respect for women which treats them not merely as creatures to be praised and courted, but as one's moral and intellectual equals, he at least has learned a high standard of honor in dealing with his fellow nobles. the confidences his master has reposed in him have made it a fundamental conviction that it were better to perish a dozen times than to betray a trust. he believes that the word of a cavalier should be better than the oath of the ignoble. as for courage, it were better to die like ganelon, torn by wild horses, than to show fear in the face of physical danger. he has been trained also to cultivate the virtue of generosity to an almost ruinous extent. free giving is one of the marks of a true nobleman. largess is praised by the minstrels almost as much as bravery. "he is not a true knight who is too covetous." therefore money is likely to flow like water through aimery's fingers all his life. the one redeeming fact will be that, though he will be constantly _giving_, he will always be as constantly _receiving_. among the nobles there is an incessant exchanging of gifts--horses, armor, furs, hawks, and even money. all wealth really comes from the peasants, yet their lords dispose carelessly of it even though they do not create it. even the villeins, however, will complain if their masters do not make the crowds scramble often for coppers--never realizing that these same coppers represent their own sweat and blood. [sidenote: demanding knighthood] as already stated, aimery's master had died (to his squire's sincere grief) shortly before the latter could have said to him according to the formula, "fair sire, i demand of you knighthood." the young man has accordingly returned to st. aliquis, and waited for some action by his brother. knighthood means for a noble youth the attainment of his majority. it involves recognition as a complete member of that aristocracy which was separated by a great gulf from the villeins. very rarely can the base-born hope for that ceremonial buffet which admits them to the company of the gentle. if a peasant has exhibited remarkable courage and intelligence, and above all has rendered some extraordinary service to a duke or king, sometimes his villein blood may be forgotten officially. but even if he is knighted, all his life he can be treated as a social upstart, his dame despised and snubbed by noblewomen, and his very grandchildren reminded of the taint of their ancestor. true, indeed, not all men of nobility can become knights. knighthood ordinarily implies having a minimum of landed property, and ability to live in aristocratic idleness. many poor nobles, and especially the younger sons of poor nobles, remain bachelors, fretting upon their starving properties, or serving some seigneur as mercenaries, and hoping for a stroke of fortune so that they can demand knighthood. but they are likely to die in their poverty, jealous of the rich sires, yet utterly scornful of the peasants and thanking the saints they are above touching a plow, mattock, or other vulgar means of livelihood. on the other hand, there are many seigneurs who, although rich and dubbed as knights, nevertheless give the lie to their honors by their effeminacy and luxury. they are worse than the baron whom we saw as a _trouvère_ and collector of minstrels' romances, and who even read latin books. the monkish preachers scold such weaklings and pretended gallants. "to-day our warriors are reared in luxury. see them leave for the campaign! are their packs filled with iron, with lances, with swords? not so, but with leathern bottles filled with wine, with cheeses, and spits for roasting. one would imagine that they were going to a feast in the gardens and not to a battle. they carry splendidly plated shields; but greatly they hope to bring them back undented."[ ] such unworthy knights unquestionably can be found, but they have not tainted the whole nobility. your average cavalier has spent his entire life training for combat; he dreams of lance thrusts and forays; and the least of his sins is that he will shun deadly blows. at last the great day for which aimery has waited is at hand. to-morrow conon will dub him a knight. footnotes: [ ] as late as about there was a "grand chamberlain of france" who seems to have been absolutely illiterate. [ ] it is risky to generalize as to the extent of learning among the average nobles. some modern students would probably represent them as being sometimes better lettered than were conon and aimery. [ ] the sharp distinction between the young attendants known as "pages," and the older "squires," had hardly been worked out by a.d. . such young persons could also be called "varlets," but that name might be given as well to non-noble servitors. when chivalry was at its height the theory developed that a nobleman's son should spend his first to his seventh year at home with his mother, his eighth to his fifteenth in suitable training as a "page," and from that time till he was one-and-twenty serving as a squire. this precise demarcation of time was probably seldom adhered to. many ambitious young nobles would serve much less than seven years as a squire. on the other hand, many petty nobles might remain squires all their lives, for lack of means to maintain themselves as self-respecting knights. [ ] the words quoted are those of the archdeacon peter of blois, haranguing about a.d. . chapter xii: feudal weapons and horses. dubbing a knight. the thing which really separates a noble from a villein is the former's superiority in arms. true, god has made the average cavalier more honorable, courteous, and sage than the peasant; but, after all, his great advantage is material. the villeins, poor churls, spend their days with shovel, mattock, or in mechanic toil. doubtless, they can grow wheat, raise pigs, weave cloth, or build houses better than their masters, but in the use of arms how utterly are they inferior. how can a plowman, though you give him weapons, hold his own against a man of gentility who has been trained in arms from early boyhood. as for the peasants with their ordinary weapons--flails, boar spears, great knives, scythes set on poles, bows and arrows--suppose ten of them meet one experienced cavalier in full panoply upon a reliable charger. his armor will turn their puny blows. he will, perhaps, have brained or pinked through four of them before the other six can run into the woods. no wonder nobles give the law to villeins! the noble is almost always a horseman. it is the great war steed that gives him much of his advantage, and a large part of the remainder comes from his magnificent armor, which enables him often to go through desperate contests unscathed, and which is so expensive that most non-nobles can never afford it. a good cavalier despises missile weapons, he loves to come to grips. bowmen are despised as being always villeins. says a poet, "coward was he who was the first archer; he was a weakling and dared not come close to his foe." and many armies are reckoned by cavalry alone, even as sang another minstrel of a legendary host, "there were in it sixty thousand knights, not counting foot soldiers of whom no account is taken." [illustration: a knight at the end of the thirteenth century restored by viollet-le-duc, from a manuscript in the bibliothèque nationale. he wears on his shoulders small metal plaques called "ailettes."] old warriors dislike arbalists, those terrible crossbows, wound up with a winch, which enable base-born infantrymen to send heavy bolts clear through shirts of mail. they are most unknightly things. in a lateran council actually forbade their use against christians. arbalists certainly are useful in sieges for clearing ramparts or repelling attack; but they take so long to wind up after every shot that their value in open battles is limited. crossbowmen, unless carefully protected, can be ridden down by cavalry. so for another hundred years the mailed knight will hold his own. then may come the english long-bow (far more rapid in its fire than the arbalist), and the day of the infantry will return. [sidenote: training to fight in armor] knights are continually fighting, or at least are exercising most violently in tourneys; yet the proportion of contestants slain is not very great. this is because their armor makes them almost invulnerable. after a battle, if you count the dead, you find they are usually all from the poor villein infantry or the luckless camp followers. yet this harness has inconveniences. it is so heavy that the knight is the prisoner of his own armor. he can hardly mount his horse unassisted. once flung from the saddle, he can scarcely rise without help. the lightest suit of armor in common use weighs at least fifty-five pounds. powerful knights often wear much heavier. yet to be able to move about with reasonable freedom, to swing one's shield, to control one's horse, and finally to handle lance or sword with great strength and precision, doing it all in this ponderous clothing of metal, are what squires like aimery must learn to a nicety ere claiming knighthood. wearing such armor, it is not remarkable that noblemen always prefer horseback, and fight on foot only in emergencies. the prime unit in a suit of armor is the hauberk. he who has a fine hauberk, light (considering the material), pliable, and of such finely tempered steel as to be all but impenetrable, has something worth a small manor land. on this hauberk will often depend his life. in the olden days, before about a.d. , the hauberk was a shirt of leather or quilted cloth, covered by overlapping metal plates like fishscales. now, thanks to ideas probably gathered from the saracens, it is a shirt of ring mails, a beautiful network of fine chains and links, in the manufacturing of which the armorers ("the worthiest folk among all villeins," declares conon) can put forth remarkable skill. the double or triple links are all annealed. the metal is kept bright and "white" by constant polishing (a regular task for the squires), and conon has one gala shirt of mail which has been silvered. these garments form an almost complete protection, thanks to long sleeves, a long skirt below the knees, and a hood coming right over the head and partly covering the cheeks. a few brightly colored threads are sometimes worked into the links for ornament, but the flashing sheen of a good hauberk is its sufficient glory. the widowed countess of bernon has sent to aimery, as token of good will, a ring shirt belonging to her husband. the knight-to-be swears that he will never dishonor its former owner while he wears it. [illustration: german helmets of the thirteenth century] [sidenote: hauberks, helmets and shields] the next great unit in the armor is the helmet. helmets have been steadily becoming more complicated, but most warriors still prefer a plain conical steel cap encircled with a band of metal which may be adorned with gilt enamel. it has also a "nasal," a metal bar to protect the nose. helmets are usually laced to the hood of the hauberk by small leathern straps. since even a light and well-tempered helmet is an uncomfortable thing, you seldom wear it until just before going into action. "lace helmets!" is the order to get ready for a charge; and after a knight is wounded the first friendly act is to unlace his headpiece. by the early thirteenth century helmets are beginning to have closed visors to keep out missiles. but these visors are immovable without taking off the whole helm; and if they get displaced and the small eyeholes are shifted, the wearer is practically blind. the old-style open helm will therefore continue in vogue until the coming of the elaborate plate armor and the more manageable jointed helms of the fourteenth century. [illustration: a thirteenth-century shield] the third great protection is the shield. these have been getting smaller as hauberks and helmets have been improving; but one cannot trust solely to the body armor. besides, a shield is a kind of offensive weapon. a sharp thrust with its edge or a push with its broad surface may often knock your opponent over. aimery's new shield is semioval and slightly pointed at the bottom. it covers its possessor from shoulder to knees while sitting on his horse. the stoutest kind of hide is used in making it, with a backing of light, tough wood, and a strong rim of metal. it curves inward slightly for the better protection of the body. in the center is a metal knob, usually of brilliant brass, and the name "buckler" comes from this strong "boss" (_boucle_). there is a big leather strap by which the shield is ordinarily carried about the neck; but when you go into action you run your left arm through two strong handles. a shield seems a simple object, but almost as much skill goes into compacting the wood, leather, and metal into one strong mass, not easily split or pierced, as into making the hauberk. the front, of course, is highly colored, and, although the heraldic "coat armor" has yet hardly developed, every cavalier will flaunt some design of a lion, eagle, dragon, cross, or floral scroll. as for the handling of the shield, it is nearly as great a science as the handling of the sword; indeed, the trained warrior knows how to make shield and sword, or shield and lance, strike or fend together almost as one weapon. [illustration: thirteenth-century swords] nevertheless, it is the strictly offensive weapons on which the noble warrior sets greatest store, and the weapon _par excellence_ is the sword. barons often love their swords perhaps more than they love their wives. they treat them almost as if they are persons. they try to keep them through their entire lives. according to the epics, the hero roland liked to talk to his sword "durendal," and ogier to his "brans." conon swears one of his fiercest oaths, "by my good sword 'hautemise,'" and aimery has named his new sword "joyeuse," after the great blade of charlemagne. [sidenote: swords and lances] there are many fashions in swords. you can always revive a flagging conversation by asking whether your companion likes a tapering blade or one of uniform thickness and weight. but the average weapon is about three inches wide at the hilt, and some thirty-two inches long in blade, slightly tapering. the hilt should be adorned with gilt, preferably set with pearls, and at the end have a knob containing some small saints' relics placed behind a bit of crystal to reveal the holy objects. conon's hautemise thus contains some dried blood of st. basil, several hairs of st. maurice, and lint from the robe which st. mary magdalene wore after she repented. these relics are convenient, for whenever a promise must be authenticated, the oath taker merely claps his hand on his hilt, and his vow is instantly registered in heaven. the lance is the other great weapon of the cavalier. normally you use it in the first combats, and resort to your sword only after the lance is broken. the average lance is not more than ten feet long.[ ] it has a lozenge-shape head of fine poitou or castile steel. care must be taken in selecting straight, tough, supple wood for the shaft and in drying it properly, for the life of the warrior may depend on the reliability of his lance shaft, and the amount of sudden strain which it can stand in a horse-to-horse encounter. ashwood is ordinarily counted the best. as a rule there is no handle on the butt. the art of grasping the round wood firmly, of holding the long weapon level with the hip, and finally of making the sharp tip strike squarely on the foeman's shield (however he may slant the latter) is a matter of training for wrist and eye which possibly exceeds all skill in fencing. the whole body works together in lance play. the horse must be guided by the knees; the shield must be shifted with the left hand, the lance with the right; the eye and nerves must be under perfect control--and then, with man and horse fused into one flying weapon, away you go--what keener sport can there be in the world?[ ] [illustration: horse trappings restored by viollet-le-duc, from a manuscript in the bibliothèque nationale.] yet there is something more important to the warrior than his panoply. what is a cavalier without his horse? few, indeed, are the humans whom the best of barons will set above his favorite destrer. your horses are comrades in hunt, tourney, and battle. by their speed and intelligence they save your life when squire or vassal avail not. when they fail, commend your soul to the saints--you will soon be in purgatory. from boyhood a cavalier has almost lived in the saddle. when in danger he knows all the capacities of his charger, and trusts him accordingly. such a companion is to be treated with care. he is fed daintily; he is combed and tricked out like a delicate woman, and when ill he is physicked with more wisdom possibly than will be vouchsafed to most christian denizens of a castle. stories abound of how horses have succored their masters and stood watch over them while sleeping; and even one tale of how, when a knight returned after seven years, he was not recognized by his betrothed, but was by his faithful destrer. another anecdote is how a knight answered, on being asked, "what will be your chief joy in paradise?" "to see blanchart, my old horse." such being the case, the greatest pains are taken with horse breeding. rich seigneurs rejoice in valuable stallions, and even monasteries keep breeding stables. a fine horse is an even more acceptable gift to a potentate than a notable hawk. many horses are called "arabian," but probably these come from north africa. in france are raised horses equal to the best, especially those powerful steeds not quite so swift as the oriental, but better able to bear a knight in ponderous armor. gascon horses are in particular demand, and conon takes peculiar satisfaction in a brood mare from bordeaux. to ride a mare, however, is regarded as unknightly--"the women to the women"--probably an old teutonic prejudice. aimery, while squire, found the care of the count's horses a prime duty. this was no trifle, for de bernon, like every magnate, always kept several palfreys, handsome steeds of comfortable pace for peace-time riding, besides his special destrer--the great fierce war horse for battle. "to mount the high horse"--the destrer--is to show one's pride, not by vain boasting, but by displaying oneself in terrible weapons.[ ] of course, however, the haughty young squire did not have to bother about his lord's _roncins_, the ordinary steeds for the servants, or the _sommiers_ for the baggage, humbler creatures still. the favorite color for horses is white; after that dappled gray; after that bay or chestnut. poets exhaust their skill in describing beautiful steeds, as if they were beautiful women. wrote one bard about a gascon horse: "his hair outshone the plumage of a peacock; his head was lean; his eye gray like a falcon; his breast large and square; his crupper broad; his thigh round; and rump tight. all beholding him exclaimed 'they had never seen a handsomer creature!'" [illustration: a knight of the thirteenth century from a bas-relief in the church of saint-nazaire at carcassonne (viollet-le-duc).] [sidenote: the great war horses] such precious beings have names of honor. charlemagne's destrer was the great tencendur. roland charged on veilantif. carbonel, palantamur, grisart are familiar names; and conon's dearly loved companion is regibet, whom, with all his fierceness, the baron could ride safely without bit, bridle, or spurs. the harness of the war horse is still very simple. the elaborate trappings and armor belong to a later age, but the stirrups and high saddle can be gilded and even set with pearls. more noticeable still are the dozens of little bells on different parts of the harness, which jingle merrily like sleigh bells of another age, as the great steeds pound along. aimery has lived where hauberks, helms, shields, swords, and lances have been the small coin of conversation since he has been able to talk. he has come to know horseflesh far better than he knows that other important mortal thing called "woman." he has now reached the age when he is extremely confident in his own abilities and equally confident that a fame like roland's or godfrey of bouillon's is waiting him, provided the saints will assist. if he could have followed daydreaming, he would have been dubbed knight by the king himself after mighty deeds on the field of battle, while still covered with blood and grime; but such fair fortune comes only in the romances. at least, he is glad that he has a brother who is a brother indeed, and does not keep him in the background nor withhold from him his inheritance, as is the luck of so many younger sons. [illustration: a thirteenth-century knight from sculpture in the cathedral of rheims.] [sidenote: candidates for knighthood] it is a great grief that aimery's father is not living to see his sons "come to knighthood." a good father always looks forward to that happy day; although in some disordered fiefs the seigneur will have to watch jealously lest the moment his offspring become full-fledged warriors they are not worked upon by disloyal vassals who will tell them, "your father is old, and cannot rule the barony; seize it for yourselves." even kings have to guard against this danger. philip augustus has knighted his heir, prince louis, only after the latter has taken a solemn oath not to enroll armed followers or perform other sovereign acts, save with his father's specific consent. theoretically, any knight can grant adubbement to any person he thinks worthy; but actually a knight who dubs a villein, save in very exceptional circumstances, will jeopardize his own claim to nobility; and if he thrusts the honor on young, untried petty nobles, he will be laughed at, and their claims to the rank be promptly questioned. fathers have often dubbed their sons, but better still, a young noble will seek the honor from his suzerain. aimery learns with satisfaction that the duke of quelqueparte has consented to give the buffet of honor, for the higher the rank of the adubbing cavalier, the greater the glory of the ex-squire. [illustration: a thirteenth-century knight from a bas-relief at the cathedral of rheims (viollet-le-duc).] the adubbement of knights is still a decidedly secular ceremony. doubtless, the custom can be somewhat traced back to the crude rites whereby germanic youths were initiated into the ranks of first-class warriors. beyond the vigil in the church and the hearing of mass, there is not much that is religious about it. clerical customs are indeed intruding. young nobles like to visit rome and be dubbed by the pope. others now are beginning to kneel before bishops and crave knighthood as a kind of lay consecration. opinion, however, still frowns on this. adubbement is a military business and churchmen had better keep their place. it will be more than a hundred years before religion and sentimentality can intrude much into what has long been a distinctly martial affair. [sidenote: ceremonies before adubbement] easter, ascension day, pentecost and st. john's day are acceptable times for adubbements; but there are plenty of precedents for combining the ceremony with an important wedding, as it might be with the baptism of the heir to a barony. in the present case, moreover, as happens very often, aimery, although the chief candidate for knighthood, is not alone. the duke will give the qualifying blow to five other young men, sons of the st. aliquis vassals; and, indeed, twenty or more candidates are often knighted together at the king's court. [illustration: a beggar end of the twelfth century (from a manuscript in the bibliothèque nationale).] the night before the ceremony the whole castle is in as great a stir as before the wedding. more guests, more feasting, more jongleurs, perpetual singing, music, noise. upon the table in the great hall adela and alienor (as substitutes for aimery's mother) have laid out for public admiration the costume which he will assume the next day. the articles are selected as carefully as for the bridal--especially the spotless white shirt, the costly robe of ermine, and the spurs of gold. a host of beggars swarm in the bailey, for this occasion calls for an unusual recklessness of almsgiving. even the invited guests are throwing around coppers, thereby proving their nobility. as for aimery, when the evening falls he and his five companions take a complete bath, not without considerable solemnity. this act has genuine significance. "it is to efface all villainies of the past life, that the bather may come out pure."[ ] there are no boisterous splashing and merrymaking as the youths sit in the long wooden bathtubs. while they dress themselves, smiling sergeants appear with presents. relatives, the suzerain, noble friends, have sent them articles of costly apparel, usually silken and fur-lined, to wear during their "vigil at arms." these are very much like the gifts that are showered upon a bride. it is about half a mile from st. aliquis castle to the parish church. after their bath the six candidates go hither, attended by the youths who are to become their squires. the company is joyous, but not noisy; violent mirth were unbecoming. at the church the squires-to-be leave the others. the candidates enter the great dark building. on the high altar a lamp burns, and on the side altar of st. martin, the warrior saint, is a blaze of candles before a picture showing the holy man in the costume of a knight giving half of his military cloak to a beggar. the new weapons and armor of the candidates have been laid upon this altar. then the vigil begins. the six knights-elect must not converse. they can only stand, or kneel at preference, for the whole ten hours--a serious physical ordeal. during the solemn silence they are expected to pray to all their patron saints and make solemn vows to govern their whole life. it is a time for serious meditation, and aimery beseeches, "give to me honor," loyally adding, "and to my brother long life!" he does not ask "honor" for conon also, for that would imply the mighty baron still needed it. then at last dawn creeps through the storied windows. an old priest enters and says mass, which the candidates follow gravely. at six in the morning, with the summer air bright and beautiful around them, they are all going again to the castle, merry and talkative in reaction from the long constraint. [sidenote: dressing the candidates] back in the castle aimery is glad of an unusually hearty breakfast. not merely has the long vigil of standing wearied him, but he will need all his strength for the ordeal of the day. next he goes to his chamber, where the stripling who is to be his squire, the son of a friendly baron, puts on his new master's gala dress. white is the predominant color--"whiter than the snow of the april flowers." friends of his brother come in to witness the process, and compliment the candidate very openly upon his broad shoulders, healthy complexion, and hardened sinews. these congratulations become more pronounced when a bustling servitor announces that "all is ready." aimery strides into the courtyard. the place seems crammed with knights and dames, old and young, all in their best. everybody (partly from politeness, partly from genuine enthusiasm) begins to call out: "how fine he is! a true st. aliquis! right worthy of his brother!" immediately two loud trumpets announce the ceremony. a great orchestra of jongleurs raises a clamor. the sight is magnificent. the castle court seems alive with color. the women are in striking costumes, with their long hair hanging braided on their shoulders. the knights wear either bliauts, green, blue, or red, or hauberks of dazzling brightness. the numerous priests present have on their finest robes. even the monks seem less somber in their habits. all is noise, music, and animation. the six candidates, followed by the whole rejoicing company, cross the bailey and the lists and go forth to the exercise ground by the garden. here there is a platform covered with fine saracen carpets. the duke of quelqueparte stands thereon, a majestic elderly warrior in gilded armor. the six candidates form a semicircle at the foot of the platform; then aimery, as the brother of the giver of the fête, is the first to mount. immediately his "first sponsor" presents himself, a white-headed knight, a maternal uncle. deliberately he kisses the candidate; then, kneeling, puts on his two golden spurs. as the uncle steps back, conon and olivier present themselves. they are the second and third sponsors. they pull a dazzling white steel hauberk over aimery's head and adjust its cape. upon this last they set the equally brilliant helmet, adorned with semiprecious stones. then the fourth sponsor, the stately count of perseigne, girds on the candidate's sword, adding a few words of admonition how the younger man "must use it worthily"; to which the other responds by lifting the weapon and piously kissing the relics set in the hilt. [sidenote: the buffet of knighthood] the four sponsors step back. the assembled jongleurs give a mighty crash of music. the duke lifts his clenched hand. "bow the head!" he orders. "i will give you the blow." aimery bows himself meekly to the greater lord, but his meekness is tested by the terrific stroke of his suzerain's fist, which sends him reeling. but the instant he recovers, the duke seizes him in comradely embrace. "be brave, sire aimery. recall that you are of a lineage famous both as seigneurs and as vassals, and do nothing base. honor all knights. give to the poor. love god. go!" the happy cavalier replies: "i thank you, fair lord, and may god hear you. let me always serve and love him." then he descends the platform, and each of the other candidates mounts in turn to be knighted with similar ceremonies, although the sponsors (drawn from relatives or connections) will be different. the crowd standing round follows the proceedings with the uttermost interest, joining in a mighty shout each time the blow of honor is given. then conon, as master of ceremonies, waves to his marshal. "bring in the horses!" immediately the new squires to the new knights appear, leading six steeds, faultlessly groomed and in beautiful harness--the gift of the baron to the candidates. the instant the horses are in front of the platform the new cavaliers break from their statuesque rigidity. clothed as they are now in heavy hauberk and helmet, they run, each man to his horse, and try to leap to the saddle at one bound without touching foot to the stirrups. an anxious moment for them; an equally anxious moment for parents, brothers, or sisters. from the time a young nobleman is in his cradle his mother will discuss with his father, "will he make the 'leap' when he is knighted?" it is one of the great tests of a martial education, and one that must be taken with the uttermost publicity. truth to tell, aimery and his friends have been practicing the feat with desperate energy for the last month. done! all six have mounted fairly! salvos of applause. his friends are congratulating conon: "such a brother!" the kinsfolk of the other young knights are similarly overwhelmed. [sidenote: concluding exercises] meantime the happy new cavaliers hold their horses motionless for an instant while their squires run to them with their lances and triangular shields. the lances have long bright pennons with three tails which float down upon their riders' helmets. this act performed, the riders put their steeds through all manner of gallops and caracoles, and next, "singing high with clear voice," away they go, flying toward a place on the exercise ground where the _quintain_--the wooden manikin warrior--has been set up.[ ] to smash its shield and fling it to the ground with a single lance thrust is another unescapable test. this ordeal also is met by aimery and his peers with tolerable glory for all. after this sport the new knights are expected to _behourder_--that is, to indulge in mock duels with blunted weapons. these were not counted serious contests, but often enough, if blood is high and rivalry keen, they can take on the form of vigorous combats. to-day, however, everybody is in too good humor for violent blows; besides, the real tournament begins to-morrow, and it is best to keep strength and weapons until then. the morning is now spent. seigneurial appetites have been nobly whetted. the pavilions are again ready in the garden, and the cooks have prepared pasties, joints of meat, and great quantities of roast poultry, even as for the wedding feast. there is another round of gorging and guzzling, only this time the six new knights occupy the place of honor, and the master jongleur's story is not concerning sad tristan, but about how brave godfrey of bouillon stormed jerusalem. everybody is commenting upon the admirable grace, modesty, and proficiency in arms of sire aimery. a count has approached conon already before dinner. "fair baron, you have a brother who is a credit to your name. is it true he is to receive petitmur? i have a daughter in her fifteenth year; her dowry will be----" but conon tactfully shrugs his shoulders. "fair count, my brother will indeed receive petitmur; but to-day he is knighted and can speak for himself. make your marriage proposals to him. i have no longer the right to control him." footnotes: [ ] lances grew longer and stouter in the later middle ages. in the fourteenth century they were about fifteen feet long and were a kind of battering rams designed to dash one's opponent out of the saddle, even if his armor were not pierced. [ ] another weapon not infrequently used was the mace, an iron-headed war club with a fairly long handle. in powerful hands such a weapon could fell the sturdiest opponent, however good his armor. the mace was somewhat the favorite of martial bishops, abbots, and other churchmen, who thus evaded the letter of the canon forbidding clerics to "smite with the edge of the sword," or to "shed blood." the mace merely smote your foe senseless or dashed out his brains, without piercing his lungs or breast! another weapon especially common in the early middle ages was the battle ax. [ ] the destrer was so called because it was supposed to be led at the knight's right hand (_dexter_) and ready for instant use, as he traveled on his less powerful palfrey. [ ] as chivalry took on its later and more religious cast, all the acts of an adubbement became clothed with allegorical meaning--_e.g._ besides the bath, the candidate must lie down (at least for a moment) upon a bed, because "it was an emblem of the rest which god grants to his followers, the brave knights." the candidate's snow-white shirt is to show that "he must keep his flesh from every stain if he would hope to reach heaven." his scarlet robe shows that he "must be ready to pour out his blood for holy church." his trunk hose of brown silk "remind him by their somber hue he must die." his white girdle "warns him that his soul should be stainless." [ ] see p. . chapter xiii: the tourney. when conon decided to give a tourney as a climax to the wedding and adubbement festivities, he sent out several servitors of good appearance and loud voices to course the country for some twenty leagues around. these varlets bawled their proclamation at every crossroad, village, inn, and castle gate. "the wednesday after st. ancildus day, good people! in the meadow at st. aliquis by the claire. the wednesday after st. ancildus day! let all come who love to see or to join in deeds of valor!" this is "crying the tourney." as soon as the news spreads abroad, every petty sire takes council with his wife whether he can afford to go. the women begin to hunt up their best bliauts and furs; the men to furbish their armor. soon various cavaliers, arranging with their friends, undertake to form challenge parties. they write on a scroll "at the castle of a---- there are seven knights who will be ready to joust with all comers to st. aliquis." this they post on a tree by the wayside in order that other lordlings may organize similar parties to confront them. tourneys are to be reckoned as "little wars themselves, and the apprenticeship for great ones." they have an inconceivably prominent place in feudal life. vainly the church objects to them. all nobles will tell you that without tourneys you can never train good warriors. [sidenote: early tourneys were battles] tourneys, however, bring profit and pleasure to all manner of people--no cause for unpopularity. the "joy women," who rush to ply their sinful wiles despite every attempt to restrict them; the common villeins, who drop their work to enjoy one grand holiday; and the merchants, who really hold a small fair near the lists, all are delighted. as for men of gentle blood, an english chronicler can state the case alike for france and england: "a knight cannot shine in war if he has not been prepared for it in tourneys. he must have seen his own blood flow, have had his teeth crackle under the blow of his adversary, have been dashed to the earth with such force as to feel the weight of his opponent, and disarmed twenty times; he must twenty times have retrieved his failures, more than ever set on combat." _then_ he will be ready for actual war and can hope to conquer! in early feudal days tourneys differed from battles merely in that the time and the place were fixed in advance, and fair conditions arranged. according to the epics, at "charlemagne's court" the nobles often got tired of ordinary sports and "demanded a tourney." the results were merely pitched battles in which many were slain and many more wounded. there was no luxury, pomp, or patronage by fair ladies at the earliest tourneys.[ ] they were exceedingly violent pastimes in which "iron men" measured their strength and rejoiced in deadly blows. since then tourneys have been getting less brutal. an important spectacular element is intruding. the rules of combat are becoming more elaborate, fewer knights are killed, and there is an appeal to something better than mere fighting instinct. on the other hand, in the thirteenth century jousts and mêlées are far from being mere displays of fine armor and fine manners. the military element is still uppermost. furthermore, since the vanquished cavaliers are the prisoners of the victors and are subject to ransom, or at least their horses and armor are forfeit, certain formidable knights go from tourney to tourney deliberately seeking profit by taking prisoners. in short, so dangerous are tourneys even yet, that as recently as , when prince louis, heir of king philip, was knighted, his father made him swear he would merely watch them as spectator--for the life of a prince royal is too precious to risk in such affairs. the popes have long since denounced tourneys. innocent ii, eugenius iii, alexander iii, and finally the great and wise innocent iii have prohibited christians from participating in the same under peril of their souls. but _cui bono_? great barons who shudder at the thought of eating beef on fridays defy the church absolutely when it comes to a matter of "those creations of the devil" (to quote st. bernard of clairvaux) in which immortal souls are so often sped. when conon decides to add a tourney as a climax to his fête, a score of carpenters are hired down from pontdebois to help out the levy of peasants in preparing the lists and lodges. some of the guests have already come to the wedding and the adubbement, but many more arrive merely for the knightly contests. for these, of course, the baron affords only limited hospitality--a good place to pitch their tents, water and forage, with perhaps an invitation to the castle hall at dinner time to certain leaders. many visitors can get accommodation in the better houses in the village, or at the monastery; but, the weather being fine, the majority prefer to set out their pavilions by the claire, and the night before the sports begin there seem to be tents enough for an army. [sidenote: the lists and the lodges] the visitors come in their best bliauts and armor. certain powerful counts collect as many lesser nobles as possible, even making up bands of twenty knights, twenty squires, a great number of ladies and waiting women, also some hundreds of ignoble servitors. except for the presence of the women and the omission of military precautions, you might think them going to an ordinary muster for war. meantime, in the wide exercise ground where sire aimery had been dubbed, the special lists are made ready. these are simple affairs, something like a race course of other days. two pairs of strong wooden palisades are erected. the outer line is shoulder high; the inner is lower and has many openings. between the two lines is the space for spare horses, squires, attendants, and heralds; also for privileged spectators. the humbler onlookers will peer standing over the outer palisade, but behind and above this rise the series of lodges, shaded with tentlike canopies, floored with carpets, and gay with pennons. in them will be stationed the ladies and the older, less martial knights. the space within the lists is some hundred yards long by fifty wide. that evening conon and sire eustace survey the decorations, the forest of banners waving over the colored pavilions of the visitors, and listen complacently to the glad hum of voices and the jongleur's chants everywhere arising. "ah, fair baron," says the seneschal, "all france will talk of this spear breaking until christmas! it will be a great day for st. aliquis." at gray dawn the heralds from the castle go through the avenues of tents, calling, monotonously: "let the jousters make ready! let the jousters make ready!" soon squires half dressed are seen running to and fro. there is a great saddling and girdling, neighing and stamping. a few pious knights and dames hurry to the castle chapel for a mass very hastily said, but the bulk of the company cross themselves and mutter: "we will be sinners to-day. the blessed saints are merciful!" presently, by the time the sun is well above the trees, everybody is bound for the lists. the ladies, if possible, ride white mules and are dressed as splendidly as for their own weddings. not in many a day will st. aliquis see again such displays of marten, ermine, and vair, of sendal and samite, of gold thread and pearls. the common folk point and applaud loudly when an unusually handsomely clad dame sweeps by. what right have grand folk to claim the obedience of the lesser, if they cannot delight the public gaze by their splendors? as for the jongleurs, their name is legion. the whole affair is characterized by a "music" becoming deafening. while the dames and other noncombatants take seats in the lodges, the six camp marshals--distinguished knights in charge of the contests--appear in the lists. they advance on foot, wearing very brilliant bliauts. conon, as giver of the festivities, is naturally at their head. behind follow the humbler born heralds and pursuivants who will assist them, and encourage the combatants with such cries as: "remember whose son you are!" "be worthy of your ancestry!" there is also a large squad of varlets and sergeants to keep order, bring new lances, clear away broken weapons, and rescue fallen knights. conon's keen eye sweeps the tilt yard. everything is ready. the baron bows politely to his suzerain, the duke and duchess, in the central lodge; then he raises a white baton. "bring in the jousters!" he commands. [sidenote: brilliant procession of jousters] instantly there is a great blare of trumpets from the end of the lists farthest from the castle. four gorgeously arrayed heralds lead the procession on foot. then comes a jongleur on horseback, playing with his sword, tossing it high in the air and catching as it whirls downward. next come the actual contestants, some eighty knights riding two by two. they go down one side of the lists and back the other. some cavaliers turn deliberately to ogle the ladies in the lodges, and the gentle dames (old and young) are not backward in leaning forward and waving in reply. it is a sight to stir the blood--all the pageantry of war, without as yet its slaughter; the presence of gorgeously clad women in graceful attitudes; and the air charged with the excitement of brave deeds and of genuine perils to come. suddenly all the knights begin to sing. the women catch up the chorus of some rousing melody which makes the lists shake. the cavaliers compel their horses to prance and curvet as they go by some lady of especial favor. from many lances are hanging bright streamers--not banners, but sleeves and stockings, the gifts of friendly dames. the younger knights are rejoiced by seeing damsels, whose eye they have taken, rise in the lodges and then and there, before the cheering hundreds, fling them "gages of love." it is so with young sire aimery as he modestly rides near the tail of the procession. the daughter of the approving count stands boldly and casts him a long red ribbon wherewith she had braided her hair. the other new knights receive similar tokens from unabashed admirers. this process will keep up through the games. the shrieking, excited ladies will presently cast into the lists gloves, girdles, and ribbons. many will sit at the end with only their flying hair, and their pelissons and chemises for costume. some combatants are intent on grim business. these are the professional jousters, determined to get as many ransoms as possible and to maintain their own proud reputation. their armor is beautifully burnished; but it is quite plain. they have prepared for a regular battle. other knights have painted their scabbards, lance butts, and shields with brilliant white, red, or black. on the crests of their helmets they have set outlandish figures--monsters, heads of birds, or of women. as in fancy balls of other days, their aim is to attract attention by the peculiarity of their costumes. conon does not desire a bloody tourney and the funeral of several friendly knights as a climax to his gayety. orders have therefore been given that all lance points are to be blunted, also that all sword edges and points be rounded. the tournament lances, too, are lighter than the battle lances and made of brittle wood.[ ] nevertheless, the blows struck will be terrible. the best leach from pontdebois is already in the duke's lodge, and his services will be needed. strictly speaking, a tourney falls into two parts--the jousting always comes first, with the mêlée, which is the real tourney proper, as the grand climax to the entire occasion. what follows might seem to men of other days somewhat monotonous after the novelty has worn away, although the first contests are exciting enough. the competing knights have been told off in pairs, partly by mutual consent, partly by the tactful arrangement of the camp marshals. after the procession around the lists, the contestants take their stations, some in the saddle, some dismounted in the spaces between the barriers. there is an awesome hush along the lodges and in the great standing throng of the vulgar. a herald calls in loud voice, "let him come to joust who wishes to do battle!" instantly two keen trumpets answer each other from opposite ends of the lists, and two pursuivants come forward. these worthies are really only jongleurs on less exciting days. they have now taken the deniers of two young barons who are anxious to make a brave appearance. the pursuivants are grotesquely dressed with bright parti-colored mantles and bliauts. each begins bawling shrilly even while his rival is calling: "here is the good cavalier and baron, ferri of st. potentin. a brave knight of a valorous house. he will teach a lesson to his enemies!" "here is the good cavalier, raoul, eldest son of the most puissant count of maurevay. watch now his deeds, all you who love brave actions!" [illustration: a tournament in the twelfth century at the back are the galleries where the ladies sit; then, near the entrance to the lists, some cavaliers wait their turn to take part in the contest; in the center, some servants and others of the contestants pick up one of the combatants who has been thrown from his horse by his adversary.] then each of the twain reviles the master of the other: "_he!_ your sire raoul is the son of a crow. all his friends will this day be ashamed of him. let him find his ransom money!" "silence all boasts, you pursuivant of a caitiff master. sire ferri, if he outlives the shock, will have his spurs struck from his heels as being unworthy of knighthood!" meantime the two champions, rigid as statues, suffer their squires to lead them upon their tall destrers to opposite ends of the lists. when they are facing and their squires have nodded that their masters are ready, a marshal waves his white baton, calling loudly, "in the name of god and st. michael, do your battle!" [sidenote: lance breaking in the lists] all the dames, nobles, and base-born rise in the lodges and shout together when suddenly the two knights and their mighty horses spring to life. the ground quakes and the sod flies when they rush down the lists as if hurried toward each other by irresistible force. as they gallop, each bends low in the saddle--swings his shield to cover his body, lowers his helmet almost to the top of his shield, swerves his horse so as to pass his opponent on the right, and with sure grip drops his lance point before him. "crash!" the splintering of wood can be heard through the din from the lodges. both horses are thrown upon their haunches and are casting out great clods of earth. each knight is flourishing the broken butt of a lance and across the shield of each there is a long jagged mark. "fairly broken! fairly broken! a noble course!" cries everyone. the two contestants wheel gracefully and canter back to their stations. squires run up with fresh lances. sire raoul takes a new shield, the earlier one showing signs of splitting as well as being battered. another course; another crash--and two more broken lances. but at the third shock sire ferri meets utter humiliation. he indeed meets raoul's lance fairly on his shield and again the tough wood is splintered, but excitement, overconfidence, or the intervention of the devil makes his wrist a little unsteady. at the moment of collision raoul swerves his body a trifle to the left. ferri's lance misses his foe's shield entirely. it flies off in the air, and in the confusion escapes from his hand. there is hooting from the villeins; worse still, there is shrill derision from all the lodges. sire ferri rides back to his post, grinding his teeth and swearing blasphemously. he must now pay a ransom to raoul for his horse and armor, despite the boastings of his pursuivant, and not even have the melancholy consolation of knowing that he was unhorsed in a fair collision. [sidenote: a bloody duel] but the next duel has a more exciting ending. two cavaliers who now engage are exceptionally experienced knights. at the first charge both horses sustain such a shock when the lances shiver that their masters can barely force them to their feet. at the second charge the more skillful rider holds his lance so squarely that, instead of its breaking, the opposing knight is fairly flung out of the saddle--dashed from his horse and sprawled headlong with a great clattering of armor. the heralds and squires run to him and find that, thanks to his hauberk, he has escaped dangerous wounds, though he coughs away several teeth. great is the excitement in the lodges. several duels after this end in honorable draws. the knights have agreed to "break three lances fairly for the love of the ladies," and gallantly do so. there are no victors or vanquished. then it is proclaimed that two seigneurs from champagne, sire emeri and sire lourent, having an especial desire to "debate together" (their original quarrel had been over dice) are resolved to fight until one cries "mercy," and will continue their battle on foot should either be unhorsed. three times they break lances unscathed, but the fourth time lourent's stirrup parts and he is pitched upon the sands. instantly he is free from his snorting, plunging destrer and on his feet, flourishing his great sword. emeri now might lawfully ride against him, but it is no chivalrous thing for a mounted knight to attack an unmounted one. down he leaps also, making his blade dance above his head like a stream of light. then to the infinite joy of the lodges the two cavaliers hack and feud with each other for a good ten minutes, till the blood streams down their faces, the bright paint on their shields is marred, and the crests of their helmets have vanished in dentings. at last emeri flings his strength into a lucky blow. his sword is blunted, but by sheer weight of the stroke the blade smashes lourent's shield asunder, descending like a smith's sledge upon his helmet. lourent topples like a log. a great shout goes through the lodges. "dead!" cry many; but, to the relief of the women, the word presently spreads that he is only soundly stunned, though the leech says that "he will not fight again till christmas." the duels continue all through the morning. there is an interval while cakes and wine are passed through the lodges and loaves are thrown among the plebeians. most duels seem decidedly similar, but each is followed with undiminishing delight. the ladies no less than their brothers and husbands grasp all the niceties of the contests--the methods whereby each champion holds his lance and shield and controls his horse are wisely discussed by a hundred pairs of pretty lips. between each tilt the heralds, besides praising the valor of the next pair of combatants, keep up their cries, "largesse, gallant knights! largesse!" and now one, now another baron rises in the lodges to fling coins among villeins (whose rough scrambling causes much merriment), or even to toss money to the heralds themselves--which they never hesitate to pick up. [sidenote: contest at the barriers] many knights are content with a single passage at arms, but some who have been successful once tempt fortune a second time. these are likely to be the professional champions, and they give remarkable exhibitions of perfect horsemanship and lance play. as the afternoon advances, for variation, there is a fight at the barriers. a stout wooden bar about waist high is set across the middle of the lists, and seven knights from one seigneury and seven from another undertake to cross the same, while preventing the other party from advancing. they fight on foot with sword and mace. it is desperate work; and when at last one party has forced its way across, four of the defeated side have broken bones, despite their hauberks, and all-but-broken heads, despite their helmets. [illustration: knightly combat on foot (from an old print.)] then a very arrogant baron who has already won three ransoms determines to increase his wealth. stationing himself at the head of the lists, he bids his pursuivant challenge all comers. there is a long hush. sire paul has made such a trade of his prowess that assuredly there seems something mercantile about his valor, yet assuredly he is a terrible man. suddenly the lodges begin to cry, "a st. aliquis!" sire aimery himself (who earlier had broken three lances very neatly with a friend) is sending down his pursuivant. all the older knights mutter: "a fearful risk for the lad! let him pray to his saints." conon demands angrily of olivier, "could not you keep back the boy from this folly?" but does not heaven favor the young and brave? perhaps it is because sire paul has let himself become careless; perhaps because his squire has forgotten to tighten his saddle girths; perhaps because st. génevieve cannot allow her votary to undergo disgrace thus early in his knighthood. in any case, results confound the wiseacres. "the pitcher that goes too often to the well is broken," dryly observes father grégoire, when at the first course sire paul is ignominiously flung from the saddle. _hé!_ sire aimery will now have more sleeves, girdles, and stockings than can ever flutter from any one lance, and his kinsfolk are out of their wits for joy! no victory could ever be more praised and popular. so ends the jousting, and that night round st. aliquis blaze the great camp fires of the company, all cooking most hearty suppers (after fasting almost all day), everybody visiting from tent to tent, fighting the day's contests over again, condoling with the defeated and praising the victors. alliances, both military and matrimonial, are negotiated between consequential barons; the jongleurs produce tricks and songs; there is a great deal of dancing by the red firelight; and also, one fears, much hard drinking and most unseemly revelry. [sidenote: the great mêlée] the next day there is the climax to the festival, the mêlée. really, it is nothing less than a pitched battle on a small scale. the details have been arranged at a council of the more prominent seigneurs at the castle. about forty knights on a side are to fight under the leadership of the viscount of gemours and the baron of dompierre. the space in the lists is insufficient. they go to a broad, convenient meadow across the claire, where the noncombatants can watch from a safe distance. the marshals array the two companies "at least a bowshot apart." groups of friendly knights are set together and are placed opposite to groups of rivals with whom they are anxious to collide. the great banners of the houses of gemours and dompierre flutter in the center of each respective array, and all the little banderoles of the various knights wave with them. when all is ready, conon gives the signal, "charge them in god's name!" [illustration: a combat in the twelfth century from the manuscript of herrade of landsperg (schultz).] each baron is expected to charge a particular foe, but all are liable to be swerved in the great rush of men and horses. the two flashing squadrons of cavalry come together like thunderbolts. all the danger of the jousts is present, and another more terrible--that of being trampled to death, if once down, by the raging horses. there is no real leadership. gemours and dompierre merely try to set examples of valor and to push their banners forward as rallying points. at first the fighting is good-humored, but when the lances are broken and everyone is smiting one another with sword or mace, the contest becomes desperate. a fearful cloud of dust rises, almost blinding to the combatants, and rendering their blows more reckless. after the fight has progressed some time, certain of the less adventurous knights begin to drop out. the squires dive into the murk of warriors and horses and drag to safety now this, now another fallen cavalier. at last, just as conon is considering whether he should not proclaim a "draw," the gemours banner is observed to topple. a desperate attempt is made to right it, but it sinks again amid a rending shout from the victors. the uplifted hands fall. the frantic horses are brought under control. "a dompierre! a dompierre!" bawl all the heralds. and so the mêlée ends. no one, thanks to excellent armor, is dead, although one heir to a barony is in a desperate condition and several shoulders and thighs are broken. it is futile to count the shattered collar bones and ribs. "a very _gentle_ passage at arms!" says the duke to conon, congratulating his vassal on the fête and its climax. all the other seigneurs join in similar praises. that night there is another round of festivities and of visiting. the next dawn the whole company scatters. the jongleurs' music has ceased at last. there is no more dancing. after over two weeks of intensifying gayety st. aliquis suddenly returns to sober, normal life. alienor, after tearful farewells, departs with her husband for burgundy. aimery rides over to his little castle at petitmur, which he will hold as his brother's vassal. adela lectures her maids on the need of catching up with their weaving, while conon holds anxious conferences with his chief provost on the costs of the celebration. [sidenote: vast expense of tourneys] doubtless the affair has brought glory to the seigneury. more than a hundred knights and two hundred squires or unknighted nobles have attended, along with thousands of villeins. but how costly have been the furs, drinking cups and fine weapons presented the guests, the destrers given the new knights, above all the vast quantity of provisions devoured! just god! if conon had realized the entire expense he would hardly have embarked on the whole undertaking. the worst is that the peasants of the whole barony are so demoralized that it will be two weeks more ere they return to work. money must be borrowed from jew simon in pontdebois to tide over the crisis. the baron must give up his usual visit to the king's court at paris. he must also dismiss certain cherished schemes of picking a quarrel with the sire of rideau and forcing a private war. thanks be to our lady, however, françois need not be knighted these ten years, when (being an eldest son) an "aide" can be levied on all the vassals to help cover the cost. footnotes: [ ] the earliest recorded tourney is alleged to have been about a.d. . in germany they long continued to be excessively brutal. as late as one was held near cologne at which more than sixty persons perished. [ ] often sharp weapons were used in tournaments, especially between combatants who fought _à outrance_, to clear up some desperate personal grudge. many noblemen were thus slain--_e.g._, in a tourney "in the french fashion" at london, the earl of essex was killed in . chapter xiv: a baronial feud. the siege of a castle. we have visited st. aliquis in days of peace, and at peace the seigneury remains while we tarry. but peace and pageants no more deadly than tourneys are seldom the continuous state of things. "rumors of wars" there are every day; actual wars every few years. let the saints be praised if such contests are largely local, are not bitterly fought out, and are composed before they have caused worse things than the harrying of certain villages of helpless, innocent peasants. in spite of the efforts of clergy and of kings it will be truthfully written of feudal france that "war was practically a permanent scourge almost everywhere. _in the society of that day war was the normal state._" when these wars are waged by mighty kings one can at least take the comfort that perhaps they are settling long-standing questions concerning many people, and, however dreadful, may pave the way for lasting peace. such a war has lately found its climax in the decisive battle of bouvines, whereof more anon. but most of the wars are for miserably petty stakes. time was when every insignificant sire holding a feeble tower considered that he had the right to declare war on any neighbor with whom he argued the rights to a trout stream. yet the case is changing. suzerains are insisting that the lower class of vassals arbitrate their quarrels and not embroil the neighborhood. nevertheless, the superior type of barons still claim war as their "noble right." the amount of local fighting can hardly be computed. [sidenote: varieties of baronial wars] there is something abnormal about a powerful seigneur who (if blessed with a long lifetime) does not have at least _one_ war with each of his several suzerains, a war with the bishops and abbots with whom he has contact, a war with each neighboring noble of equal rank, unless their houses are unwontedly friendly, and a war with at least some of his own vassals. a war can start out of a dispute about a bit of land, an ill-defined boundary, or the exact obligations of a feudal tenure. theoretically, the suzerain can interfere between wrangling vassals. practically, he had better let them fight it out, at least till there seems real danger that their fiefs will be permanently injured. then he can sometimes compel a truce. unfortunately, however, god often permits the bitterest wars to be fought within the fief itself. sons fight with fathers--"the old man" will not let his grown boys rule the seigneury to their liking.[ ] younger brothers battle with elder brothers over the inheritance. nephews attack uncles who seem prolonging their guardianship. sons even attack a widowed mother to seize her dower lands. these are only some of the things which make the devil rub his taloned fingers. nevertheless, certain limitations are intruding, customs that have nearly the force of law.[ ] for example, if a vassal attacks his suzerain, none but his own family (among his noble followers) can aid him. also, in any case, at least a week's notice must be given ere the war is commenced. after the war does begin, forty days' respite must also be granted your foe's relatives ere attacking them. in the interval they are entitled to proclaim their neutrality and so to become safe. again, one is supposed to respect priests and women and minors. finally, if a truce is made the suzerain is bound to punish the violators. such understandings rob warfare of part of its horrors, but do not prevent infinite blood and misery. as for that motive which prevails in other ages for waging wars--_patriotism_--often it does not seem to exist so vitally. certainly frenchmen ought to make a common front against germans, italians, english, etc., but lapses from this obligation are not always condemned as morally outrageous. quite recently the count of boulogne, being at odds with king philip, took money from both the king of england and the emperor of germany to raise up enemies against the king of france; and the count evidently felt that this was a proper measure against an obnoxious suzerain. the great significant tie is that of _personal loyalty_.[ ] it is horrible to betray the prince to whom you have sworn fealty. a suzerain will call out his host by a summons to "my vassals," he will seldom think of appealing to "my fellow countrymen." [sidenote: few battles and little strategy] we have said that wars are incessant; yet there is one strange thing about them--_pitched battles are very rare_. the campaigns abound in petty skirmishes--valorous duels, surprises of small castles, occasional clashes of cavalry, and, above all, in the pitiless ravaging of the lands, farms, and villages of the helpless peasantry. what better way to put pressure on your foe than to reduce his villeins to such misery that they can render him nothing in money or kind and that he thus be brought to poverty? if you have the weaker force you will not think of meeting an invader in battle. you will shut yourself up in your castles when you see the burning villages, stifle your pride, remain passive, and trust that after the "forty days' service" of your enemy's vassals is expired they will weary of the operations and not venture to besiege your strongholds. then when the foe's army is beginning to disperse you can employ some neutral baron or abbot to negotiate peace. even when kings are in the field, with really large armies, somehow the opposing forces seldom risk a decisive encounter. they maneuver, skirmish, and negotiate underhandedly with the uncertain elements in the hostile camp. the upshot often is that the invading army, having devoured all the provisions in the open country and not daring to besiege strong cities with a powerful enemy close at hand, retreats homeward. of course, sometimes there are great battles with great results. such in the eleventh century was senlac, when duke william the norman won all england. such, more recently, was the famous day at bouvines. such marked several of the crusades against the infidels, particularly the great and successful first crusade, and the third crusade, when richard the lion hearted seemed to come nearer than any other feudal general to being a really able tactician, if not a great strategist. these battles are few and far between--and even the mighty richard's ideal style of fighting was rather that of a headlong cavalier followed by only fifteen knights and with his ponderous ax hewing a bloody lane through a host of infidels, than that of a careful commander coolly directing a mighty army. besides, most of the wars between second-class barons involve very small forces. they are only affairs for hundreds. if matters come to grips, the best captain is he who orders "advance, banner bearer! follow me, vassals!" and leads the headlong charge. enormous pains have been taken in training the individual warrior. for personal prowess the french cavalier is as formidable an individual as ever shared the sins of mankind. but he is trained only in simple evolutions when maneuvering in companies. he dislikes taking orders. he wearies of long campaigns. his camps are very unhygienic and subject to pestilence. wars, in short, are to him superb games, exciting, spiced with danger, and played for large stakes--which give the zest; but, save in the crusades and certain other rare cases, the higher objects which supply wars with their sole justification escape him entirely. "warfare," in the true scientific sense of the word, is something whereof your baron is usually in complete ignorance. earlier in this recital it has been seen that baron conon, soon after he obtained the seigneury, engaged in a brisk feud with the viscount of foretvert. this was so like many other feuds in the region that it is well to obtain an authentic history thereof from father grégoire, who knows all the circumstances. [sidenote: beginning of a feud] the origin of the quarrel (he tells us) was commonplace. doubtless the viscount had a contemptuous opinion of his then young and untried neighbor. there was a wood betwixt the two seigneuries which had been haltingly claimed by foretvert; but all through terrible baron garnier's time none but st. aliquis peasants had been suffered to cut fagots there. now suddenly huon, one of the forester's helpers, appeared before conon in a piteous plight. his thumbs had been hewn clean off. he had been chopping timber on the debatable land, had been seized by the viscount's men, haled before their master, and the latter had ordered this treatment, adding, with a grin: "this is the drink penny for touching a twig in my forests. tell your young lord to spread these tidings among his villeins." when conon had heard this taunt, his squires trembled at the workings of his face. then and there he pulled out his sword, placed his hands on the hilt, pressing upon the reliquary, and swore "by god's eyes!"[ ] that he would make the viscount and all the spawn of foretvert swallow enough of their own blood to be drunk to damnation. "certes," says father grégoire, "he could not as a christian baron do less; for the lord who lets another seigneur oppress his villeins is no lord; and if he had failed to resent such an insult none of his vassals would have obeyed him." that same day one of conon's squires rode to foretvert. he bore a "cartel," a bunch of fur plucked from his master's pelisson.[ ] he was only a young squire, but carried his head high. there was some danger in being such a messenger. the squire had to be as insolent as possible without actually provoking foretvert to violate the protection due to a herald. into the great hall of the offending seigneur strode said squire, carrying a bough of pine in his left hand, the bunch of fur in the right. his coming had been anticipated. the greetings, as he was led up to the dais where the viscount presided, were cold and ceremonious. then the squire straightened his slim form and shook out his long mantle. "sire viscount, my master, the baron of st. aliquis, demands of you satisfaction. if you do not make good the wrongs you have done to him and his, i loyally defy you in his name." and down he flung the cartel. "it is fitting," returned the viscount, mockingly, "a mere boy should be a squire for a lad. tell your very youthful master that i will soon teach him a lesson in the art of war." so with a few more such exchanges the squire rode homeward. meantime at st. aliquis things were stirring. the great bell on the donjon was ringing. zealous hands were already affixing the raw hides to the projecting wooden hoardings upon the battlements. all the storehouses for weapons in the bailey were being opened for a distribution of arms. from the armory forge came a mighty clangor of tightening rivets. the destrers must have caught the news, they stamped so furiously in the stables. in the great hall conon sat with adela (a wise head in martial matters), sire eustace, and the other knights in serious debate. [sidenote: mustering the vassals] simultaneously, messengers were pricking away to all the little villages and to the fortalices of the vassals. to the villeins they cried: "the baron proclaims war with foretvert. bring your cattle and movables near to the castle for protection." to the vassals they announced, "come with all the men you are bound in duty to lead, seven days from to-day, to st. aliquis, armed and provisioned for service; and hereof fail not or we burn you." this right to burn the dwellings of vassals who failed to obey the summons to the ban was one of long standing in feudal lands. other messengers proclaimed the ban by blowing the trumpet at every crossroads in the barony. to have disobeyed this call would have been the depth of feudal depravity. none of the vassals ventured to hesitate. on the contrary, most of them, like good liegemen, affected to show joy at this chance to follow their seigneur, crying at once, "my horse! my horse!" and ordering out all their retainers. the abbot of the monastery now, as duty bound, visited both leaders and vainly tried to negotiate peace. he met with courteous thanks and prompt refusals. while he was thus squaring with his conscience, conon was notifying all his outlying relatives. he was also sending to several powerful barons who had received armed assistance from st. aliquis in the past, and who were now tactfully reminded of this fact. he likewise sent an especially acceptable messenger to his suzerain the duke, to convince the latter that foretvert was entirely wrong, and that the duke had better not interfere. thanks to this energy and diplomacy, by the end of the week the whole countryside had been roused, the peasants had driven most of their cattle so close to st. aliquis castle that they could be protected, and many villeins, deserting their hovels, were camping in the open (it being fine summer weather) in the space between the barbican and bailey. as for conon, with pride he mustered his "array"--one hundred knights or battle worthy squires; two hundred sergeants--horsemen of non noble birth; and some seven hundred footmen--villeins with long knives, pikes, arbalists, big axes, etc.--of no great value in open battle, but sure to have their place in other work ahead. from foretvert reports came in of similar preparation. but the viscount had quarreled with some of his relations. he had broken a promise he once made to help a certain sire in a feud. his immediate vassals responded to his call, but they felt that their lord ought to have consulted them ere provoking st. aliquis so grossly. in a word, their zeal was not of the greatest. nevertheless, the viscount, an impetuous and self-confident man, having hastily assembled his forces, the very day the week of intermission ended invaded conon's territory. he expected to find his enemy's peasants still in the fields and the st. aliquis retainers in the process of mustering. to his amazement, he discovered that the villages were almost empty and most of the cattle driven away. nevertheless, he foolishly allowed his men to scatter in order to ravage everything left at their mercy. soon hayricks were burning, standing crops were being trampled down, and the thatch on the forsaken huts was blazing. here and there troopers were driving before their spears oafish peasants who had lingered too long. the hands of these wretches were tied behind their backs. beside them trudged their weeping wives and children. every sheep, pig, and chicken discoverable was, of course, seized.[ ] the ravagers soon had enough booty to load their horses to such a degree that one of foretvert's more experienced knights warned him his men were becoming dangerously encumbered in case of an encounter. [sidenote: a passage at arms] the viscount laughed at these fears, yet was about to sound trumpets to recall the foraging parties; when, lo! down a wood road, through a forest that had been imperfectly scouted, came charging the whole st. aliquis levy, with conon's great banner racing on ahead. half of the viscount's men were dispersed; the other half barely got into a kind of order when their enemies were upon them, thrusting, slashing, and laying about like fiends. such being the case, foretvert had cause to bless the virgin that he got safely from the field. he only did so because his squire most gallantly stabbed the horse of sire eustace just as he was closing with the viscount. the squire himself was brained by the seneschal's mace an instant later. five of the foretvert knights were slain outright, despite their armor. four more were pulled from their horses and dragged off as prisoners for ransom. of the foraging parties, the leaders got home by putting their horses at speed, but the miserable footmen were intercepted by scores. many of these were slain while dropping their sinful booty. about forty were taken prisoners, but, being only villeins (from whom no ransom was to be expected), conon promptly hanged ten as a warning against further ravaging of his lands, and took the other thirty back to his castle to be hanged later in case this first hint should not prove effective.[ ] this unusually decisive engagement ought, in the opinion of many, to have ended the war. conon now invaded the foretvert domains and with proper precautions sent out _his_ ravaging parties, who soon taught their foes a lesson as to how to devastate a countryside. but the viscount, although sorely shaken and deserted now by many, arrogantly refused to make those concessions which conon declared "his honor required ere he could think of peace." the war thus promised not to terminate until, by incessant raids and counter-raids, the peasants of both seigneuries had been brought to the edge of starvation. the viscount, of course, reckoned that at the end of their ordinary "forty days' service" conon's vassals and allies would leave him. most feudal levies were wont thus to melt away, after a very short campaign, and leave their leader bereft of almost all save his immediate retainers. foretvert could then regather his men and resume the contest. but the saints so ordered it that conon had been a thrifty seigneur as well as a popular suzerain and neighbor. he now offered his allies and vassals good deniers if they would serve until the autumn rains. he also hired the services of some fifty horsemen and two hundred footmen, led from lorraine by an iron-handed soldier of fortune, ritter rainulf of the moselle, who would put his german mercenaries at the beck of about any baron offering good silver. mercenaries did not serve for "forty days," but for as many months as they received steady wages--a great advantage. conon likewise hired a base-born fellow, maître jerôme. the knights complained that the baron gave him too great pay and confidence, but maître jerôme had been one of the king's best engineers in the siege of the great castle, château gaillard, on the seine, when philip augustus took that supposedly impregnable fortress from john of england in . now the castle of foretvert itself was almost as strong as st. aliquis, and no siege thereof was worth considering. but the viscount had a smaller fortalice, tourfière, which lay closer to conon's lands and was not so formidable. [sidenote: siege of a castle] tourfière consisted merely of a single curtain of walls around the courtyard of a central keep, with, of course, a palisaded barbican before the gate. there was a moat, but not deep, and flooded only in wet weather, and the foundations of this stronghold did not rest, apparently, on solid rock--a matter upon which maître jerôme laid great stress after a discreet reconnaissance. suddenly, to the amazement of many, conon with all his forces appeared before tourfière and summoned its castellan, sire gauthier, the viscount's nephew, to surrender--a demand refused with derision. sire gauthier commanded some twenty knights, squires or sergeants, also at least ninety armed villeins--a sufficient force, it seemed, for a small castle, especially as the women in the place could drop stones, throw down burning pitch hoops, pour boiling water, and help twist back the casting engines. the defenders thus prepared to resist with energy, confident that conon could not keep his heterogeneous levies together much longer and that the siege would break up ignominiously. but, despite his villein blood, maître jerôme ordered the siege in a marvelously skillful manner. no chess player could have moved his pieces better than did he. first he persuaded the baron to resist his impulse to attempt the walls by a sudden rush with scaling ladders, pointing out that gauthier, besides his arbalists, had four great trenchbuts (stone-hurlers worked by counterweights) and also two catapults, giant bows mounted on standards and able to send a heavy arrow clean through a man in full armor. "we must take tourfière by the crowbar and spade, and not by the sword, fair seigneur," said jerôme, smilingly; whereupon a great levy of conon's serfs began cutting timber and building a palisade all around the besieged castle, to stop sorties or succoring parties. meantime jerôme was directing the making of trenchbuts and catapults for the besiegers. with these they soon smashed the wooden hoardings which had protected the battlements, making it impossible for the garrison to mount the walls, save at a few places or in great emergencies, lest they be picked off by the attackers' arbalists. the trenchbuts also cast small kegs of "greek fire" (a compound of pitch, sulphur, and naphtha) inside the castle court. these terrible fire balls could not be quenched by water, but only by sand. by desperate efforts, indeed, the defenders prevented decisive harm, but some of the buildings in the courtyard were burned and sire gauthier's men became wearied in their efforts to fend off disaster. [illustration: a catapult a sort of sling which one tightened with the aid of a windlass and which threw heavy projectiles.] in bravado the defenders took two prisoners and hanged them on the highest tower. conon retaliated by immediately hanging four prisoners just out of bowshot of the castle, and causing his largest trenchbut to fling a dead horse clear over the battlements and into the court. meantime a remarkable energy of the assailants, just outside their palisades, was observable by sire gauthier. the castellan took counsel with his most experienced men, for the besiegers seemed shaping very many timbers. [sidenote: siege engines and towers] his advisers were divided in opinion. some said that conon was planning to build a _beffroi_. this was a most ambitious undertaking ordinarily used only in great sieges. a _beffroi_ was a movable tower built of heavy timbers and raised to at least the height of the wall attacked. its front was covered by rawhides to repel arrows and fire-balls. it was worked forward on rollers or clumsy wheels until close to the hostile parapet. then, when almost touching, a swinging bridge from the summit was flung across to the wall, a host of assailants swarmed up a ladder in the rear and over the bridge to the battlements. the defenders then needed all their valor to keep their castle from speedy capture. [illustration: an attack with the aid of a tower (from viollet-le-duc); the moat has been filled up, the tower covered with skins to protect it from fire and rolled up to the wall.] others in the garrison, however, derided the idea that a _beffroi_ was projected. it would be winter ere such a complicated structure could be completed. they said that the baron was preparing battering rams and a "cat." the battering ram was simply a heavy timber with a metal head, swung by chains from a kind of wooden trestle. set up close under a wall it was pulled back and forth by ropes, and by repeated blows knocked down the masonry. the "cat" was a long, narrow, tent-shaped structure of heavy timbers covered with hides or iron to turn missiles from the parapets. one end of this was built out until it came into contact with the walls, when skillful miners under its protection quarried their way through the masonry with pickaxes. [illustration: a mantelet in wood] these methods were easier to prepare than the _beffroi_, although not so effective. the defenders felt sure they would be used when the attackers were seen making _mantelets_, large wooden shields mounted on small wheels, to protect the crossbowmen when they crept up to clear the walls--a needful preliminary to advancing either the cat or the ram. their certainty increased when one night, by a sudden rush, conon's men stormed through the weak palisade of the barbican and, forcing their way near to the walls, began filling up the moat with _fascines_--bundles of fagots. by using his trenchbuts and catapults to best advantage, sire gauthier felt confident, however, that he had prevented them from leveling the moat sufficiently to make a firm foundation for siege engines. the tourfière men, therefore, shouted arrogantly: "take your time, st. aliquis hirelings! your 'madame cat' will never gnaw our rats."[ ] presently, after a couple of weeks, the besiegers were seen in great activity, as if arraying themselves for an assault. gauthier was convinced they were about, in desperation, to try to scale his walls with ladders. then of a sudden a panic-stricken sergeant ran up to his watchtower. wafts of smoke were escaping near the foundations of the curtain wall near the gate! [sidenote: undermining the wall] gauthier instantly realized what had happened, but it was too late. under an elaborate feint with other preparations, maître jerôme had taken advantage of the soft ground beneath the castle and had driven a mine, beginning at a safe distance in the rear and cunningly concealing the entrance and the earth excavated until it was fairly under a vital section of the wall. then a large chamber had been cleared and wooden posts soaked with tallow had been put under the masonry to keep it from falling on the miners. as the last of them retreated, a torch was set to the woodwork, the whole chamber having been crammed with inflammables. presently the fire ate away the posts. with a thundering crash a vital section of the wall collapsed. [illustration: attack on a wall with the aid of the sap at the top of the wall the scaffolding can be seen (theoretical figure from viollet-le-duc).] the besieged had not realized the situation in time to drive a countermine or to erect a second wall inside the danger point. the moment the st. aliquis men saw the wall topple they rushed forward. the defenders met them bravely in the breach and there was bloody swordplay, but the thrust of numbers was irresistible. gauthier and part of his men fled, indeed, to the donjon and barred the entrance, but they were utterly demoralized. all the women and children, packed into the tower, were shrilly lamenting the dead and were otherwise frantic. most of the provisions had been in a storehouse outside the donjon. the end, therefore, was certain. at the end of the next day the garrison in the donjon surrendered on promise of life and limb for all, and courteous treatment for the knights. the storming of tourfière ended the war. conon might, indeed, have ruined foretvert utterly, but now the duke intervened. it was not for his interests to have any vassal rendered unfit to meet his feudal obligations. conon, however, was able to exact very high terms. for evacuating tourfière he obtained the cession of a village whose peasants paid very large dues, and two of the viscount's best vassals also transferred their homage to st. aliquis. the contending parties swore to peace upon the most precious relics at the abbey, and exchanged the kiss of amity. henceforth foretvert, a sadder and wiser seigneur, has been outwardly friendly with his powerful neighbor and even came as a sulky guest to alienor's wedding. footnotes: [ ] primogeniture did not exist on the continent as in england. the elder son was entitled to the largest share of the estate, but by no means to the whole. [ ] they became formal law by about , in the days of louis ix. [ ] french opinion, of course, condemned this count, not for being a traitor to his country, but for breach of fealty to his personal lord. [ ] the terrible oath of henry ii of england and other great chieftains. [ ] later custom would probably have sent a fur-trimmed glove. [ ] such plunderings were common enough, though the best knightly sentiment was against participating directly in them. says a bard, geraud de borneil, "o fie on the knight who drives off a flock of bleating sheep--and then appears before a lady!" [ ] these prisoners were lucky if they finally escaped without at least mutilation. to "give your captives (of villein blood) the empty sleeve or the wooden leg" seems to have been direfully common in feudal wars. [ ] similar taunts were delivered at the well-known siege of carcasonne in . chapter xv: a great feudal battle--bouvines. so ended the feud between st. aliquis and foretvert--a less exhausting and more decisive baronial war than were many, and causing correspondingly less misery to the helpless peasants. but it has also been conon's fortune to fight in a really great battle, one that will hereafter be set down among the most famous engagements in the annals of france. it is a sunny afternoon. young françois and anseau have wearied of hunting frogs beside the outer moat. under the garden trees, sire eustace, tough old warrior, is meditating over a pot of hippocras. they demand of him once more the story of "the battle." for them there is only one battle--bouvines. the seneschal, ever the slave of his youthful masters, after suitable urgings, begins. "now you must know, my fair damoisieux, that all this took place six years since, in the year , upon the seven-and-twentieth day of july. for our sins it was extremely hot that season, so that all of us have, i trust, obtained some remission from purgatory. god grant that next time we have a great battle it be in the pleasant spring or autumn, though otherwise the saints showed to us french a great mercy. but now to commence. "that year king john of england, having, by his evil rule and folly lost nearly all his anjou and norman lands to our good king philip, sent large money and skillful ambassadors into flanders and germany to stir up trouble. the great counts of flanders and boulogne nursed grievances against their liege lord our king, and to them joined many other seigneurs of those parts, notably the dukes of brabant and limburg, the count of holland, and chiefest of all the german emperor otto iv himself, who came with a huge levy of saxons. with those rode the english earl of salisbury with a great band of flemish mercenaries who took king john's ill-gained penny. never since duke charles martel smote back the paynym had so terrible a host menaced our gentle france; and when at last, in july, the whole array under emperor otto came together at valenciennes to take the road to paris, even brave knights trembled for the king and kingdom. "never had the call for the royal ban and rear ban gone out more urgently than that summer. the king's messenger came to st. aliquis with the 'brief of summons' bidding messire conon ride with every man and lad that could stride a horse or trudge with a spear; and so went the command through all north france. but in the south country john was making a formidable diversion from his remaining dominions in gascony, and we of the languedoil lands had to meet the northern shock alone. "when messire your father received the summons, there was even greater furbishing than when old foretvert defied us. sire conon had in the abbot and wrote his last wishes, arranged that if he fell he should be buried in the abbey church by the altar where st. bernard had once said mass, and he left to the monks five hundred livres in return for perpetual masses for his soul. the remainder of us made vows according to ability. i say nothing of the parting, or how your mother bravely promised to guard the castle. [sidenote: mobilization of feudal army] "so the ban was answered all through the land, and the king's great host came together. never again shall i see so fine a mustering of knights as gathered at peronne. it far surpassed any tournament. every hour the banners came in, to the sound of tabors, horns, and drums. there was an enormous baggage train, so that i believe there were more mules than horses, for many barons brought their great tents, with many coffers of extra arms and fine clothing. in the rear were gathered a second array of jongleurs, peddlers and very evil women, whom not all the commands of the king, somehow, could disperse. verily in that army there were twice as many mouths to fill as there were men to fight; likewise, short as was the campaign, there was much sickness, thanks to bad food, bad water, and, so certain even averred, to overmuch filth. the comfort was that in otto's camp matters were, if anything, much worse. "in any case those tumultuous days of assemblage were soon at an end. tidings came that the germans and flemings were advancing, and on the twenty-fifth of july we marched into tournai on the edge of flanders. messire conon, who was at the royal council-tent, told me that the king's barons debated as to the purpose of the enemy. would he offer fair battle in the plain near cambrai, as we much desired, or would he strive to slip past our army and go straight toward paris? i have been told of books concerning the ancient roman captains, julius cæsar and his peers, and it would seem as if to them the moving of armies had been a business of deep sagacity, advancing your columns by careful rules, somewhat as you move your men on a gaming board. no one, however, is so sage as that to-day, and i think it was either mere fortune or (speaking as a christian) the kind st. denis, who guards our beautiful france, that brought the hosts together when and where they presently came. "it was at break of day on that seven-and-twentieth of july that we quitted tournai, intending to pass the little river marque, to get to the town of bouvines and thereby to be covered by certain marshes so we might be protected from surprise, and yet be able to strike the foe's rear if he should take the road to paris. but otto and his lords, swollen with their german and fleming pride and confident in their great host of infantry, were determined to attack, and so kept hard after us. it is only nine miles from tournai to bouvines, but our long trains of baggage crawled along like snails. therefore it was almost noon when the sumpter mules and the infantry had crossed the bridge. we of the cavalry were still on the nearer side, covering the march, when our scouts came racing in. 'the germans! the germans!' and there assuredly, over the rolling slopes of the cornfields beyond bouvines, we saw the long lines of horsemen flying in a great dust cloud. "now there was with the king the bishop garin of senlis. he was an old knight hospitaler, one of those holy brethren who, despite churchly vows, rejoice to fight in just causes, and bishop garin at once clapped spurs to his destrer to reconnoiter. soon he dashed back, having discovered quite enough. he found our lord philip sitting under an ash tree close to the bridge eating dinner, with many great nobles, messire conon among them, sitting on the grass. 'tidings, fair sire!' cried garin. 'the germans will fight. their knights are in panoply, and behind them march the infantry!' [sidenote: battle array at bouvines] "it was no pleasant moment for the king. his own infantry were beyond the river, but his cavalry were on this side. he could not get his horsemen across the single bridge without grievous loss; but there was, perchance, still time to bring back the foot. therefore, with what speed we might, every man of us fell into the array, and some brave sergeants of champagne made such charges upon otto's vanguard that, though outnumbered and pressed back, they delayed the foe until our men could take their places and present a gallant front. as for the attackers, when they saw that we were ready to do battle, like prudent men they halted and arrayed their own lines. so for an hour both sides waited, just out of bowshot, many of us very nervous and cursing the delay--the more as the sun beat down pitilessly--although the more pious confessed hastily to the priests, who were always moving up and down the files, or at least we said our _mea culpas_ for our sins. "presently you could see the whole array of the enemy spread out like some fair picture on a long tapestry. on their right, facing our counts of ponthieu and dreux, were the mercenaries under salisbury, and the men of that foul traitor boulogne. on their left were the long lines of flemish horsemen over against our cavaliers of champagne and burgundy. but we from quelqueparte, with so many other companies, were in the center battle where flew king philip's great oriflamme, a mighty scarlet banner of samite, surrounded by chosen cavaliers. we horsemen were in the rear. in front of us spread the french footmen--the burgher levies of the towns who answered the king's summons. 'shame that burghers should stand before knights!' cried some of us; but the king and bishop garin, who seemed to know everything, understood their business, as you will see. "it is told that just before the hosts charged king philip prayed aloud before his bodyguard: 'lord, i am but a man, but i am also a king. thine it is to guard the king. thou wilt lose nothing thereby. wherever thou wouldst go, i will follow thee!' also i heard that close behind the king there stood, as long as he might, the royal chaplain, william the breton, who all through the battle, with another clerk, kept singing psalms such as 'blessed be the lord my strength, who teacheth my hands to war and my fingers to fight.' but bishop garin sang no psalms. up and down the lines of horsemen he rode, thundering: 'extend yourselves, lest the enemy outflank you. one knight should not make another his shield!' so he put all our knights in the first line of the cavalry. in the rear lines he put the mounted sergeants. we had perhaps two thousand knights and five thousand sergeants. our infantry were over five-and-twenty thousand, but the foe had even more footmen than we, though their horse was a little inferior. thus the battle was very fair, two lines of men and horses a mile and a half long, and the fields smooth and open enough for a jousting. there never was better place for an honorable battle. "after we had sat in our saddles a long time, thinking of our sins and admiring in a fearsome way the splendor of the great press of the foe opposite, a party of our sergeants suddenly charged out on our right against the flemings. their attack was too weak, and the flemings drove them back and charged in return, their leaders crying, 'think on your ladies!' as if in a courteous mêlée. whereat, nothing loath, our burgundian and champagnois knights dashed out on them, and long engaged in an uncertain battle, every cavalier selecting a foe and riding against him. here one side prevailed and here another, and some warriors even dropped to the rear to recover breath and tighten harness, then spurred back to the charge. for a little while we of the center watched them thus; then nearer things engrossed us. [sidenote: defeat of the french infantry] "i have told you that king philip and his footmen, as well as many of our knights, held the center battle. facing them was the dense array of flemish and german infantry, with emperor otto himself, accompanied by chosen horsemen, in their rear, and we could see in the middle press the great imperial banner, a silken dragon, white and green, raised upon a pole capped with a golden eagle. it was not borne by a cavalier but flew from a tall car drawn by four horses. as we gazed at this vast hostile array, lo! the whole mass seemed surging forward against our infantry. never was there a sight like it, spear points, hauberks, and helmets all flashing in the sun. the ground shook with the trample of thousands of feet. countless war horns sounded, and we heard the deep '_hoch! hoch!_' of the german infantry coming down on us like thunder. "then the emperor's great masses struck our footmen from the communes. doubtless our poor knaves meant bravely, and always had plenty of courage when defending their walls, but never would france and king philip have been saved by townsmen. soon we saw all those base-born infantry breaking toward the rear, and for a moment our skies looked black. but, 'open the ranks,' called messire conon and our other leaders, 'and let the villeins run through.' so we opened the lines in the cavalry and let these timid friends escape. then came a last tightening of buckles and pushing down of helms. right before us, thousands upon thousands, were surging the emperor's infantry. all together we raised the glad '_montjoie st. denis!_'[ ] the royal battle cry of france. whereupon followed such a coursing as never in all my life i can hope again to see. with our eyes on otto's great banner, straight into that press of germans and flemings we french cavaliers rode like mad, the knights in front and all the squires and good sergeants raging behind us. the horses knew their hour. they flew at speed with no touch of spur. though i am blessed with all the joys of paradise, never, after ten thousand years of bliss, shall i forget the wondrous rapture i felt when we struck that hostile line!" (sire eustace's eyes are gleaming now like sparks of fire. françois and anseau are hardly breathing as he speaks). [sidenote: charge of the french knights] "through that caitiff infantry we went as a hot knife cleaves through cheese. i had the st. aliquis banner, and kept close behind messire conon with all our men hallooing and smiting behind. _hé!_ what chance had those villein footmen against _gentle_ frenchmen, who all had known horses and lance since they ceased from mother's milk? so one and all we charged, and, like castles rising out of the plain, soon you could see here, there, and yonder the banners and squadrons of our cavaliers on their tall horses, looming above the snarling, striking footmen, who closed in all around them, and yet could not keep our knights from charging forward, always forward. "after that, all the battle was broken up. for when emperor otto and his knights saw their infantry being cut down like sheep, they also charged, giving us the honest joy of crossing swords with men of nobility. so for a long time it was horse to horse and man to man. you have heard the jongleurs tell of the great deeds done. but as for us of st. aliquis, just as we were close to hewing our way clear through the whole german line, lo! a great shouting rose on our left--"the king! the king!" and we saw the royal standard being tossed up and down, as in distress, by sire wado de montigny, who bore it. then back we charged, with many cavaliers more--just in time. for king philip, while attacking gallantly like any other knight, had been separated from most of his friends, and a swarm of knavish flemish pikemen had striven to drag him from his horse. his good armor turned their pikes, yet a soldier caught the hook of a halberd in the chain mail round his throat and pulled him to the ground. but the king sprang up as briskly as a young squire, and all the french knights at hand spurred to his aid. then it was that sire peter tristen leaped from his own horse and mounted his lord upon it; and messire conon, being among the very first to ride up and scatter or trample the flemings, later received no small praise and thanks. "therefore, in that part of the field god prospered us; and then came the signal mercy when emperor otto fled the field. for as our knights charged and his cavaliers gave way, our men slew otto's horse, and when he fell they almost seized the emperor. however, his saxons, selling their lives right dearly, got him another horse. but herein was the german emperor different from our good french king. for when philip was remounted again he raised once more his clear '_montjoie st. denis!_' and pressed the charge; but otto (nigh out of his wits, perhaps, and somewhat wounded) fled from the field with only three knights, leaving his great banner and all his brave vassals to their fate; and they say he never drew rein till he reached valenciennes. [sidenote: rout of the germans and flemings] "the german knights, though deserted, still fought bravely, but the netherlanders and flemings soon were fleeing in droves. besides, on the two wings of the conflict we frenchmen were already proving victorious and from right and left our knights were charging in to help the center, cutting their way so far to the rear that when at last the german cavaliers knew that all was lost, and now began to flee, they often found themselves surrounded and were pulled from their horses and so made captive. "thus ended the day's work, save on the right wing of the enemy. here had fought the great rebel reginald of boulogne, who knew there was naught left for him save victory or ruin. he formed some seven hundred brabantine infantry into a circle. with their pikes and axes they beat off for long the charges of our cavaliers. from behind this living wall boulogne, with a few brave knights, time and again charged out, performing high deeds of valor, and then, as it were, retreating into their fortress to get breath. but now that the remainder of the field was cleared, king philip brought up his whole power of cavalry. he formed three thousand of us into three great columns of mounted men and, charging in on every side, by sheer weight we broke the brabantine circle down. so we dragged the count of boulogne from his horse, fighting to the last, and the king holds him close prisoner unto this day. "this was the last mêlée of a battle the like whereof has not been in france these many years. of course, the slaughter of the footmen was great, some thousands of both ours and theirs. the field was a sorry sight that evening and the groans of the dying rang in my ears, for all that we were so happy. but it pleased the saints that, thanks to good armor, we cavaliers got off quite safely. i have heard that 'only three french knights were slain,' although i am sure that number is too few. of the germans and flemings they say one hundred and seventy knights were killed outright; but better still, we took five german counts, twenty-five barons, and some hundred and six lesser knights as prisoners. it was the ransom of that baron of imgerfels whom we unhorsed which presently went far to pay for your aunt's wedding and uncle's knighting. "as for the manner in which we all returned to paris joyous as the angels, and how the church bells rang and all the fat burghers hung the streets with tapestry, and with the clergy and scholars in the university we had seven days of illuminations, feastings, and rejoicings, which is a story repeated every day. but there will never be another bouvines." so spoke the seneschal. if we would comment on his narrative, we would say that philip manifestly conquered because his very unepiscopal chief of staff, bishop garin, drew up his army with greater skill than otto's leaders arranged the german-fleming host, and also because when at last the hosts engaged in a series of innumerable duels, the french knights on the average proved superior. king philip, after the fight was started, showed himself a valiant cavalier personally, but hardly figured as a commander. otto contributed to shake the morale of his men by premature flight, but his great host of footmen were almost worthless, despite their pikes and halberds, against the terrific shock of the french cavalry, charging on perfectly smooth ground, where mailed horsemen could fight at their best. missile weapons played no part. when the english yew bow shall appear, the situation may change. till then the mounted knight, in all his ponderous armor, charging with lance at rest or with his great sword dancing in his hands, will appear as the monarch of the battlefields. bouvines has marked the apogée of the feudal cavalry. [illustration: listening to a trouvÈre in a chÂteau of the thirteenth century when a trouvère stopped in a château, the lord, his family, and his people assembled in the great hall; the trouvère recited some long poem, accompanying himself on a musical instrument, assisted by jugglers who entertained the audience while the poet rested.] footnotes: [ ] this famous battle cry of french royalty probably meant "_follow the banner of st. denis!_" its exact origin, however is obscure. in feudal battles, armies often used merely the names of their leaders, "_burgundy!_" "_coucy!_" "_bourbon!_" etc. but many regions had a special war cry. thus the normans cried "_dex ais!_" the bretons, "_malo! malo!_" the angevins "_valée!_" imperialists were likely to cry "_rome!_" and crusaders "_holy sepulcher!_" to "cry one's ensign" was a great object in all mediæval battles. chapter xvi: the life of the peasants. thus have been seen messire conon and his familiars in their pleasures, feasts, and wars. the gentle folk seem to monopolize all the life of the barony. yet at best they number scarce one in a hundred of all the christians who dwell therein. assuredly the poor and humble seem much less interesting and command less attention. they have no splendors, no picturesque fêtes or feuds. a life of monotonous poverty seldom detains the chronicler; nevertheless, it is time to visit the village of huts so often seen spreading beyond the bridge to the west of the castle. the st. aliquis peasants are told that they have naught whereof to complain. they have a kindly seigneur who "renders justice." since the foretvert feud, no war has ravaged them. the saints of late have sent neither short crops nor pestilence. to repine against their lot is ingratitude toward god. there is abundant class consciousness in the feudal ages. clerks, knights, peasants--every man knows to which of the three great categories of humanity he belongs, and acts accordingly. a monkish preacher[ ] pictures the world as a vast body whereof the clerics are the eyes, for they show to all men the way to safety; the noble knights the hands and arms, for god orders them to protect the church and the weak and to promote peace and justice; finally the common people (_minores_) form the lower parts of the body--it is their business to nourish the eyes and limbs. more bluntly still, as long ago as about a.d. , bishop adelberon of laon had divided mankind into two great divisions--first, the clergy who prayed and the seigneurs who fought; second, the toilers; adding that "to furnish all with gold, food, and raiment--such is the obligation of the servile class." since these classes are clearly ordained of heaven, to rebel against one's status is manifestly questioning the justice of providence--a damnable impiety. few of the st. aliquis peasants ever dream of being anything but villeins. they regard gentlefolk somewhat as good christians regard angels--as beings of another sphere. all they hope for is kindly treatment and modest prosperity within the limits providentially assigned them. therefore, they are not too unhappy. if we go up and down france we shall find the rural population decidedly dense.[ ] one little village usually follows another closely and every collection of huts swarms with human bipeds. there are, indeed, vast forests and marshes which might with better management be put under the plow, but the extent of arable land is great. heaven surely loves the peasants, it has made so many of them. seemingly their number is limited merely by the question of food supply. [sidenote: danger of great famines] if the condition of the peasantry often seems bad, it is comforting to know that for the last two centuries it has been improving. not for many years have matters in the st. aliquis region been as they were in some parts of france during the terrible famine of - . at that time we are told that the poor devoured grass, roots and even white clay. their faces were pale, their bodies lean, their stomachs bloated, "their voices thin and piping like the voice of birds." wolves came out of forests and fed on children. strangers and travelers were liable to be waylaid in solitary spots and killed simply that they might be eaten. near macon a "hermit" at last was seized who had lured wayfarers to share the hospitality of his cell. the skulls of forty-eight victims were there discovered, after which they burned the wretch alive. [illustration: group of peasants and of shepherds (twelfth century), from a window in the cathedral of chartres.] you can go on multiplying stories about famines--how human flesh at times was sold in markets; how starving children were lured by the offers of a bit of food to places where ghouls could kill and feast on them; how a measure of corn rose to sixty sous in gold; and how even the very rich "lost their color." these days, thanks be to the saints, seem disappearing; yet the danger of pinching hard times is still a real one, even in fortunate st. aliquis.[ ] the peasants of messire conon are free. the serfs of the barony had been manumitted about a hundred years earlier, by a baron who (after an extremely iniquitous life) was admonished on his deathbed by his confessor that he must do something extraordinary for the salvation of his soul.[ ] as a result the st. aliquis peasants were no longer bound to the soil and could quit the seigneury--as serfs assuredly could not do. they could also marry any women they wished without asking their lord's consent or paying him a fee. they could bequeath their goods without having him sequester an outrageous part. all this, of course, improved their status, yet they were still subject to numerous imposts in money and kind, and to various forms of forced labor. although they had now the legal right to quit the barony, only with the greatest difficulty could they sell their little farms and chattels thereon, so they could take a decent share of their possessions elsewhere; and if they wandered to distant parts, the local authorities were likely to call them "masterless men" and assume that if they had forsaken their old lord they must somehow be criminals. [sidenote: exploitation of villeins] nevertheless, it is much better to be a free peasant than a serf. the majority of the french lower classes are now becoming free, although in other christian lands, notably germany, serfage will prevail for a weary day hereafter. but even though one becomes free, he is a villein still. the taint of ignoble blood clings like a shirt of pitch, even after achieving prosperity and wealth. knightly opinion is expressed by that great troubadour, bertran de born: "i love to see the rich churl in distress if he dares to strive with nobles. i love to see him beg his bread in nakedness." even a well-disposed lord looks on a peasant largely as a source of income. in time of peace the taxes and forced labor squeezed out of him yield that which presently turns into destrers, silvered hauberks, furs, hawks, fair dames' luxuries, dowries, adubbements, tourneys. in time of war he exists to be pillaged and massacred, in order to impoverish his master by ruining the latter's revenues. the burghers of the towns are a little more respected. their industrial products are needful. they can better protect themselves. but the richest syndic of a commune cannot really hold up his head socially with the unknighted bachelor who drags out life in a tumble-down manor house. at every turn the peasant finds himself exploited. he must pay a direct tax supposedly proportioned to the size and yield of his farm. that is only the beginning. when his wife has bread to bake, it must be taken to the lord's oven. one loaf in so many goes as the fee. the flour must be ground up in the lord's mill--again for a fee. the grapes must be pressed out in the lord's winepress. the sheep must be driven into the lord's sheepfold every night, that he may get the manure. every dispute must be arbitrated before the lord's provost or the great man himself--more fees. in short, the whole régime aims to compel the peasant to go to his seigneur for everything he needs, so that he will have extremely little business to transact away from the seigneury. doubtless it is a convenience often to find things commonly needful always at hand. there is a certain return for many of the exactions. but the seigneur does not act out of benevolence. if the peasants wish, for example, to set up their own ovens, they must pay the seigneur the equivalent of the baker's fees of which he is deprived. if they then wish to bake their own bread, he is now quite indifferent. besides the imposts and numerous fees (_banalités_) the peasants owe the _corvées_, payments by labor. a large part of every seigneury is "domain land"--for the lord's own personal use. the peasants are obliged to give a certain number of days to keep this plowed and tilled, mow the meadows, bring in the hay, dress the vines. they must also see that the castle has its firewood and fodder; clean out the moat; help keep the fortifications in repair; and assist on many extraordinary occasions.[ ] for this they get no pay, although they may be given their rations during the days of labor. in time of war they do almost everything from helping to defend the castle to marching on offensive campaigns as part of the ban--serving, as we have seen, as grooms, baggage attendants, diggers, and engineers, and also as the despised, but sometimes useful, infantry pikemen. [sidenote: oppressive seigneurial officers] such are the burdens of the st. aliquis peasants. they burn holy candles of thankfulness, however, that baron conon does not multiply their troubles by intrusting the collection of his imposts and the administration of his forced labor to outrageous officers. sire macaire, the provost, is harsh toward real offenders and strict in exacting the last _sol_ or sheaf in just debts, but he is no blackmailer, as is foretvert's general factotum. in old baron garnier's day, of course, there had been a provost who not merely levied abominable imposts, diverting a share thereof toward his own pocket, but who would accuse poor men falsely of theft and then take bribes for condoning their alleged offenses, all the time that he was dividing the profits of real bandits whom he protected. even more obnoxious can be the forester who controls the hunting preserves and grazing grounds. he decides how the peasants' pigs may be turned out in the oak forests, how and when firewood may be cut, and he battles incessantly with the multitudinous poachers. a few years ago even conon was deceived by a fellow in his employ, one maître crispin. he was "a very handsome man with fine carriage and well armed with bow and sword." no one could _congé_ more gracefully to madame adela, or do more to help messire to discover a great boar, but all the while he was filling his own chest. for example, he seized lame georges' oxen on the pretext that he had cut three oaks and a birch in the seigneur's forest--yet he would forget the crime if georges could find him one hundred sous! fortunately sire macaire discovered the evil ways of his lieutenant, and conon, exceedingly incensed, had the smooth crispin turned over to maître denis and his halter after abrupt formalities. the present forester, taught by example, is more honest, although of course, all the real poachers curse him. [illustration: peasants at work from a manuscript of the thirteenth century (bibliothèque nationale).] a great part of the peasant's time is spent neither in working nor in resting, but in walking. few are so lucky as to have all their land in a single compact plot. even a rather poor peasant has his farm scattered in several tiny holdings, possibly at the four quarters of the neighborhood. when a peasant dies, his children all divide the paternal estate, and if a separate piece of ground cannot be provided for each heir, some lots must be subdivided smaller still. the st. aliquis lands thus present a curious sight--innumerable little parcels scattered everywhere, each carefully fenced off and each growing its own separate crops. meantime their owners begin in the morning toiling with their heavy mattocks, on one of their holdings, then on to the next, and so on until sundown. thus they trudge several miles, and yet are seldom far from their village, whither they must all return at dusk. [sidenote: primitive agricultural methods] men of more fortunate days will be astonished when they survey the agricultural methods of even the least stupid peasants. everything is according to traditions--"so it was with our fathers." in the abbey library there are some latin books about agriculture. they deal with conditions in ancient italy, however, not feudal france. the most benevolent monk hardly dreamed of examining his cato or columella to learn how to better the lot of the peasantry, though in fairness it should be said that the abbey farms enjoy on the whole a much superior cultivation. not all peasants can own plows; they borrow or hire from their neighbors, or break the ground with the clumsy mattocks. what plows exist have only wooden plowshares. the wheat in st. aliquis is beaten out by flails, although a little farther south it is trodden out by cattle. the soil is often impoverished, and it is usual to leave one-third fallow all the time to recuperate. such a thing as "rotation of crops" is still a matter of vague talk save on some of the monastery lands. under these circumstances, even in the best of years, there is not much surplus of food. a short crop means misery. men pessimistically expect a famine on the average of one in every four years. if there has not been one of late in st. aliquis, it is because the saints are rich in mercy. "in a countless throng died of hunger," significantly wrote a chronicler in rheims. naturally, the villeins seldom get enough ahead to be able to learn the practices of thrift. if the year has been good, with an extra supply of corn in the barns, and plenty of pigs and chickens fattening, the winter will be spent in gorging and idleness. by spring the old crop is exhausted almost to the seed corn; then perhaps the new crop will be a failure. the next winter these same peasants may be glad to make a pottage of dead leaves. lame georges, who had his oxen sequestered, is, despite his misfortunes, one of the most prosperous peasants in the village. he limps because in his youth a retainer of baron garnier's twisted one of his feet while trying to extort money. georges is really only forty-five years old, but to see his gray head, gnarled face, and bent back you would think him sixty. his wife jeanne is four years younger than he, but looks as aged as her husband. "old jeanne," the children call her. the pair have been blessed with at least fifteen children, but four of these died in childbirth, and five more before they could grow up. the other six are, all but the youngest, married already and jeanne has been a grandmother for several years. georges' house stands near the center of the village. to reach it you pick your way down a lane usually deep in mud. in front of each fenced-in cottage there is an enormous dungheap, beloved by the hens and pigs, which roam about freely. georges' one-story dwelling is an irregularly built, rambling structure of wood, wattles, and thatch, all of dirty brown. this "manse" stretches away in four parts. the rearmost contains the corn cribs, the next mows for hay and straw, then the cattle sheds; and nearest, and smallest, the house for the family. [sidenote: a peasant's house] pushing back the heavy door, after lifting the wooden latch, one enters a single large room; the timbers and walls thereof are completely blackened by soot. there is really only one apartment. here everything in the household life seems to go on. the floor is of earth pounded hard. upon it are playing several very dirty, half-naked children, come over to visit "grandmother," and just now they are chasing two squealing little pigs under the great oak table near the center. one makes no account of a duck leading her goslings in at the door in hopes of scraps from the dinner. a hen is setting on eggs in a box near the great fireplace. jeanne has just kindled a lively fire of vine branches and dry billets. she is proud that her house contains many convenient articles not found with all the neighbors. by the fireplace is an iron pot hanger, a shovel, large fire tongs, a copper kettle, and a meat hook. next to the fireplace is an oven, in case she does not wish to use that at the castle and yet will pay the baron's fee. on the other side of the fireplace is an enormous bed, piled with a real mountain of feather mattresses--we do not discuss their immunity from vermin. in this one bed a goodly fraction of georges' entire family, male and female, old and young, have been able to sleep; of course, with their heads usually pointing in opposite directions. if a stranger chances to spend the night, it will be hospitable to ask him to make "one more" in that selfsame bed! if the goodman takes us about his establishment we shall find that, in addition to various stools and benches, he owns a ladder, a mortar and pestle for braying corn, a mallet, some crudely shaped nails, a gimlet, a very imperfect saw, fishing lines, hooks, and a basket. he is fortunate enough also to own a plow, and, in addition, a scythe, an iron spade, a mattock, a pair of large shears, a handy knife, and a sharpening stone. he has replaced the stolen oxen with another pair and owns a two-wheeled wagon with a harness of thongs and ropes. besides the oxen, there are three milch cows in his barn, and he has a hennery and pigpen. the place seems also to abound with long, lean cats, very wild, who gain a living by hunting the numerous rats and mice which lurk in the dense thatch of the roofs. georges himself wears a blouse of dirt-colored cloth, or sometimes of sheepskin, fastened by a leathern belt. in cold weather he has a mantle of thick woolen homespun, now also dirt color, to his knees. he has a pair of very heavy leathern boots, although not seldom he goes on short walks barefoot. the lower part of his body is covered by a pair of loose woolen trousers which once were blue. very seldom, save in storms, does he wear any headdress; then he produces a kind of cap of the same dirty woolen as his coat. as for gloves, he never wears them except when hedging. jeanne's costume is much the same, with a few changes to make it suitable for women. in her chest she has, however, a green bliaut of flanders wool made somewhat in imitation of those she has seen at the castle, and it even is beautified with red and purple embroidery. this bliaut she wears with pride on great festival days, and in it, despite the envious hopes of her daughters and daughters-in-law, she expects at last to be buried. [illustration: a laborer, thirteenth century restored by viollet-le-duc, from the manuscript of herrade of landsberg.] [sidenote: very poor peasants] georges' house is considerably better than many others. some of his neighbors live in mere cabins that are barely weather tight. they are made of crossed laths stuffed with straw or grass, and have no chimney. the smoke from the hearth escapes through a small hole in the roof (where the thatch is very liable to take fire) or merely through the door. none of these houses has glass windows. georges fastens his few openings with wooden shutters, but poor alard near by has to close his apertures by stuffing them up with straw, if it is too cold to leave them open. alard, too, is without a bed. his family sleep on thin pallets of straw laid on the ground, with a few ragged blankets. there are plenty of peasants who have not even the straw. [illustration: peasant shoes twelfth century (abbey church of vézelay)] [illustration: a reaper from the doorway of the cathedral of amiens.] alard inevitably has no cows, no oxen or cart, no plow, and only a few rude tools. he and his are barely able to satisfy the provost's men by grinding field labor, and have still enough grain laid up to carry them till the next harvest. if it is a little too dry, a little too wet, if, in short, any one of a number of untoward things happen, by next spring he, with his bent and bony wife and his five lean children, will all be standing at the castle or abbey gate with so many other mendicants to cry their "bread! for the love of christ, a little bread!" the peasants marry as early as do the nobility. of the moral condition of many of them it is best to say little. good father Étienne, the parish priest, spends much of his time first in baptizing infants of unacknowledged paternity, and then in running down their presumptive fathers and forcing the latter to provide for their children's upkeep. but a girl can often indulge in amazing indiscretions and later find some self-respecting peasant willing to marry her. every girl looks forward to her marriage as the climax of life. if she hopes to find a husband in the coming year, she will dance around a bonfire, then cast some pins into a bubbling fountain. if these are thrown to the surface it is a sign the right swain will come along. when drawing water from a well, if she can throw into it an egg cracked upon the head of some companion, she can see in the water the image of her future husband. as for the young men, when one of them decides he wishes to marry a certain girl, he often comes to her parents, presenting a leathern bottle of wine. if they drink of the same his suit is accepted. however, if he is uncertain of his reception by the maiden herself, he invites himself to dinner at her home. if at the end she serves him with a dish of walnuts, it is a clear token that he is rejected. he had better slink away. [illustration: a marriage in the thirteenth century from a manuscript of the bibliothèque nationale (bordier et charton).] on the wedding day, if the bride has always been sage and modest, the neighbors present her with a white hen, but her mother gives her a piece of fine cloth, to make a gala dress which will serve ultimately for a shroud. at the ceremony itself the great question is, "how will the wedding ring slip on?" if easily the bride will be docile. if it goes on tightly she will rule her husband! [illustration: a plow restored by viollet-le-duc, from a manuscript of the thirteenth century at the seminary of soissons.] [sidenote: hard toil and ignorance] the peasants need every kind of public and private holiday. on ordinary days toil begins at gray dawn and usually continues until dusk. there are no eight-hour laws; even the "nooning" is short, although sometimes there is time taken out in hot weather for a siesta during the afternoon. the women labor in the fields as hard as do the men. children begin weeding, digging, and carrying when very little. their help is so important that many peasants look on large families as assets of so much unpaid field labor, rather than as liabilities which they must clothe and feed until the children reach maturity. education is almost unknown. one or two very bright boys from the village somehow have been caught by the churchmen and trained for the priesthood. there is even a story of a lad born in a neighboring seigneury who thus rose to be a bishop! but such cases are very exceptional. in the whole village by st. aliquis, father Étienne is the only person who understands the mysteries of reading and writing, except two assistants of the provost, who have to keep accounts for the baron. it is very hard for great folk to understand such teachings of the church as that "all men are brethren." "doubtless it is true," adela and alienor have often told each other, that "god created man in his own image," but how is it possible that god should have the image of most of the villeins on the seigneury? are not so many of them like the peasant described in the epic "garin"? "he had enormous hands and massive limbs. his eyes were separated from each other by a hand's breadth. his shoulders were large, his chest deep, his hair bristling, and his face black as a coal. he went six months without bathing. nothing but rain water had ever touched his face." the manners of these people are equally repulsive. countless ballads as well as monks' sermons and treatises represent your typical villein as incessantly discontented, scolding about the weather, which is always too wet or too dry, treating his wife like an animal, hauling her about by the hair. lately at the castle a jongleur told this anecdote: "a certain peasant showered his wife with blows on principle. 'she must have some occupation,' said he, 'while i work in the field. if she is idle she will think of evil things. if i beat her she will weep the whole day through, and so will pass the time. then when i return in the evening she will be more tender.'" according to other stories, however, many peasants are clever, aggressive, and insolent--well able to care for themselves. [sidenote: filthy habits of peasants] the castle folk and the burghers are none too careful in sanitary matters, but even to them the peasants are disgustingly filthy. they relate in pontdebois this story: "once a villein, leading some donkeys, went down the lane of the perfumer's shops. instantly he fainted at the unaccustomed odor. they brought him to, however, by holding a shovel full of manure under his nose." another story (told at the monastery) has it that the devil has refused to receive more villeins into hell because they smell so vilely! in the village you soon find many typical peasant characters, and nearly all of them are bad. there is the surly fellow who will not even tell a traveler the way. there is the malcontent villein who mutters enviously whenever he sees a knight riding out hawking; there is the mad fool who reviles god, saints, church, and nobility; there is the talkative villein who is always arguing bad causes before the provost's court and inciting his neighbors to senseless litigation, there is the honest simpleton who wandered up to pontdebois and got his pockets picked while gaping at the sculptures on the portal of the cathedral; finally, there are the misers, the petty speculators in grain (who pray for a famine), and all the tribe of poachers. certainly there are also a great number of hard-working, honest folk who bow respectfully when messire conon rides by and who pay their taxes without grumbling. such give prosperity to the seigneury; but it is the rascals who ever thrust themselves into prominence. the st. aliquis villeins seem doltish and dirty enough, but they are nothing to those existing in flanders. some monks have recently returned thence after doing business for their order. they tell with horror that in summertime flemish peasants are seen around their villages, taking their ease, with no more clothes on than when they were born. when the monks remonstrated, the rough answer was: "how is this your business? you make no laws for us." it is pitiful (say the monks) that any seigneur should tolerate such things on his fief, for the peasants are such sodden creatures they cannot of themselves be expected to know better. if the knights exploit the peasants, the clergy do so hardly less. it is notoriously hard for the bishop's tithe collector to secure the quota of pigs, hens, eggs, wheat, vegetables, etc., which everybody knows that the villein owes to the church after or upon the same time he satisfies the collectors for the baron. indeed, certain impious villeins complain, "the tithe is worse than the imposts and the _corvées_." the monkish preachers have to be constantly threatening these sinners who pay their tithes slowly. the church tithe is the property of god. "it is the tax you owe to god, a sign of his universal dominion." those who withhold it not merely imperil their souls, but god will send them "drought and famine," punishing them alike in this world and the next. villeins too often wickedly insist on working on sundays and holy days. the peasants complain there are so many saints' days that it is hard to keep track of them, but if only they would go to church on sundays when the priest announces the next holy days they could avoid this sin. worse still are the peasants who, when they see their fellows going dutifully to mass, hide under the hedges, then slip away to rob the unguarded orchards. [sidenote: gross oppression by knights] it seems certain, therefore, that god has no such love for villeins as he has for gentle knights and their dames. the knights display their superiority by always reminding their peasants of their condition. with some barons, to flog their villein for most trifling offenses is about as common as for them to eat their dinners. even conon has plenty of use for his riding whip. unless the blows are very brutal the average peasant takes this as all in the day's work. he merely trades out his own blows upon his wife and children. indeed, it is commonly said that most villeins are so numb mentally they never can comprehend the simplest orders unless they are driven home with stripes. in time of war the fate of the peasants is, as we have seen, far worse than this. whatever a feud means to the contending parties, to their villeins it means houses and crops burned, fruit trees girdled, young girls dragged off to a life of infamy, and probably the massacre of many peasants in cold blood. one of the reasons the nobles delight so in war is because it is seldom that they have to endure its real anguish and horror; but in the churches the non-nobles pray, "_grant us to peace_" quite as fervently as they beseech, "save us from famine"--and with equal justice. the monkish preachers who make a business of scolding sometimes denounce high-born oppressors of the villeins. one monk thus cries out, "all that the peasant amasses in one year of stubborn toil, the noble devours in an hour. not content with his lawful revenues, he despoils them by illicit exactions. as wolves devour carrion while the crows croak overhead, awaiting their share of the feast, so when knights pillage their subjects the provosts (their agents) and others of the hellish crew rejoice at the prospect of devouring the remainder." or again: "ye nobles are ravening wolves; therefore shall ye howl in hell," for you "despoil your subjects and live on the blood and sweat of the poor." (jacques of vitry.) nevertheless, the selfsame preachers accuse the peasants of the cardinal sins of avarice and of shunning labor. only rarely are the villeins comforted by being told that if they work faithfully and bring up a proper family they are morally on equality "with a cleric who chants all day in a church." on the st. aliquis fiefs, and, indeed, on many others, these grosser abuses do not obtain, but nowhere are the villeins exempt from one evil which they must meet with dumb resignation--the seigneurial hunts.[ ] conon and his guests never hesitate at going with horses and hawks or hounds straight across plowed and seeded fields or even over standing grain. this is the lord's absolute right, and protest is impossible. the hunters, too, are entitled, if far from home, to stop at the peasants' huts and demand food and fodder, perhaps for a large party. if payment is made, it is merely out of charity. greater evils still may come from the depredations of the wild game, if the fields are close to the hunting preserves. villeins cannot harm any deer nibbling the young sprouts. they can only scare them away--and the cunning creatures soon grow daring. a wild boar can root up a dozen little farm plots before the baron can find leisure to chase him down. upon some fiefs the peasants can arrange to pay an extra fee to their lord, in return for which he keeps only rabbits near their fields; but the hunt of a single rabbit, if the flying wretch doubles in among the corn, may ruin a family. on the other hand, the penalties for poaching, for "killing messire's game," are terrible. it is probably safer on st. aliquis'--as on any other fief--to risk killing a traveler than killing a fawn or even a hare. the law is pitilessly enforced by the foresters. maître denis will tell you he has hanged more stout fellows for poaching than for any other two crimes put together. [sidenote: futile peasant revolts] do the villeins ever revolt? sometimes, when they are driven to desperation by extreme misery; when they find a clever leader; when circumstances are peculiarly favorable. then may come the sudden burning of manor houses and small fortalices; the massacre of their inmates; and other brutish deeds of tardy retaliation. the rebels are likely to boast, as did some insurgent peasants in normandy in the eleventh century: "we have been weak and insane to bend our necks for so long. for we are strong-handed men, and solider and stouter limbed than the nobles will ever be. for everyone of them there are a hundred of us!" such revolts always have a single end. the ignorant peasants submit to no discipline. they cannot use the knight's weapons if they capture them. they cannot organize. if they seize a castle, the liquor in the cellars lays them out helpless through a week of orgy. the seigneurs instantly rally and with their great horses hunt down the rebels as creatures worse than wolves. the vengeance then taken on the insurgents is such that every ear that hears thereof must tingle. perhaps along a league of roadway a corpse will be swinging from every tree. such measures effectively discourage rebellion save under most exceptional circumstances. even with atrocious seigneurs it is usually best to bow to the will of god and merely to pray for deliverance. georges' and alard's mental horizons can be imagined. they have on rare occasions been as far as pontdebois, although some of their neighbors have passed a lifetime without even that privilege. they have only the most limited, one might say only the most animal, hopes and fears. their ideas of such things as the king's court, paris, and the various christian and infidel lands are a jumble of absurd notions. "religion" means a few prayers, a few saints' stories, as told in the church, the miracle plays at christmas, and a fear lest by failing in proper respect to monks and priests they will be eternally tormented in worse torture chambers than old baron garnier's. the villeins, of course, have their own rustic holidays, full of rough sports--wrestling, throwing weights, archery, and also cockfighting and bull baiting. the best of entertainment is when two blindfolded men, each carrying a cudgel, try to kill a goose or pig let loose in an inclosure. the whole village roars to see them belabor each other. during the wedding festivities, to show their dutiful esteem for alienor and olivier, the peasants had arranged a special ceremony in their honor. four blindfolded men were led about the neighborhood, preceded by two men, one playing an oboe, the other carrying a red banner whereon a pig was painted. after this noisy merrymaking a real pig was produced, and before an august company of most of the castle folk the four champions "attacked the pig." they hit one another so hard, that one was picked up almost dead. the pig became the property of the villein who had managed to pound the life out of the creature just as in mercy alienor was about to beg that the contest end. despite grievances and grumblings, the average peasants are loyal, somewhat after the manner of dumb dogs, to their seigneurs. conon and adela command the real affection of their villeins because of acts of charity, but even baron garnier had been treated with an astonishing faithfulness. many a knight has owed his life or honor to humble dependents whom he has not treated so well as his horses or hounds. it is the toiling thousands in the little thatched huts that make possible the wedding feasts, the adubbements, the tourneys, and the spectacular battles. some day the exploitation will cease--but not in the thirteenth century. footnotes: [ ] this cleric, jacques of vitry, may have written a few years later than the presumable date of this narrative, but it represents entirely the orthodox viewpoint of a.d. . [ ] it has been estimated that the rural population of france in the thirteenth century was almost as great as in the twentieth. there was probably a decided falling off, in the fourteenth century, thanks to the black death ( ) and the ravages of the hundred years' war. [ ] by these wholesale famines were really becoming matters of tradition, thanks to better transportation and better methods of agriculture. very lean years, almost ruinous to the peasantry, remained, however, as extremely grim possibilities. [ ] in brittany, and, somewhat less generally in normandy, most of the peasants at this time were free. in champagne and central france there were still so many serfs that very possibly the peasants of st. aliquis were more fortunate than the majority of the villeins on neighboring baronies. the advantages of the free peasants over the serfs have, however, been somewhat exaggerated. [ ] the list of curious _corvées_ required of peasants on various seigneuries is a long one. on one fief they were expected to beat the water of the castle moat to stop the noise of the frogs whenever the mistress was sick. or on certain specified occasions they had to perform some absurd service: to hop on one leg, to kiss the latch of the castle gate, go through some drunken horseplay in the lord's presence, or sing a broad song in the presence of his lady. [ ] see page . chapter xvii: charity. care of the sick. funerals. even upon a well-ordered seigneury the number of the poor, disabled, and generally miserable is great. despite the contempt displayed by the great for the lowly, the feudal age is not lacking in pretty abundant charity or rather in almsgiving. the haughtiest cavalier feels it his duty to scatter copper obols when he goes among the poor, though doubtless he tells his squire to fling the coins merely to "satisfy this hungry rabble." among the virtues of conon and adela is the fact that they throw the money with their own gentle hands. this somehow adds to the donative's value. the present season is prosperous at st. aliquis. furthermore, there has just been such an open house at the castle that one would expect even the most luckless to be satiated for a while. nevertheless, the very day after the guests have departed adela is informed that there are more than thirty people before the drawbridge, chanting their "alms! for the sake of christ, alms!" the baroness, suppressing a sigh, quits her maids, to whom she is just assigning their weaving, and goes to the bailey. with her attends lay-brother gensenius, an assistant to father grégoire, who acts as castle almoner. the crowd contains many familiar faces. yonder old man on one leg, the blind woman led by a little girl, the lad with a withered arm, the woman disfigured by goiter, the widow whose husband was slain in a brawl, leaving her with eight children, the harmless idiot--all these adela immediately recognizes. but the excitement of the fêtes has attracted others whom she and brother gensenius scan closely. this melancholy fellow on crutches possibly can run very fast if he sees that the provost's men are after him. his companion, who seems covered with sores and who claims to be on a pilgrimage to a healing shrine, is clearly a scamp and malingerer. right before the baroness a strange woman falls down foaming at the mouth, as if she had epilepsy. gensenius shakes his crafty head. "she is the same impostor," he whispers, "who tried her trick with a bit of soap yesterday in the village." so the sheep gradually are separated from the goats. some of the charlatans are chased away. some of those who receive loaves of bread and broken meat are perhaps no more deserving than the rejected. but dare one really be too critical? after all, the reason why great folk give to beggars is to cancel sins. if the beggars are undeserving, that hardly diminishes the credit with the saints for conon and adela. it would be calamitous if there were suddenly to be no poor, worthy or unworthy, for how then, by parting with some of their abundance, could the rich buy peace for their souls? fortunately, however, there is no such danger. our lord has directly said, "the poor ye have always with you," a most comforting word of scripture. poverty, then, is a blessed institution even for the fortunate in this world; it enables them to procure entrance to heaven by acts of charity. as for persons who are needy, of course, if they bear their lot with christian resignation they accumulate a blessed stock of indulgence which will cut short their durance in purgatory. [sidenote: physical severity of mediaeval life] the morning dole is a regular feature at st. aliquis, as at every other castle and monastery. the amount of food given away is really very great. but there is next to no attempt on the part of the average seigneury really to remedy this mendicancy--to devise honest work within the capacities of the blind or the lame; to give systematic relief to the widow; to put the idiot lad in some decent institution. every premium is placed upon the idlers, the impostors, and the low-browed rogues who prefer anything to honest toil. in the times of real famine, even, the temptation to cease prematurely struggling against hard times and to lapse into beggardom is very dangerous. despite, therefore, much genuine kindness on the part of many donors, charity in the feudal age is allowed more than ordinarily to cover a multitude of sins--alike those of the givers and the receivers. upon the st. aliquis barony there is an astonishing number of unabashed drones and parasites. these miserable folk, however, have some excuse. conditions of life in the feudal age, even for the cavaliers, are very severe. men and women begin the duties of life young, mature young, grow old young. henry ii of anjou and england was only forty-seven when they began to call him "old." philip augustus was only fifteen when he was capable of assuming the actual duties of a responsible monarch. many a baron is gray headed at forty. when he is fifty his sons may often be intriguing to supplant their superannuated father. if this is true of the nobility, what of the toiling peasantry? we have seen how georges and jeanne are aged before their time. grinding toil by weakening the body, of course, leaves it exposed to many ordinary diseases. but certainly conditions in castle and village open the doors to extraordinary plagues as well. the age is happily ignorant of sanitary precautions which more sophisticated mortals will consider a matter of course. the peasants "almost live on the manure heap." the clergy (though not themselves so uncleanly) seldom preach the virtues of bathing; indeed, their discourses on "despising the body" apparently discourage the practice. it is hard to keep meat any length of time unless it is salted, and the vast amounts of salt meat consumed everywhere are direct promoters of scurvy and gangrene. we have seen that nearly all the clothing worn close to the body is woolen. this retains filth, is hard to wash, and irritates the skin, another cause for frequent dermal diseases--scrofula, the itch, and things even worse. [illustration: a leper holding in his hand the bones with which these unfortunates were compelled to signal their approach from a distance. from a window in the cathedral of bourges (thirteenth century).] [sidenote: fearful plagues and mortality] leprosy is a terrible scourge. its nature is misunderstood. often severe but curable cases of eczema are confounded therewith, and harmless victims are condemned to a death in life--perpetual banishment to filthy cabins in the woods. cholera and smallpox every now and then break out in a neighborhood, and they are almost always fatal. nothing really can be done to check them except to pray to the saints. such diseases are (say the best informed) communicated "in the air"; consequently any ordinary isolation is useless. on the whole, they ravage the villages more than they do the castles, though hardly because the castle folk are able to take more effective physic. yet often enough a baron and his entire family may be swept away. very seldom is it suggested that pure water, cleanliness, and rational schemes of isolation can accomplish much to defeat the apparent desire of heaven to devastate an entire duchy. other diseases are fearfully common. the sufferers from nervous complaints make up small armies. the general terrors and wars of the times, the brooding fears of the devil, hell, and the eternal torment, the spectacle of the fearful punishments, and, on the other hand, the sheer ennui of life in many castles and in certain ill-ruled convents, drive men and women out of their wits. such sufferers are lucky if they are treated with kindness and are not, as being "possessed of devils," clapped in a dungeon. finally, it should be said that lucky is the mother who does not have one-third to one-half of all her offspring die in the act of birth. every entrance of a babe into the world is a dice throwing with death, even if the mid-wife is clever. once born, the children are likely to be so injured in the initiatory process that they will be physically imperfect or dangerously weakened. this is true even in the royal families; how much more true in the peasant huts! it is not surprising that the average man of the feudal ages can give and sustain hard blows. only the strongest have been able to survive the ordeals of birth and childhood. to fight these dangers, one must invoke both human and divine aid. good christians usually feel that the healing saints avail more than do physicians or wise women. if you have indigestion, invoke st. christopher; if dropsy, st. eutropius; if fever, st. petronila; for the pest, st. roch; for insanity, st. mathurin; for kidney complaint, st. rené; for cramps, st. crampan--and so with many other ills. nevertheless, one need not trust solely to prayers. only great people, however, employ regular physicians (_mires_). villeins commonly have in a "good woman," much better than a sorcerer. the breath of an ass drives poison from a body. the touch of a dead man's tooth cures toothache. if you have a nosebleed, seize the nose with two straws shaped like a cross. if the itch troubles you, roll yourself naked in a field of oats. georges, the peasant, will tell you that such remedies seldom fail. a local professor of the healing art is maître denis, the executioner. since he knows so well how to mutilate bodies, he ought to be able to understand the converse process of curing them. he has wide reputation as a healer of broken bones, and he often sells his patients a panacea for multifarious ills--"the fat of a man just hung." there is at least this to be said for the peasants: the science of _their_ healers will agree almost as much with that of later physicians as does that of the contemporary "physicians" themselves. the church has not given any too great encouragement to medicine. the mighty st. ambrose has said that the proper healing is by prayers and vigils. only clerics of the inferior orders are allowed to study medical science, and the dissection of dead bodies is decidedly discountenanced.[ ] at the castle the ordinary functionary to abate bodily ills is maître louis, the baron's barber. when not scraping chins, he was very likely giving the castle folk their monthly bleedings, without which it is very hard to keep one's health. the bleedings take place, if possible, in the great hall near the fire, and are undergone regularly by both sexes. when the st. aliquis forces are called to war, maître louis goes with them as barber-surgeon, and he really has considerable skill in setting fractures and cauterizing and salving wounds, as well as with a few powerful drugs--mostly purgatives--which probably help those of his patients who have the strongest constitutions to recover. [sidenote: professional physicians] when one of the baron's own family is seriously sick, it is usual to send to pontdebois for a professional physician. about two years ago conon himself fell into a fever. they brought to him maître payen, who claimed to have learned his art as _mire_ by travel among the schools of medicine--at salerno in sicily, at montpellier in the languedoc country, and even at cordova among the infidels, although the baron swore angrily (after he was gone) that he had never been nearer any of these places than paris. [illustration: a thirteenth-century doctor restored by viollet-le-duc, from a manuscript in the bibliothèque nationale.] maître payen was sprucely dressed half as a priest, half as a rich burgher. he wore elegant furs. he talked very learnedly of "febrifuges" and "humors," and kept repeating, "thus says avincenna, the prince of spanish physicians," or, "thus says albucasis, the infallible follower of avincenna." if conon had suffered from some easily discoverable malady, probably maître payen could have suggested a fairly efficient means of cure. he was not without shrewdness, and in his chest was a whole arsenal of herbs and drugs. he had also efficient salves, although he had never heard the word "antiseptic." but the baron had picked up one of those maladies which baffled easy diagnosis. maître payen, therefore, fussed about, clearly betraying his bewilderment, then struck a professional attitude and announced oracularly, "the obstruction to health is in the liver." "nay," groaned the baron, "it is in the head that i feel so wretched." "that is foolish," retorted the _mire_, crushingly: "beware of that word 'obstruction,' because you do not understand what it signifies."[ ] he next muttered certain cabalistic words; said that the baron should be glad that his liver was affected, because that was the seat of honor, and that upon recovery his honor would be enlarged. the spleen was the seat of laughter, while the lungs fanned the heart. payen then talked of remedies. perhaps the urine of a dog would be best, or the blood of a hegoat; but these were only villein remedies. messire, the patient, was a great noble and needed noble remedies, suitable for his rank. he would therefore (since the liver was affected) give him the dried and pulverized liver of a toad. and so he left his medicines, took a gold piece, and departed. that night conon was delirious, but adela, who, like every mistress of a castle, had perforce learned much of nursing, applied cold cloths to his body, while father grégoire prayed to the saints. the next morning, because of the cloths, the saints, or toad's liver, the fever abated. perhaps it had merely run its natural course. after the baron recovered he would curse terribly at mention of maître payen. he would be ready enough to cry "amen!" to the saying of the monk guy of provins, "they (the physicians) kill numbers of the sick, and exhaust themselves to find maladies for everybody. woe to him who falls into their power! i prefer a capon to all their mixtures!" the monk concedes, indeed, that certain physicians are useful, but that it is because of the confidence which they inspire rather than thanks to their medicines that they effect cures. [sidenote: healing relics and processions] when next conon falls sick, he vows that he will trust simply to maître louis or even to maître denis, although he may consent to send for a lazarist monk, a member of the great monastic order which makes a specialty of healing the sick. for although these truly noble monks (who combine worldly wisdom with an equal amount of piety) treat especially leprosy, they are gradually turning their attention to diseases in general. if he cannot get a lazarist, he will be likely to hire in an astrologer to discover a remedy by consulting the stars; or father grégoire may organize a "healing procession" of all the monks, clerks, and pious laymen whom he can muster. with solemnity they will carry the whole stock of saints' relics in the neighborhood to the sick seigneur, and lay them devoutly upon his abdomen. this remedy was tried in paris some time ago to cure prince louis, the king's heir, and he recovered promptly. similar assistance is available for a great seigneur like conon. not always, indeed, will even the saints' relics avail. when the time had come for the good lady odelina, conon's mother, they postponed extreme unction to the final moment, because after that ceremony the sick person has really no right to get well. the hair falls out and the natural heat is diminished. the moment breath quitted the noble dame's body, the servants ran furiously through the castle, emptying every vessel of water lest the departing soul should be drowned therein. the dead body was also watched carefully until burial, lest the devil should replace it in its coffin with a black cat, and likewise lest a dog or cat should run over the coffin and change the corpse into a vampire. conon and adela are not convinced of these notions, but do not dispute them with the servitors. [illustration: a thirteenth-century burial scene from an english manuscript (schultz).] next the body was carefully embalmed. the heart was removed, to be buried at a nunnery whereof lady odelina had been the patroness. a waxen death mask was made of the face, and the body was laid out on a handsome bed with black hangings. a temporary altar was set up in the apartment that masses might be said there, and one or two of conon's vassals or squires remained on guard night and day, fully armed, while round the bed blazed two or three scores of tall candles. [sidenote: funeral customs] the interment took place in the abbey church, in the transept where rested so many of the st. aliquis stock. they laid upon the lady odelina's breast a silver cross engraved with the words of absolution; and in the heavy stone casket also were buried four small earthen pots, each of which had contained some of the incense burned during the funeral ceremony. finally, when the rites were over, conon employed a cunning sculptor to make a life-size marble effigy of his mother, to rest upon the slab covering her tomb--an effigy which, by the dignity and genuine peace of form and face, was long to express how truly noble had been his gracious mother. common folk cannot have marble caskets and effigies, but even poor peasants are graced with decidedly elaborate funerals. when a person of the least consequence in the village dies, a crier goes down all the lanes, ringing a bell and calling out the name of the deceased, adding, "pray god for the dead." peasants of quality are likely to be laid away in plaster coffins, although the poorest class of villeins are wrapped only in rags and tossed into shallow pits. still worse is the fate of those who die excommunicated by the church or of suicides. these unfortunates cannot even be buried in holy ground. their bodies are often exposed, to be torn by the dogs and crows. sometimes, however, a hardened sinner repents sufficiently on his deathbed to be restored to the graces of religion. but in this case his body is frequently burned, all laden with iron or brazen fetters. the idea is thus to mortify the body, even after the breath of life has departed, and so to abate those fires in purgatory assuredly awaiting for all save great saints, who can pass straight to heaven, or the numerous reprobates whose guilt requires not temporary, but eternal torment. footnotes: [ ] as a result of this attitude, such a distinguished and genuinely learned scholar as albert the great is said to have confounded tendons and nerves. [ ] a mediæval medical treatise deliberately advises the use of this argument to silence patients when the physicians cannot make a diagnosis, yet must say something. chapter xviii: popular religion. pilgrimages. superstitions. relic worship. all the folk of st. aliquis are christians. nobody, far and wide, except a few jews in pontdebois, openly dissents from the catholic religion, denies the validity of the creeds, or refuses a certain outward conformity to the church practices. the age is not greatly interested in improving the general moral and social condition of the common people. the common people even are not always interested in this themselves. each peasant prays for "just treatment" and for good luck. otherwise, castle and village alike accept as a kind of natural law the immutability of society. god has established the various orders and gradations. all that one can ask is that each man shall accept the condition assigned to him and live in it efficiently and happily. [sidenote: religious attitude of knights] conon, like every other knight, has no temptation to unbelief. the doctors of the church know all about religion, just as the king's falconers know all about hawking. it is sensible to trust the expert. if you ask idle questions, you merely risk your soul, as do the followers of mahound, the false prophet. the baron frequently denounces the arrogance and covetousness of the clergy and resists their pretentions, but he nevertheless trusts them to supply him with the sacraments and bless his death and burial so that his soul may pass promptly through purgatory into paradise--where existence presumably is one grand admixture of a marriage feast in a fine garden and of a magnificent tournament. plenty of knights are lax and blasphemous, but they hardly are deliberately unbelieving.[ ] good knights ought to hear mass every morning; venerate holy objects and places; hate jews and saracens; worship the virgin and the saints; also keep most of the major fasts and other special occasions of the church. conon does all these things. he is "a good christian." but he is exempted from any serious thinking for himself upon mysterious matters. [illustration: a group of priests, thirteenth century the one who is near the altar is wearing a chasuble and the second and third are clad in the dalmatica, or deacon's gown. the second carries the consecrated wafer and the third a sort of fan. (from a manuscript in the bibliothèque nationale.)] when conon prays in the morning, if not hurried he lies down with his head turned toward the east, and his arms stretched out like a cross. he recites the favors which god has shown him in the past, beseeches heaven to continue favorable. often he adds a credo and a certain paraphrase of the lord's prayer then very common--"our father, who desirest that we all be saved, grant that we acquire thy love even as have the angels who do thy pleasure on high; and give us our daily bread--for the soul the holy sacrament, and for the body its needful sustenance." yet if his mood is not unusually humble and contrite, he is likely to conclude patronizingly, "and i confide also in the strength of my heart, which thou hast bestowed, in my good sword and my fleet horse, yet especially in thee!" many a cavalier breaks into blasphemies when things go wrong. such men are like william rufus of england, who cried, "god shall never see me a good man--i have suffered too much at his hands!" or henry ii, who, on learning that his son henry had revolted, cried aloud, "since thou, o god, hast taken away from me that which i prized the most, thou shalt not have what thou prizest most in me--my soul." and even conon, once when hard beset, had exclaimed, like a certain crusading lord: "what king, o lord, ever deserted thus his men? who _now_ will trust in or fight for thee?" nevertheless, one should deal mercifully with such sinful words, for, after all, is not the world very evil and the temptation to rail at god extremely great? it is true that things are not as they were in the year a.d. , when even the wisest felt very sure the last day was at hand. eclipses, comets and famines had then seemed foreshadowing this. people crowded the churches in agony, expecting to hear the seven trumpets announce antichrist. repeatedly since then, when the years have been calamitous, monks and old wives have stirred multitudes by vehement predictions that the plagues of the apocalypse and the other preliminaries to the millennium are not to be delayed. as late as a.d. the monk rigord, at the abbey of st. denis, wrote: "the world is ill; it grows so old that it relapses into infancy. common report has it that antichrist has been born at babylon and that the day of judgement is nigh." [sidenote: a fearful excommunication] fears like this restrain even reckless seigneurs and sodden peasants from proceeding to inconceivable crimes. the agonies of the damned will be so dreadful! the preachers understand very well that it is of little use to try to restrain the wicked by talking of "the love and mercy of god." if king philip had only used love and mercy upon his vassals he would be now a king without a kingdom. it is the dread of the eternal burning which apparently keeps a large part of all christendom tolerably obedient to the more essential mandates of morality and of the church. when a great criminal deliberately defies the church there is a ceremony which makes even the righteous inquire as to their own salvation. a few months ago a certain impious baron robbed a parish church of a chalice. instantly at pontdebois the bishop took action. the great bell of the cathedral tolled as for a funeral; and such it was, though of the soul, far more precious than merely the body. the bishop appeared in the chancel with all his clergy. each cleric held a lighted candle. the building was hung with black tapestry. amid a terrible hush the bishop announced the name of the offending knight to the crowded nave, then proclaimed in loud voice: "let him be cursed in the city and cursed in the field; cursed in his granery, his harvest, and his children; as dathan and abiram were swallowed up by the gaping earth, so may hell swallow him; and even as to-day we quench these torches in our hands, so may the light of his life be quenched for all eternity, unless he do repent!" whereat all the priests dashed their torches to the pavement and trampled them out. one could almost see that sacrilegious baron writhing in the flames of gehenna. after a scene like this there is no reinstatement for the sinner save by some great act of penance and mortification. an excommunicated person is next door to an outlaw. he may find sundry companions in crime, but most people will shun him as they would a leper. this particular baron, after vain boasts and defiance, at last was so conscience-torn and forsaken that he made an abject peace with the bishop. first, he gave ruinously costly gifts to the cathedral; then he presented himself barefoot and in the robe of a pilgrim at the chancel. he prostrated himself and for a day and a night remained in prayer before the high altar, eating and drinking nothing. after that he knelt again while some three-score clerics and monks present each smote him with a rod, he crying aloud, "just are thy judgments, o lord!" after every blow. not till all this was accomplished did the bishop raise him, pronounce the absolution, and give him the kiss of peace. it was very dreadful.[ ] for lesser offenses against the church there are lesser but effective penalties. in pontdebois there was once a religious procession in lent. a certain woman marched therein with pretended devoutness, but then went home and in defiance of the fast-time dined upon some mutton and ham. the odor escaped into the street. the woman was seized, and the bishop condemned her to walk through the town with her quarter of mutton on the spit over her shoulder, the ham slung round her neck, and with a ribald crowd, of course, trailing behind. after that penance the fasts were well kept in pontdebois. [sidenote: festive side of popular religion] yet one must not think of the religion of this feudal age as in general sad. on the contrary (by one of those abrupt contrasts now grown familiar) clergy and people get vast joy, not to say amusement, even out of the sacred ordinances. "men go gayly along the road to salvation." for example, the great pilgrimages (pardons) are often festive reunions with merchants chaffering and jongleurs playing or doing their tricks while the whole company proceeds to some shrine. even in the church building solemnity is not always maintained. the choir, indeed, belongs pretty strictly to worship, but in the nave all sorts of secular proceedings can go on, even the meetings of malcontent factions and of rioters. the church bells ring for markets, for musters, or for peaceful gatherings almost as often as they ring for the holy services. as for the sacred festivals, good bishops complain that they are so numerous that the secular element intrudes utterly, and disfigures them with idleness and carousing. the peasants may go to early mass; after that they will drink, chatter, sing, dance (in a very riotous fashion), and join in wrestlings, races, and archery contests until nightfall. besides these ordinary abuses of holy things, every parish seems to have its own special reign of folly, although the name of the celebration varies from place to place. even the younger clergy participate in such mock ceremonies. in pontdebois the subdeacons elect a pope of buffoons, give him a silver tiara, and enthrone him with much dignity, electing at the same time several "cardinals" to help direct his revels. there are noisy processions, cavalcades, and even scandalous parodies of some of the most sacred services of the church. the mock pope issues "bulls" enjoining all kinds of horseplay, and actually strikes a kind of lead money with such legends as "live merrily and rejoice," or, "fools are sometimes wise." it seems next to impossible to confine such proceedings to the streets, the market place and the church porch, although decent bishops fight against intrusions into the holy building. the canons of the cathedral have finally induced the junior clergy and the lay rabble to refrain from the more extreme parodies and from such pranks as stealing the church bells by giving the "pope" and all his noisy rout a grand dinner. pious churchmen groan on such days, but they comfort themselves by saying that these proceedings make religion popular and give an outlet for "the flesh," which if restrained too much, will succumb before even worse temptations of the devil. in st. aliquis village the parish priest actually participates in a ceremony equally calculated to astonish another age. on a certain sunday the folk celebrate the virtues of the ass which bore our lord and the holy virgin when st. joseph fled with them into egypt. the peasants take the best ass in the neighborhood, caparison it gayly, and lead it through the streets to the church, all the children running along, waving flower wands and shouting, with the older folk almost equally demonstrative. at the holy portal the priest meets them and announces in latin "this is a day of mirth. let all sour lookers get themselves hence. away with envy! those who celebrate the festival of the ass desire jollity!" [sidenote: mass of the ass] then the ass is led straight up into the chancel and tethered to the altar rail. a solemn prose, half latin, half french, is chanted, setting forth the virtues of the faithful, stolid beast which enabled our lord to escape the wicked herod. ever and anon the cantor stops and all the crowded church rings with the refrain, "_he! haw! sire ass--he! haw!_" everybody trying to pull down his nose and bray as lustily as possible. finally, when the ass has been led decorously back to his stall, the choristers, with many friends, indulge in a bountiful repast. this festival of the ass is celebrated in very many french cities and villages. one must also comprehend that certain saints are the particular patrons of given regions. st. martin is a potent saint through all france, but st. denis is the especial guardian of the royal domains; st. nicholas of lorraine, st. andre of burgundy, and of course st. george of england. st. michael, too, may assist french knights sooner than he will foreigners. there are also many local saints of incalculable sacredness in their own small regions, yet hardly heard of elsewhere. thus, if you travel very far, you are likely to lose all trace of good st. aliquis, and, indeed, peevish visitors have suggested that he has never been canonized at rome or properly accepted by the catholic church. for all that, he is venerated locally, perhaps with greater fervor than any other holy one, saving always our blessed lady herself. there is no saint with whom it is possible to compare the virgin. she is the "lady of heaven," the "queen of the holy city," the "_dame débonnaire_." god the father and god the son seem perhaps to be inaccessible celestial emperors, but the holy virgin, who understands the needs of toiling men, will transmit their pleas and exert her vast influence in their behalf. therefore, on her statues she is dressed like a feudal queen with rich stuffs, a crown glittering with jewels, and she bears a royal scepter and an orb of the world. all the saints are her vassals and do her liege homage. there is another set of joyous celebrations legitimate and uplifting. at christmas time, on _noël_ eve the good folk will install a heifer, an ox, and an ass in the parish church "to warm the holy babe with their breath." torches are lighted everywhere and fires are lit upon the hills. groups of people march about dressed like shepherds bound for the christchild's manger and led by pipes and viols, while all sing joyously: "good sirs, now hark ye!-- from far lands come we, for it is noël." then in the church are sung long responses, telling the story of christmas in the vernacular and interspersed with comments by the animals in latin, because (as says the hymn) all the beasts in other days spoke french less well than latin. so the cock crows out his satisfaction, the goat bleats, the calf bellows, the ox lows, the ass brays. it is all done simply, reverently, and for the benefit of simple, loving souls. in pontdebois, however, they have a more elaborate performance. twelve clerks, representing six jews and six pagans, present themselves in the cathedral choir, declaring they wish to examine the evidence that the babe newly born is truly the redeemer. whereat appear in stately sequence all the prophets who have forewarned the coming of christ, besides moses with his horn, balaam with his ass, the three hebrew children of the fiery furnace, the pagan sybils, and the twelve apostles. each responds with canticles in sonorous latin, until the twelve doubters declare themselves satisfied and fall down to worship the infant king. [sidenote: mystery plays] at easter there are other mystery plays telling the story of the divine passion and of the resurrection; and still others come at intervals through the year. some of the participants are priests, but many others laymen, both men and women.[ ] all the more important episodes in the bible are acted out with considerable detail and with much comedy interspersed. the crowds howl with glee when ananias, like a shrewd jew, chaffers for the sale of his field, or when hideous devils leap up from hell to seize herodias's daughter the instant she has accomplished her wicked will with john the baptist. there is no attempt to represent ancient times. herod is dressed like a feudal duke, and before him is carried a crucifix. the numerous devils are always black; the angels wear blue, red, and white; "god" appears wearing a papal tiara; and the "souls of the dead" appear covered with veils--white for the saved, red or black for the damned. it is a source of great delight for the people to take part in these plays, and even the great folk are not above joining in them. one need not comment on how completely such proceedings impress the imaginations of the unlearned with the stories of the old and new testaments. the bible can be _read_ only by the few, but an essential part of it is _seen_ and reasonably comprehended by the many. so much for ordinary religious beliefs and occasions. but there are plenty of people who find their sins are so terrible that they must resort to some great penances, often consuming the remainder of their lives, in order to propitiate heaven. besides the monks and the nuns dwelling in convents, there exist a great many hermits and "religious solitaries," who abide in little huts in the woods, perhaps maintaining a tiny chapel for travelers, and being fed on the offerings of forest rangers and peasants. not all these hermits live, however, in genuine solitude. right in st. aliquis village there is something everywhere common--a female recluse. many years ago, a certain peasant woman, elise, murdered her husband. she was promptly condemned to the gallows, but baron garnier, with unusual mercy, pardoned her on condition "that she be shut up within a small house in the cemetery, that she might there do penance and so end her days." a stone hut was accordingly built, and the unhappy woman conducted thither with a regular procession, two priests blessing the hut and giving elise a kind of consecration. she was put inside. every aperture was then built up except a narrow chink to admit air, a little light, and a small dole of food from her relatives. elise has been vegetating in this hut for now twenty years--living in filth and darkness, but talking most piously to visitors standing outside. seemingly, she does little except to mutter almost incessant prayers. already her crime is forgotten. the peasants speak of her as "that holy woman" and even wonder whether, after she dies in her cell--for she will never leave it--she cannot be enrolled among the saints. there are many other much more innocent recluses, male and female, who have been walled up voluntarily--either out of piety or of sheer love of idleness, possibly because of both. [sidenote: recluses and pilgrims] nevertheless, ordinarily the best way to discharge the load of a guilty conscience is by pilgrimage. confessors often impose this means of penance upon penitents, as the best way of winning the divine mercy. since death is about the only judicial penalty for great crimes, a penance of pilgrimage for six, ten, or twelve years--going from shrine to shrine all over christendom--is really a substitute for a term of imprisonment. pilgrims of this pronounced type are required to go barefoot, with head shaved, to quit their families and wives, and to fast continually--that is, never to touch meat more than once a day. even exalted nobles thus spend the remainder of a lifetime expiating their iniquities. everyone has heard of count fulk the black of anjou, who heaped up misdeeds even to the murdering of his wife. then at last he realized the awful peril to his soul. three times he made the long pilgrimage to jerusalem, the third time letting himself be dragged upon a hurdle through the streets of the sacred city, while two varlets smote him with whips. such great criminals often carry passports issued by bishops, certifying that they are expiating by pilgrimage specified evil deeds--and requesting christian folk to give them lodging, food, and assistance. these penitents, if knights, are likely to wear chains upon their wrists and neck, forged of their own armor, as witnesses at once of their social position and their genuine repentance. most pilgrims, however, have no such fearful things weighing down their souls. they are simply ordinary erring men who are moved by a genuine piety, possibly admixed with a willingness to find excuse for "seeing the world." every day they appear at the gate of st. aliquis castle to ask a share in the supper and a bed on the rushes in the hall, and they are respectfully treated, although conon sometimes complains that their trailing robes of brown wool, heavy staffs, and sacks slung at belt are merely the disguises for so many wandering rogues. unwashed and unkempt though many of them are, it never does to repulse them, lest you lose the scriptural blessing for those who received strangers and so "have entertained angels unawares." pilgrims, too, are good newsmongers. they supply you with tidings from italy, germany, spain, or even the holy land. they will carry letters also to foreign parts and transmit verbal messages to kinsmen. they do not always travel alone, but by twos, fives, or even tens. recently at dunkirk, where the peasants revolted, the bishop laid upon twenty-five of their leaders the penance that they should spend a year going about in a body to different holy places and joining in religious processions "in twenty-six churches," wearing no clothing save their trousers, going barefoot, and carrying the rods with which they had been disciplined. innumerable are the shrines where sinners can profit their souls by a visit. every important abbey claims to be a pilgrimage resort, and the monks will tell of remarkable miracles wrought by all the saints whose relics they chance to treasure. probably there are more than a thousand such places whose claims have been somewhat recognized by the church. many of these shrines have some famous image of the madonna, frequently brought from the east by crusaders, but often very old and, to carnal thinking, ugly, perhaps only a "black virgin," a clumsy doll carved of wood. this matters not, provided it is holy and efficacious. "our lady of the fountain" at samour, "our lady of the osier" near grenoble, "our lady of good hope" at valenciennes, our lady of chartres, of liesse, of rocamadour, of auray, of puy--these are merely examples. [sidenote: favorite pilgrim shrines] the greater the distance the pilgrim must go, the greater his merit ordinarily. happy the pilgrim who can venerate the bones of an actual apostle, as at rome. happiest of all is he who can go to jerusalem and pray at the holy sepulcher. nevertheless, god has provided very efficacious shrines nearer home. right at paris there are the seats of st. génevieve and the great st. denis. you can pay your devout homage at tours to the puissant st. martin, the ideal of pious warriors. in normandy, where mont st. michel looks across the sands to the tumbling ocean, one can pray best to the mighty archangel nearest to god. it avails much, also, to visit st. martial of limoges, st. sernin of toulouse, and more still to visit spain and at compostella beseech the intercession of st. james the apostle. [illustration: a shrine in the form of an altar (thirteenth century) in the cathedral at rheims] assuredly, however, rome is best (always barring jerusalem), and on the way thither the pilgrim can lighten his spiritual load by visiting many excellent italian shrines--such as "our guardian lady" at genoa, and, at lucca, "our lady of the rose." in the city of st. peter itself, time fails to enumerate the three hundred churches worthy of a devout visit. besides the majestic cathedral of the prince of the apostles and the tomb of st. paul, even the most hurried pilgrim will not fail to repair to st. maria maggiore, where is the actual manger in which christ was born; and st. john lateran, where are the holy stairs christ ascended while wearing the crown of thorns; st. peter in montorio, where peter himself was crucified, st. lawrence without the walls, where the blessed martyrs st. stephen and st. lawrence are buried; not to mention others. a man must be a master criminal if he cannot deliver his soul by suitable visits to these invaluable shrines in rome. as is well known, the blessed saints both in this life and after death wrought many miracles through their relics. these wonders continue to-day, although the iniquities of mankind render them infrequent. every now and then heaven still permits some holy man to work undoubted miracles. thus only recently it is said that when the venerable abbot of st. germer preached the fourth crusade in england, he need only bless a fountain, lo! its waters made the dumb speak, the blind see, and the sick recover. once (so a pilgrim related in the castle only the other day) when this abbot reached a village which wanted a supply of water, he gathered all the folk in the church. right in the presence of the people he smote a stone with his staff and water flowed forth--not merely potable, but healing for all maladies. god also speaks to us in dreams as he did to pharaoh and nebuchadnezzar. he caused st. thomas à becket to visit the late king louis vii and warn him to make a pilgrimage to st. thomas's new shrine of canterbury to pray for the recovery of his son philip, later "augustus." henry ii of england was louis' foe, but the king made the solemn pilgrimage unimpeded, and the crown prince duly recovered. [sidenote: omens, spirits and monsters] omens of calamity, too, appear often, although it is not always clear whether sent from god or the devil. a few years ago the wolves in the forest near the monastery of st. aliquis howled steadily all through the day of the feast of st. honore. "a clear sign of trouble," announced the prior; and four days later the feud began betwixt conon and foretvert, which convulsed the whole countryside. many a man is warned to prepare for death by seeing a will-o-the-wisp in the marshes, a shooting star, or a vulture hovering above his house. if thirteen people chance to sit at one table, or if one chances to dream of a physician, it is proof positive some one in the house is about to die. the same is true if a man inadvertently puts on a clean white shirt on friday; while if the left eye of a dead man will not close promptly the deceased will soon have company in purgatory. any woman, also, who thoughtlessly washes her clothes in lye during the holy week is not long for this world. it is needless to explain how sinister are eclipses and comets. in july, , there was a great comet visible. sage people wagged their heads with melancholy satisfaction when richard the lion hearted died very soon after. time will fail to list all the strange beings, neither human, angel, nor exactly devil, that providence permits to infest the world. these creatures possess no souls, and when they perish are gone like cattle, although they live long and are very hard to kill. probably they are more numerous in wild and solitary places, yet towns and crowded castles are not free from them. thus there are _fées_ (fairies) good and bad--creatures relatively like human beings; undines in the waters, who by their perfidious beauty lure unwary knights to destruction; ogres who lie in wait to devour small children; ghouls who disinter the dead and gnaw their bones; vampires who rise every night from the tombs and suck the blood; wolf-men (humans turned into beasts) who attack lonely travelers; dracs, who carry off little children to their subterranean realms; will-of-the-wisps in the marshes, who are the souls of unbaptized dead infants; also many rather friendly spirits such as the _soleves_, who sometimes overnight do a weary laborer's work for him. it needs much knowledge to tell the good spirits from the bad--to know, _e.g._, whether you are dealing with a goblin who will only display harmless antics, or an _estrie_, a real imp of darkness, who may hug you like a bear, to suffocation. the church does not forbid the belief in these creatures, nor of such pagan monsters as giants, pygmies, cyclops, satyrs, tritons, sirens, etc., although it plainly teaches us that they are only ministers of the devil. the existence of the devil is as certain as that of the holy trinity. as has been said already, the fear of falling into his clutches has often a more excellent effect upon the sinner than the love of god. countless legends and sculptures in the cathedrals tell all about the master-fiend. the monk in his convent, the peasant in his hut, yes (for all his brave words and his long sword), the baron in his castle, all tremble lest they meet him. the devil produces all kinds of misery, and he can actually take possession of the living bodies of men. it is affirmed that once, not far from st. aliquis, a knight was sitting peaceably at table when suddenly the devil entered into him. the fiend spoke through the poor man's mouth. he raved and uttered blasphemies. the priest brought his book of exorcisms. when he recited them, the devil screamed horribly. yet for some days he resisted the holy formulas, and then departed, leaving his victim utterly exhausted. [illustration: richard coeur de lion from capefigue's _histoire de philippe-auguste_] [sidenote: bargains with the devil] it is much worse when you make a direct pact with the devil. some time ago, it is affirmed, there was a young scholar at paris. he was much troubled because he progressed slowly in his studies. then satan visited him, saying: "do me homage. i will make you excel in wisdom!" he gave the youth a stone, asserting that, "so long as you hold this stone in your hand you will know everything." soon the lad astonished the schools by his erudition, but, on falling sick, confessed his crime, threw away his stone, and at once forgot all his learning. speedily he died. at once the devils began to torture his soul, but god promptly sent an angel ordering them "to let alone this soul which you have tormented." immediately the soul flew back into the body, which sprang to life even as the paris students were celebrating the funeral service. the revived scholar, however, at once entered a convent and took no more chances with carnal studies. very many people, however, have compounded with the devil and been less fortunate. the fiend apparently will not come unless one is in a desperate plight and willing to promise everything. then usually the unhappy mortal must deny the christian faith, repudiate the saints, utter blasphemies, and, it is even asserted, kiss the arch fiend upon the buttocks. next a horrid oath must be taken, standing inside of three magic circles and burning incense. after that the devil will, it is true, give his votary great worldly prosperity and especially riches through a long life, but in the end the fiend never fails to claim his soul for an eternal possession. it is even said that satan made such a bargain with the great ecclesiastic gerbert, who became pope sylvester ii. he was very wise[ ] or very wicked, probably both; and in the opinion of many he rose to be pope by the aid of "a hierarchy of demons and a brass idol which uttered oracles." but on the day of his death (a.d. ) satan demanded his own; and whenever a pope lies near his end the bones of sylvester ii rattle in the tomb. the church discredits this scandalous story, but it is widely believed. since the recent trial of a witch and a wizard before the bishop at pontdebois, the folk near st. aliquis have gained a much more precise knowledge of the black art. magicians usually begin their ceremonies by creating a magic smoke of various inflammables and spices, also by burning such fiend-compelling ingredients as the brain of an eagle, the blood of a black cat, and plenty of hellebore. the smoke thus created is so dense and foul that uninitiated customers are readily convinced there are demons rising in the vapor and talking to the wizard. thanks to such assistance, the magician, and his even more sinful wife, the witch, were able to instruct how to find a pot of gold and how to rob the house of a rich jew, but especially they could prepare philters--some of them intended to inspire love and others hatred. wives could buy fearful compounds made of substances from "the three domains of nature"--the entrails of animals, scales of fishes, parings of nails, human blood, pulverized load-stone, and such powerful drugs as mandragora--which, if duly brewed and beaten up together, then put in an unfaithful husband's goblet, would win back his affection. other such potions, a little changed, however, would make sworn lovers separate. [sidenote: methods of witchcraft] these dealers in the black art at pontdebois could also sell magic rings which had power over demons, thereby protecting the wearer from sudden death, illness, or dangers of travel, and enabling him to drive good bargains. the witch and wizard also possessed, undoubtedly, the "evil eye"--which, if resolutely fixed on an ox or sheep, would cause it to perish and was almost as dangerous to human beings. however, the twain were presently ruined (thus showing how fickle a protector is the devil) because a certain silly nobleman got them to "overcast" a knightly enemy against whom he lacked the courage to press an honorable war. after the wizard had burned much incense, the witch had proceeded to shape a puppet of virgin wax as much like the victim as possible. then, with a shameless parody of the baptismal service, she christened the doll with the name of her patron's enemy. next the wizard placed the livers of swallows under the armpits and upon the place where the heart of the puppet ought to be. finally, he and his wife pierced the wax image with red-hot needles, then cast it into a blazing fire, chanting all the while cabalistic words--probably beseeching the special help of the devil.[ ] inevitably, soon after this the knight thus assailed would have sickened and died had not, by the mercy of god, the whole proceeding been discovered. the knight was saved by the powerful exorcisms of the bishop. the wizard--after proper tortures to get confession--was buried alive. his wife, the witch, was burned. the foolish cavalier who had plotted murder saved his life, for he had powerful relatives, but was condemned to go on a pilgrimage to rome. certain fatuous women who had bought love philters were publicly rebuked in the church and spent an unhappy afternoon in the pillory. good christians hope that it will be a long day before the black art is again practiced so iniquitously in this part of france. nevertheless, there are some forms of divining which the church counts as innocent. any time you desire you can consult the holy books. with proper prayer and circumspection you should open the bible at random and note the tenor of the first passage that meets your eye. is it favorable to your condition, or unfavorable? the pious simon de montfort thus consulted the "sacred lots" ere taking the cross for the albigensian crusade. chapters of canons use this method to see what the omens are concerning a candidate for a bishopric. according to jongleurs' tales, even popes thus seek for an oracle ere taking any important step in the government of the church, although these stories are wisely doubted. a more precise method of augury is the "_sortes apostolorum_." fifty-six sentences (expressing sentiments good or bad) are written on parchment; a string is attached to each and allowed to protrude while the sentences are covered up. you say a prayer, seize a string at random, then follow it down to read its sentiment. in this way the saints and not the devil will reveal the future to you. undoubtedly the peasants carry their belief in bad omens or unlucky actions too far. conon and adela laugh heartily at some of their notions. to avoid bad luck, georges, when weaning a calf, always pulls it away from its mother by the tail backward. he never begins plowing until he has walked thrice around the plow with a lighted candle. jeanne never spins or sews on thursdays or fridays, lest she make the virgin weep. in the springtime a bone from the head of a mare should be set out in the garden to drive off the caterpillars. time fails to list these rustic beliefs; besides, they vary from village to village. but what peasant has not as many thereof as he has hairs in his head? [sidenote: universal adoration of relics] there is one pious matter shared in alike by great and humble and highly approved by the church, although the wiser ecclesiastics deprecate some of its excesses--the worship of holy relics. saints' relics abound. where is the monastery, church, or even castle without them? sometimes they rest in golden caskets in the very place where the holy personages departed this life. sometimes they have been brought from rome or palestine by pious pilgrims; very often they come as gifts. the direct purchase of relics is somewhat sacrilegious, but you can present a king, duke, or great ecclesiastic with a good relic just as you give him some hawks or ermine skins--as a reward for favors past or expected. the pope is always sending desirable relics to bishops and abbots whom he wishes to honor; and, as all know, after the latins sacked constantinople in there was hardly a shrine in all france which did not get the skull, a few ribs, or even the entire body of some eastern saint. the booty in relics in fact, was almost as important as that of gold and jewels. possessing relics is most desirable. prayers said near them have extra efficacy. oaths taken upon their caskets are doubly binding, but sometimes the holy objects are surreptitiously removed when the pledge is being given; it is then no perjury to break the promise. in dealing with slippery individuals one must, therefore, beware. on the other hand, who is ignorant of the manner in which william the norman inveigled harold the anglo-saxon into taking a great oath of fealty? the slow-witted englishman swore to the pact, believing the casket on which he rested his hands contained relics of very inferior worthies, who could never punish him if he perjured himself; but the instant the words were said the priests opened the sacred box, showing it full of the bones of the most powerful saints imaginable. harold turned pale with horror, realizing how he had been trapped. when later he broke his oath, beyond a doubt it was these angered saints who wrought his death at hastings. good relics also imply a source of income, provided that they are properly advertised so as to make the church or abbey possessing them a pilgrimage resort. sometimes, indeed, one fears lest overzealous monks exaggerate the miracles wrought by the relics at their abbey church. the tale runs that when the abbey of st. vanne was deeply in debt, the abbot asserted: "our debts will all be paid with the red tunic of st. vanne (a relic). i never doubt it." the monks at st. aliquis are proud of their collection, although by no means the largest in the region. they have two teeth of the prophet amos; hairs of st. martin and st. leonard; finger-nail parings of the martyrs of the theban legion; bits of the robe of st. bernard; finger bones of saints saturnin, sebastian, and of the patriarch jacob; a fifth rib of st. amond; a skull of one of the holy innocents; a chip of the stone on which christ stood when he ascended to heaven; the jaw bone of st. sixtus; some of the hay from the manger of bethlehem; and, last but not least, a fair-sized splinter of the true cross. the mere adoration of such things cancels many grievous years in purgatory. it is advantageous to the whole region to have such a collection. if there is need of rain, the relics can be carried in procession around the thirsty country and relief is sure to follow. if there is a public assembly, the holy relics can be brought in before the contending knights or burghers--wise counsels will ensue. if you are going on a journey, a visit to a shrine with such relics almost guarantees a safe return. we have already seen how conon (as did other knights) kept certain relics always in his sword hilt, to confirm his oaths and to lend efficacy to his actions. [sidenote: contests over relics] the enormous value of such sacred things often makes them the booty of thieves. thus in a band of robbers stole the remains of st. leocadia from the abbey of vic, and when pursued cast the holy bones into the aisne, whence they were rescued with serious difficulty. we need not multiply records of similar crimes. profligate noblemen will sometimes seize and keep very sacred relics in their castles, as talismans against long-delayed justice. not less miraculous is the manner in which the relics have been preserved when less sacred objects have been lost. this is, indeed, a divine mystery, not lightly to be inquired into. when, however, two identical relics of the same saint are displayed in france, how are worldly questionings to be silenced? for surely the holy men of old had only one head and two arms apiece. not long since, the monks of st. Étienne exhibited a skull of st. denis. but the monks of st. denis claimed _they_ had the skull of their own patron saint already. what lack of charity ensued! the backbiting did not cease till the great pope innocent iii tactfully silenced the controversy without actually deciding which relic was the more authentic. many say that such relics can miraculously duplicate themselves--so that _all_ are equally genuine; and undoubtedly god has worked far greater wonders than this. nevertheless, such is the sinfulness of men that spurious relics are often imposed upon the faithful. good churchmen do zealous work in exposing these sacrilegious frauds. not long since, father grégoire had conon give a terrific flogging to a pretended pilgrim who was trying to sell the credulous peasants "a bit of the sail of st. peter's boat and a feather of the angel gabriel." it is more serious when a spurious shrine is set up. near lyons recently the peasant women insisted in venerating "the tomb of st. guinefort." it was discovered to be only the spot where a lady had buried a favorite greyhound. in another case, many years ago, the great st. martin found near tours a chapel where the people worshiped a supposed martyr. the saint stood on the sepulcher and prayed, "reveal unto me who is really here!" soon a dark form arose and the specter confessed to martin: "i am a robber. my soul is in hell, but my body is in this sepulcher." the saint, therefore, destroyed the chapel, and saved many from wasting their prayers and substance. it is a dangerous business, however, to be over-skeptical concerning popular relics. even great churchmen, such as the late bishop of orléans, are liable to be mobbed if they call an alleged and much-venerated skull of st. génevieve "the head of some old woman"--as once did that astute prelate. nevertheless, the authorities try to do their duty. pope innocent iii has issued a formal warning to the french clergy against accepting spurious relics, and the monks of every monastery never hesitate to dispute the authenticity of almost every kind of a relic provided only it is deposited in a neighboring and rival abbey! [sidenote: "translations" of relics] if, however, relics are genuine, it is impossible to exaggerate their desirability. they are produced on numerous holidays; and often a special holiday is proclaimed when they are "translated." then you may see the relics of some saint being carried through the streets of a village or town, the holy objects themselves borne in their golden boxes under a canopy, accompanied by all the local clergy, with perhaps the barons and the duke of the entire region being allowed to assist the highest prelates in carrying or at least in escorting the sacred casket. thus has been explained certain features of the religion of the laity, humble and exalted. at length we can approach one of those great institutions which have built up the strength of catholic christianity. a league from the castle lies the other great center for the countryside--the monastery of st. aliquis. footnotes: [ ] in the well-known romance of _aucassin and nicolette_, aucassin complains that if he cannot have his beloved he cares not to go to paradise. "for there go those aged priests, and those old cripples and the maimed, who, all day long and all night long, cough before the altars ... who are naked and barefoot and full of sores.... _but to hell will i go!_ for to hell go the fair clerks and the great warriors.... and there go the fair and courteous ladies, who have friends, two or three together with their wedded lords!" this was blasphemous enough, but it was not atheistical. [ ] this was very much like the penance imposed on henry ii after the murder of thomas à becket at canterbury. [ ] these plays might be guild or even civic affairs, with the secular element predominating among the actors. [ ] his real "wisdom" probably lay in a superior knowledge of mathematics. [ ] this wizard and witch evidently used almost exactly the same means to "overcast" their victim as did robert of artois' wizard, when (in ) that great nobleman tried to destroy his aunt mahaut. chapter xix: the monastery of st. aliquis[ ]: buildings. organization. an ill-ruled abbey. the great st. bernard has written thus of the convent: "good is it for us to dwell there--where man lives more purely, falls more rarely, rises more quickly, treads more cautiously, rests more securely, dies more happily, is absolved more easily, and is rewarded more plenteously." every now and then they say in the castle of st. aliquis: "such and such a cavalier has become a monk!" then there are cries of astonishment and probably slurring remarks, but even conon in his heart wonders, "has he not, after all, chosen the better part?" at the very moment when he storms about the "greedy monks" before his sons. the monastery is the great interrogation point thrust before the castle. the castle says: "the hunt, the tourney, the excitement of feudal war are the things for man. who truly knows about the hereafter?" the monastery replies: "there is a kingdom not of this world, where baron and villein must spend the æons. prepare ye for it!" very probably the monastery is right. [illustration: view of an abbey of the thirteenth century at the left of the structure the building for guests and in front of it the church; beyond the two cloisters the buildings reserved for the monks; in the foreground the gardens of the abbey and the outside wall.] the monastery of st. aliquis has existed for centuries. it is a benedictine monastery--that is to say, its rule (system of government and discipline) comes from the famous st. benedict of nursia, who lived in italy in the sixth century. many new orders of monks have been founded since then, but none more holy than the benedictines when they really live up to the ideals of their founder. barons of st. aliquis and other rich people have endowed the monastery from time to time with ample lands. it is a passing wealthy institution. ignorant folk of other ages may think of a monastery as a collection of idlers meditating on heaven and living on charity. such groups once perhaps existed in eastern lands, but never in a benedictine monastery. each is the scene of a very busy life. many industries are carried on. the monks are almost self-supporting. the monastery, in fact, contributes more to the economic life of the region than does the castle; and abbot victor, its head, is hardly less important, even in a worldly sense, than messire conon, with whom, happily, he is now on cordial terms. [sidenote: the abbey buildings] the monastery, however, is an establishment distinctly set off by itself. it is in the world, but not of it. as you travel from the castle, you presently enter fields unusually well cultivated. these are part of the abbey lands. then you come to a small village, comparatively clean and well built, where the lay servitors of the monks live with their families. then straight ahead there rises a strong battlemented wall of wide circuit surrounded by a water-filled moat. beyond this wall appear the spires and pinnacles of pretentious buildings. the wall is needed to stand off attacks of bands of godless men who dream even of plundering convents. there are a drawbridge, portcullis, and strong gate. inside you are within a little world. the center is not the donjon, but the new monastery church, an elegant pointed-arch structure almost equal to a small cathedral. grouped around it are numerous buildings--usually long, high, and narrow. these are the dormitories, the refectory, the cloisters for the monks' walks and study, as well as many less handsome barns, storehouses and workhouses. there is a good-sized garden where rare herbs and flowers are tended with loving care, and an orchard where fruit trees are grafted with unusual skill. one even sees a slaughterhouse in a convenient corner, a tannery (at a safe distance from the garden!) and a building where the monks' garments can be spun and woven out of flax and wool produced on the abbey lands. the monks of st. aliquis are, therefore, anything but droning hermits. some monasteries really comprise small towns. the famous establishment at cluny harbors four hundred monks; that at clairvaux, seven hundred; that at vezelay, eight hundred. st. aliquis is content with one hundred and fifty brethren, but that number (plus the lay servitors) is enough for a busy community. as has been said, the focus for its entire life is the abbey church. without a church building a monastery is almost impossible. the choir is constantly needed for the recitation of the canonical hours; many altars are required so that the monks who are in holy orders may celebrate mass frequently; while the great processions around the nave are part of the routine, especially on sundays. abbot victor, like all his predecessors, is straining every nerve to gather funds to beautify his church. in it are deposited invaluable saints' relics. it is hard, however, to convince the laity that they are extremely sacred unless they are lodged in a splendid edifice. the monks of rival monasteries are always comparing their churches enviously. victor has set his heart upon widening the transepts and putting in a new rose window. if only a certain pious heiress in champagne would be called to heaven! [illustration: the galleries of the cloister of the abbey of mont-saint-michel (thirteenth century)] [sidenote: the abbey cloisters] in the choir is a long array of stalls, one for each monk in order of seniority. the abbot sits in a chair of state on the southern side; the prior, his chief lieutenant, faces him on the north. connected with one transept of the church is the cloister. it is a rectangular court. its four walks are roofed in, the walls nearest the court being pierced with open arcades. the pillars upholding these arcades are beautifully carved with floreated capitals, each separate pillar forming an individual work of art, lovingly executed, and differing slightly from its neighbors. the three walks of the cloister which do not touch the church adjoin very needful buildings--the chapter house, where the brethren congregate, the refectory on the side opposite the church, and the dormitory. the walk nearest the church is where the monks are supposed to spend the time allotted for pious meditation. it faces the south, and the great structure behind cuts off the chilling winds. it is, therefore, a pleasant place in cold weather. on the inner side of this part of the cloister are many little alcoves let into the massive walls; here monks can study or even converse without annoying others. looking down upon the cloister court is a remarkable object. if holy brethren did not possess it, the peasants would declare it was possessed by a devil, although these mechanisms are now becoming more common. it has a dial marking the twelve hours, and by an ingenious system of pulleys and weights indicates when it is noon or midnight without reference to the shifting of shadows or movement of the stars. it even has bells that ring every hour--a great convenience.[ ] the monks are almost as proud of this device as of some of their less important saints' relics. the books which consume so much of the monks' time are kept in cupboards in the cloister alcoves, since this is not a cistercian monastery, which always has a separate library. from the cloister one is naturally led to the chapter house. almost as much care has been taken with this large oblong chamber as with the church. the ceiling is beautifully groined and vaulted. the abbot sits on a raised seat at the east end, with all his officers at right or left. the remainder of the brethren are on stone benches ranged around the walls, while in the center of the floor stands a desk, whence the daily "lection" is read from the lives of the martyrs, or the chapter (hence the name of the room) from st. benedict's holy rule--a document only a little less authoritative with the monks than the actual scriptures. [illustration: the refectory at the abbey of mont-saint-michel (thirteenth century)] then come other rooms. the cloisters are _supposed_ to be extremely quiet for study and meditation. but sinful flesh requires an outlet. go then to the parlor (the place of _parle_), a good-sized room where merchants can bring their wares. the subprior can discuss the sickness of certain pigs on the farms, and the saints know how much personal gossip can be tossed about. next is the dormitory, a large open apartment with the beds of the monks standing against the walls between the numerous windows, so that the feet of the sleepers point in two long rows toward the center line of the room. a quiet place, but at night, with several score of brethren all snoring together, what repose is left for the stranger? in any case, there is very little privacy, for few of the monks have separate bedrooms. [sidenote: refectory, kitchens and infirmary] close by the cloister is the refectory--an aisleless hall with a wooden roof. across the east end is a high table for the officers--the whole place resembling the great hall in a castle. most of the brethren sit at very long tables running up and down the apartment; and near the high table is a still higher pulpit mounted by a winding stair. here a monk will droningly read a latin homily while his associates are expected to eat and hearken in silence. the kitchen with its great fireplaces adjoins the refectory. at the entrance to the dining hall, just as in the castle, there is the lavatory, a great stone basin with many taps, convenient for washing the hands. since some brethren are sure to be sick, there is a separate infirmary, a well-arranged suite with places for sleeping, dining, and even a little chapel for those too feeble to get to the church.[ ] the abbot has lodgings of his own where he can entertain distinguished visitors, although he is expected to mingle freely with his fellow monks and not to assume solitary grandeur. the less exalted guests are put in a special _hospitium_ in the court. the monastery never turns away any decently behaving wayfarer; but the guest master, a canny old religious, naturally provides better quarters and supper for those likely to put a denier in the alms box than for those who may have just fled the provost. this is a bare summary of the important buildings of the establishment. if st. aliquis had been a cistercian convent, following the rule of st. bernard of clairvaux, its structures would have been extremely plain--no mosaics, stained glass, silken hangings, or floral carvings in the church; nor anything else calculated to distract the monks from thinking upon the heavenly mysteries. said he, austerely: "works of art are idols which lead away from god, and are good at best to edify feeble souls and the worldly." bernard was a mighty saint, but all do not follow this hard doctrine. the monks of st. aliquis, for their own part, are sure that the heavenly ones are rejoiced every time they add a new stone leaf to the unfading foliage about the cloister arches, or carve the story of david and jonathan upon the great walnut back to the prior's seat in the chapter house. [illustration: a benedictine monk (thirteenth century) from a manuscript in the bibliothèque nationale. he is clad in a frock, a robe supplied with ample sleeves and a cowl.] the monks of st. aliquis, being benedictines, are "black monks." if they had been cistercians they would have been "white monks"--that is, with white frocks and cowls. the cowl is a cumbersome garment enveloping the whole body, but it is worn only at ceremonies. ordinarily the monks wear black scapularies, covering head and body less completely. they also have short mantle-style capes. new outer garments are issued to them every year, new day shoes every eighteen months, new boots once in five years, and a new pair of woolen shirts once in four years. they are also granted both a thin and a thick tunic, a fur-lined coat for cold weather, also undershirt and drawers--in short, no silly luxuries, but no absurd austerities. [sidenote: the abbot: center of monastic life] the control of the whole community rests with the abbot. under the monastic rule and vows the monks owe him implicit obedience. if he is a practical, efficient man, the whole establishment is happy and prosperous; if the reverse, it is soon in debt, the property is wasted, the monks live evilly or desert; and the whole place often is ruined. abbeys resemble seigneuries--they are either growing or dwindling. many church canons forbid abbots to abuse their office, to live luxuriously, to waste the abbey property, or to take important steps without consulting the older monks, but such decrees are hard to enforce. fortunately, the head of st. aliquis--abbot victor, is a moderate, kindly, yet withal a worldly wise man. he was the younger son of a petty noble and was thrust into the monastery somewhat because his worldly heritage would have been very small. the monastic life, however, agreed with him. he became popular with the brethren of peasant stock, yet never let them forget that his parents had been gentle. as prior he knew how to deal with conon and other seigneurs. when the old leader died, there had been one cry from all the monks assembled in the chapter house. "let victor be our abbot!" since then, despite inevitable grumblings, he has ruled acceptably, avoiding alike cistercian severity and that lax rule which has made certain monasteries the hatching nests of scandal. victor wears on ceremonial occasions a miter with gold fringe, although it cannot be adorned with pearls like a bishop's. he has also handsome gloves (especial emblems of his office), a crozer (a pastoral staff), and a ring. his administration is aided by a whole corps of officers. first of all is the prior, named by the abbot and the abbot's chief lieutenant, who is his superior's deputy and general man of affairs.[ ] next the subprior, the third in command; then the third and fourth priors, known as _circatores_ because they have to make frequent circuits of inspection; while below them come the _precentor_, in charge of the singing and chanting; the _sacristan_, responsible for the bells, lights, and ornaments of the church; and all the heads of the kitchen, storehouses, infirmary, and monastery finances. there is also the garnerer--a sagacious monk who collects the grain due from the abbey lands and either sells it profitably or turns it over to the storekeeper (_celerer_). [sidenote: routine of the monks' day] the activities of the monks are multifarious, but everything is really subordinate to the duty of chanting the holy offices in the church. the brethren go to bed, even in wintertime, at sunset. then by the light of cressets, bowls of oil with floating wicks, they rise at midnight, put on their clothes, sit down on stone seats at either end of the dormitory, and next file in silent procession to the great, dark church. there they chant a long service, with the organ rumbling under the gloomy vaulting--a service made still longer by the prayers for the dead. as solemnly as before they file back to the dormitory and sleep until daybreak in winter, until actual sunrise in summer; whereupon they all rise again, go to the church, and chant prime. tierce follows about a.m.; sext at noon; nones at p.m.; and vespers at about sundown. this continues every day through a long life. no wonder the monks all know by heart their offices for the day and night as given in the breviary. after prime a meeting is held in the chapter house. a section is read from the rule, the abbot or priors call off the work for each monk, individual complaints can be uttered, and corrections and public reproofs are given by the officers. at the tierce service mass is said; then the morning work goes on until the sext, after which the first regular meal is eaten, although some bread soaked with wine is allowed earlier to the weaker brethren. talking during the meal is discouraged, but there is nevertheless much whispering while the reader (allowed to eat earlier) tries to center attention upon the pulpit. the brethren then rise and sing grace, ending up with the "miserere," which is chanted in procession marching through the cloister. everybody thereupon retires to the dormitory and enjoys a siesta until it is time for nones. work is next resumed until vespers just before supper. after supper there is another meeting in the chapter house, with more reading from a pious book. then once more to the church to chant complines; after that (since st. aliquis is a well-ordered monastery) all the monks are compelled to go straight to bed and do not sit up for carnal chatter. all the doors of the establishment are securely locked. the officers make the rounds to see that every monk is safe on his cot--and so the whole brotherhood settles for the night. life in the monastery thus has a strict routine which soon becomes a perfect habit with most of the inmates. of course, monks working in the fields are not required to come in for all the daytime offices--they can drop their tools when the great bell rings and pray in silence reverently standing. in nunneries about the same divisions of time are applied, although chaplains have to come in to say mass. the one thing impressing every visitor to a well-ruled monastery is the intense sense of order as compared with the tumult and coarse informality characteristic of even the better castle. to a certain type of mind this regularity is indescribably fascinating apart from any question of its advantages in religion. to ask how the different brethren of st. aliquis come to enter its portals is to ask as many individual questions. the abbot is typical of many companions, who were placed there because worldly prospects were small and because they were decently urged by their relatives. sometimes the pressure was not mild. there are a few brethren who seem discontented men without vocation, chafing against irrevocable vows taken practically under compulsion, and yearning to be back in the world. there is also one coarse, scar-visaged old man who was a robber knight. "tonsure or the scaffold?" so the duke had put the question. to such a person the monastery is nothing but an honorable prison. there are, however, two or three other elderly ex-cavaliers here for a better reason--they have been overwhelmed with a consciousness of their crimes and are genuinely anxious to redeem their souls. a considerable proportion of the monks are gentle, although the majority are non-nobles. if of the latter class, however, they have been subjected to searching scrutiny before entrance, to make sure they will be useful members of the community. if they are mere clownish peasants, they are often taken only as _conversi_ (lay brethren), who learn a few prayers, but spend most of their time on the abbey farms and who do not sleep in the dormitory. [sidenote: reasons for becoming monks] the greater number of the monks have apparently joined voluntarily in early manhood--because they are repelled by the confusion and grubbing hardships of the world, because they have a hankering for an intellectual life, and because they are genuinely anxious to deliver their souls. after a round of fêtes, tournaments, and forays, many a young knight has suddenly turned from them all, announced to his companions: "what profit? where will i spend eternity?" said farewell to his beloved destrer, and knocked at the convent door. sometimes he has sickened too late of his choice. more often in this new world of chants, solemn offices, books, honest toil, gently spoken words, and quietness he has discovered a satisfaction not possessed by his brother who is still messire the seigneur. in the monastery there are, however, certain very young boys, who it is to be hoped will prove contented with their profession. their parents or guardians have taken them to the abbot, and in their ward's behalf have uttered vows that bind the helpless children forever. "i offer this my son (reads the formula) to the omnipotent god and to the virgin mary for the salvation of my soul and the souls of my parents.... and so shall he remain in this holy life all his days until his final breath." earnestly do the wiser brethren pray that these practically orphaned boys do not become a source of sorrow to themselves and of discord to the community in future years.[ ] st. aliquis is a well-ordered monastery. its monks, however, point with some pharisaical satisfaction at certain neighboring establishments. it is well said that "ten are the abuses in the cloister--costly living, choice food, noise in the cloister, strife in the chapter, disorder in the choir, a neglectful discipline, disobedient youths, lazy old men, headstrong monks, and worldly officers." it is alleged that all these evils and worse ones have existed in the monastery of st. ausonne, five leagues away. this community had an excellent name for sanctity until twenty years ago. then a foolish abbot admitted too many "younger sons" who were being forced in by their relatives. the duke, likewise, imprudently pardoned a whole gang of highwaymen on condition that "they should turn religious." also, several self-seeking cavaliers deliberately entered the order, in sinful expectation that family influence could procure their election as abbots or bishops--posts of great worldly consequence. thus it was that our old enemy, satan, entered into st. ausonne. all accounts are that he still refuses to be ejected. [sidenote: a disorderly monastery] the evil tidings of this convent presently spread to rome; and the holy father, deeply grieved, ordered the bishop of pontdebois to visit the establishment and restore discipline.[ ] it was well that he took a troop of armed sergeants with him, or he would have been stoned by the furious inmates. the monks of st. aliquis lift their hands in horror at the least of the stories told about his discoveries. part of the bishop's report reads like this: "brother regnaud is accused of great uncleanness of life. bartholomée, a cantor's assistant, often gets drunk and then does not get up for the matins service. roger, the third prior, frequents taverns. jean, the fourth prior, is an habitual tippler. morell, another cantor's assistant, is given to striking and evil speaking. firmin, in charge of the abbey lands, does the like, etc." these charges, however, are mere details. the real sorrow is that from the abbot down the whole organization of st. ausonne has fallen utterly away from the monastic ideal of a "school for the lord's service" (to quote st. benedict). the abbot has been not merely very worldly, but very miserly. recently a jongleur sought hospitality at st. ausonne. the monks offered him merely black bread and water, although their own supper was far more sumptuous than the "two cooked dishes and half a pint of wine" allowed by the benedictine rule. on leaving the abbey, the minstrel met the abbot returning from pushing his political fortunes at paris. he profusely thanked the prelate for his monks' noble hospitality, because they had given him choice wine, rich dishes, and finally presented him with good shoes and a belt. the abbot returned home in a rage and caused his guest master to be flogged for squandering the monastery property. the minstrel, of course, spread the tale of his revenge, and so indirectly prompted the visitation of the establishment. in fine, the bishop reported that from st. ausonne many monks ranged the country "with wandering feet"--as mere religious vagabonds, levying alms upon the peasantry, and sometimes bearing letters from their abbot allowing them to quit the cloister at pleasure. the abbot himself, defying the canons, would have elaborate hunting parties with hawks and hounds. the church law merely permitted monks to kill rabbits and crows dangerous to the crops; but the bishop actually found a kennel of great dogs and a sheaf of boar spears within the holy compound. the dietary at st. ausonne was fit for a castle. venison was served on friday, and the amount of wine consumed was astounding. women are never supposed to set foot within the inner precincts of a monastery, but, to spare the church further scandal, one conceals what the bishop discovered to be the practice at this establishment. the st. ausonne monks, too, have cast reproaches upon their more honest brethren elsewhere. one of them, after visiting the st. aliquis convent, is discovered to have complained: "one cannot talk in the refectory; and all night they 'bray' the offices in the church. the meals are very poor; they give us beans and unshelled eggs. the wine is too thin and too mixed with cows' drink (water). no--never will i get drunk on _that_ wine. at st. aliquis it is better to die than to live!"[ ] another brother seems to have drifted round the duchy, visiting the more disorderly seigneurs, becoming their boon companion, cozening their women, and boasting that his ideal of life was "a big salmon at dinner time and sitting by a fountain with a friendly dame." with such monks sheer sacrilege in performing the sacred offices was possible. the story goes that at the morning office they were all very drowsy. soon their heads would fall on the service books at the close of every line. the choir boys were expected to keep up the chant; but the latter, impious young mortals, soon learned how to begin quiet games the moment the last monk had fallen asleep. then when the proper time has expired the boys would all call out loudly "let us bless the lord!" "thanks be to god!" the monks would respond, awakening with a start; and then everybody would go comfortably away. [sidenote: discipline of unruly monks] the report of the bishop will probably produce one of two orders from rome--either the holy father will appoint a new abbot strictly enjoined to rule the convent with a rod of iron and to restore discipline, or the whole establishment will be broken up as hopeless and its inmates distributed around among other and stricter monasteries. cases as bad as st. ausonne's are rare, but they breed infinite scandal and provide outrageous tales for the jongleurs. so long as monasticism exists there will be institutions afflicted with idleness and luxury--"the lust of the flesh and the lust of the eyes and the pride of life." doubtless no monastery is exempt from evil thoughts and evil deeds, yet it is pitiful that the saints allow such institutions as st. ausonne to exist to bring into contempt the tens of thousands of monks who are trying to serve god with sincerity. footnotes: [ ] in these chapters the terms "monastery," "abbey" and "convent" are used synonymously. of course, the term "convent" (from "conventus," or "meeting") might also be used for "nunnery." a "priory" was usually a smaller type of institution, ruled by a prior and not an abbot (see p. note) and dependent on some greater "abbey." [ ] clocks run wholly by weights were known as early as charlemagne's time, and the famous "magician" pope sylvester ii (see p. ) studied their mechanism. by the thirteenth century they were slowly coming into general use. of course, at first they had only one hand--showing merely the hours. [ ] by its very nature, a monastery would contain a disproportionately large number of doddering old men, or sick and helpless individuals. "_stagnarii_" or "_stationarii_" they are significantly called. besides, a monk was supposed to be bled for his health four or five times a year. while recovering from this operation he could stay in the infirmary. the church usually rejected candidates for regular priesthood who labored under serious physical disabilities. the monasteries had to be less arbitrary. thus they probably obtained more than their share of blind, semi-invalids, purblind, halt, deaf, etc. in , at an abbey near boulogne, there are said to have been so many lame, one-eyed, or one-armed monks that the abbot refused to admit any more defectives for thirty years. this was probably an extreme case. for similar reasons many women, unmarriageable through physical defects, seem to have been placed in nunneries. [ ] in monasteries affiliated with the great abbey of cluny the highest officer was the prior; the only abbot for the entire group of establishments was at cluny. various other small dependent monasteries had merely a prior, supposedly dependent on the abbot at a superior monastery. [ ] while such children would be sometimes presented out of motives of genuine piety, to save their own souls or to redeem those of their relatives, often they were thrust into the convent merely to dispose of unwelcome heirs or to avoid the cost of rearing them. wise abbots would, of course, sift out such cases carefully. [ ] bishops theoretically had themselves the right of inspection unless a monastery had a direct papal charter; but in any case the monks would probably resist episcopal interference vigorously unless the pope gave the bishop specific orders to intervene. [ ] these complaints are identical with those actually made by a worldly monk who visited the venerable abbey of cluny. chapter xx: the monastery of st. aliquis: the activities of its inmates. monastic learning. after a monk has taken the great vow "renouncing my parents, my brothers, my friends, my possessions, and the vain and empty glory of this world ... and renouncing also my own will for the will of god, and accepting all the hardships of the monastic life," how is he to be employed? for, as st. benedict with great sagacity has written, "_idleness is the enemy of the soul_." the ancient hermits devoted their entire time to contemplation, hoping for visions of angels; but it is recorded too often that they had only visions of the devil. "therefore," continues the holy rule, "at fixed times the brothers ought to be employed with manual labor, and again at fixed times in sacred reading." thus, in general, the monks of st. aliquis are busied with two great things, _work_ in the fields and _study_, with the copying or actual writing of profitable books. [sidenote: bequests to monasteries] the monastery being passing rich, its administration constitutes a great worldly care. ever since the institution came into existence, about the time that heribert rendered the region fairly safe by erecting his fortress, the monks have been adding to their property. church foundations never die. mortmain prevents them from crumbling. income is obtainable from many sources, but probably the best lands have come to the abbey through the reception of new members. few novices are received unless they make a grant of their entire possessions to the institution, and, while most younger sons and peasants have little enough to give, every now and then the abbey receives a person of considerable wealth. besides such acquisitions, there is no better way for laymen to cancel arrears with the recording angel than by gifts of land or money to an abbey. some of these gifts come during lifetime, sometimes on one's deathbed. noblemen complain that the monks thus defraud them of their possessions. "when a man lies down to die," bewails the epic poem "hervis de metz," "he thinks not of his sons. he summons the black monks of st. benedict and gives them his lands, his revenues, his ovens, and his mills. the men of this age are impoverished and the clerics daily grow richer." often, too, a person when on his deathbed will actually "take the habit" and be enrolled as a monk, thus, of course, conveying to the abbey all his possessions. this, we are told, is "the sweetest way for a human conscience to settle its case with god." property thus comes to an abbey from every direction. no gifts are refused as "tainted money." giving to heaven is invariably a pious deed, and ordinarily justifies whatever oblique means were used to get the donation. so the monks of st. aliquis have been accumulating tillage lands, meadows, vineyards, and often the rentals for lands held by others. these rentals are payable in wheat, barley, oats, cattle and also in pasture rights. some donations are given unconditionally, some strictly on condition that the income be used in providing alms for the poor, lodgings and comforts for the sick, or saying special masses for the repose of the soul of the benefactor. abbot victor has therefore to supervise many farms, forests, mills, etc., scattered for many miles about. he also receives the tithe (church tax) for five or six parish churches in the region, on condition that he appoint their priests and support them out of part of this income. for these lands the abbot owes feudal service, and over them he exercises feudal suzerainty, possessing, therefore, an overlord and also vassals, just as did the nobles who held these same fiefs before they passed to the abbey. he is, accordingly, a regular seigneur, receiving and doing homage, bound to do justice to his vassals, and able to call them to arms whenever the secular need arises. by church law he cannot, of course, lead them in person to battle, but has to accept conon as his advocate; and it is as advocate (or, as called elsewhere, _vidame_) of the abbey of st. aliquis, able to lead its numerous retainers into the field and act in military matters as the abbot's very self-sufficient lieutenant and champion, that the baron owes much of his own importance.[ ] for example, he gets one third of all the fees payable to the abbey for enforcing justice among its dependents, and when he is himself in a feud he will sometimes attempt to call out the abbot's vassals to follow his personal banner, even if the quarrel is of not the least concern to the monks. nevertheless, such an overpowerful champion is usually necessary to a monastery. despite the fear of excommunication, unscrupulous lords frequently seize upon abbey lands or even pillage the sacred buildings, trusting to smooth over matters later by a gift or a pilgrimage. the temptation presented by a rich, helpless monastery is sometimes almost irresistible. [sidenote: monastic industries and almsgiving] in nonmilitary matters, however, the monks control everything. they direct the agriculture of hundreds of peasants. they maintain real industries, manufacturing far more in the way of church ornaments, vestments, elegant woolen tapestries, elaborate book covers, musical instruments, enameled reliquaries, as well as carvings in wood, bronze, and silver, than they can possibly use for their own church. all this surplus is sold, and the third prior has just returned from pontdebois to report his success in disposing of a fine bishop's throne, which brother octavian, who has great skill with his chisel, has spent three whole years in making. the monks also maintain a school primarily for lads who expect to become clerics, but which is open also to the sons of nobles, and, indeed, of such peasants as can see any use in letting hulking boys who do not expect to enter the church learn latin and struggle with pothooks and hangers. the monks, too, have another great care and expense--the distribution of alms, even more lavishly than at the castle. the porter is bound always to keep small loaves of bread in his lodge, ready to give to the itinerant poor. every night swarms of travelers, high and low, have to be lodged and fed by the guest master, with none turned away unless he demands quarters a second night--when questions will be asked.[ ] in bad years the monasteries are somehow expected to feed the wretched by thousands. all this means a great drain upon the income, even if the monks themselves live sparely. there is often another heavy demand made on the abbot's revenues. having so many and such varied parcels of land, he is almost always involved in costly lawsuits--with rival church establishments claiming the property, with the heirs of donors who refuse to give up their expected heritages, with creditors or debtors in the abbey's commercial transactions and with self-seeking neighboring seigneurs. "he who has land has trouble" is an old proverb to which victor cheerfully subscribes. he is not so litigious as many abbots; but his time seems consumed with carnal matters which profit not the soul. the activities in a large, well-ordered monastery are ample enough to give scope to the individual genius of about all the brethren, although every abbey is likely to have its own special interests. some south french monasteries make and export rare cordials and healing drugs. others boast of their horticulture, the breeding of cattle, or the manufacture of various kinds of elegant articles, as already noted. however, the mere cultivation of the fields, where the brethren toil side by side with the lay helpers, although also acting as overseers, consumes the energies of much of the convent. the remainder of the time of most monks is devoted to forms of learning. the great establishment of cluny sets the proper example. there every brother, at least while he is young, must practice humility by digging, pulling weeds, shelling beans, and making bread. but this work is largely for discipline.[ ] if he has the least inclination he will soon be encouraged to devote himself to copying manuscripts, studying books, perfecting himself in latin, and finally, in actually writing original latin works himself. [sidenote: manuscript copying and study] all day long, save at the times for chanting the offices, the older brethren and many of the younger are in the little alcoves round the cloister, conning or copying huge volumes of parchment or vellum, or whispering together over some learned problem. all the formal literature is in latin. it was, until recently, something of a disgrace to prove oneself unclerkly by using the vulgar tongue, "romance" being accounted fit only for worldly noblemen and jongleurs.[ ] [illustration: a piece of furniture serving as a seat and a reading desk restored by viollet-le-duc from a thirteenth-century manuscript. at the left of the writing table is placed an inkstand; near the seat is a circular lectern which holds the chandelier and can be turned at the will of the reader.] at st. aliquis, as in every convent, monks still are wont to argue among themselves, "how far is it safe to study pagan rather than christian writers?" undoubtedly horace, ovid, and livy are a delight to any student who can read latin. what wealth of new ideas! what marvelous vigor of language! what vistas of a strange, wonderful world are opened to the imagination! unfortunately, however, all these authors died worshiping demons; their souls are in hell, or at least in limbo, its uppermost and least painful compartment. did not pope gregory i write to a bishop who was fond of classical studies, "it behooves not that a mouth consecrated to the praise of god should open for those of jupiter"? did not odilon, abbot of cluny, renounce his beloved virgil (the most favored of all heathen writers) after a warning dream, beholding therein a wondrous antique vase, which as he reached to grasp it, proved full of writhing serpents? nevertheless, the pagan authors are so seductive that the monks persist in studying them, although always with a guilty feeling that "stolen waters are sweet, and bread eaten in secret is pleasant." in the monastery school advanced instruction is given to the younger monks, as well as to the very few laymen who have been through the primary instruction in the _trivium_--grammar, rhetoric, and dialectics (the art of reasoning) all taught, of course, in latin. apt pupils are then encouraged to continue under one or two monks of superior learning in the _quadrivium_--astronomy, arithmetic, geometry, and music. systematic instruction is hardly ever given in anything else, although odds and ends of certain other sciences can be absorbed around st. aliquis. [sidenote: books of learning] the fundamental textbooks are donatus's grammar for instruction in latin, and then for almost everything savoring of real learning, latin translations of master aristotle. for a long time the monks have had to content themselves with the logical works of the famous grecian, explaining the processes of argumentation, but by they can enjoy the enormous advantage of using latin versions of the physics, the metaphysics, and the ethics--the great works of the master of those who know (to quote dante, writing eighty years later). some of these books have come directly from the greek, but others have been distorted by passing through an arabic version that in turn has been made over into latin. there are also various arabic commentaries of considerable value. curious it doubtless is that heaven, who has denied salvation alike to greek and to moslem, should suffer unbelievers to possess a worldly wisdom surpassing that of good christians, but the bible truly says, "the children of this world are in their generation wiser than the children of light." on all secular matters, indeed, aristotle is a final authority. "thus says aristotle" is the best way to silence every hostile argument. only very rarely can a man hope by his own cogitations to overthrow the dicta of this wonderful sage of athens. a great deal of the monkish student's time is taken up with abstract problems of philology and logic. nevertheless, the abbey contains many parchments widening to one's knowledge of the world. for example, you can read in vincent de beauvais's _mirror of nature_ a minute account of the universe and all things within it. you can learn the astonishing fact that the world is a kind of globe suspended at the center of the cosmos. many other wonderful things are described--as, for example, lead can be transmuted into gold, and all kinds of wonders which defy ordinary experience, but which are not to be doubted, since god can, of course, do anything. or one can turn to hugues de st. victor's treatise _on beasts and other things_ and learn all about the habits of animals--concerning how stags can live nine hundred years and how the dove "with her right eye contemplates herself, and with her left eye god." there are books also on medicine, parts of which contain sober wisdom, worthy of attention by the murderous physicians, but elsewhere giving such directions as that since autumn is "the melancholy season," people should then eat more heartily than in summer and should refrain from love affairs. as for the more abstract sciences, in music the monks know the four principal and the four secondary sounds--the _do_, _re_, _mi_, of the scales, the seven modulations and the five strings of the viol. in geometry they can, with the aid of a stick, "lying on the ground find the height of walls and towers." in arithmetic they can multiply and divide with great facility and keep accounts like a king's treasurer. in astronomy they understand the motion of the planets and their qualities--saturn, which is "proud, wise, and ambitious," and mars, "malevolent and bad, provoking strife and battles," and how the sun is hung in the midst of the planets, three above and three below, and much more similar wisdom; although one must proceed carefully in astronomy, for its connection with astrology is close, and from astrology to the black art is not a long journey. [sidenote: scientific studies and chronicle writing] the good monks have perhaps made their best progress in botany and geology. some of the brethren have gathered collections of curious minerals, of herbs, and also of dried bird and animal skins; although the interest seems to be in the healing qualities of various substances rather than in the nature of the things themselves. thus it is certain that figs are good for wounds and broken bones; aloes stops hair from falling; the root of mandrake will make women love you; and plenty of sage in a garden somehow protects the owner from premature death. as for geology, that consists of the collecting and arranging of curious stones. it is of course settled in genesis that the world was made in a very few days. the infidel avincenna has indeed advanced the theory that mountains are caused by the upheaval of the earth's crust and by action of water. one must hesitate, however, about believing this. it seems hardly compatible with holy writ. on the other hand, the books on animals unhesitatingly tell about remarkable creatures which are mentioned in aristotle or in pliny or by the arabs. unicorns, phoenixes, and dragons are well understood, likewise sea monsters, as, for example, great krakens, which drag down ships with their tentacles, sirens or mermaids, and finally "sea bishops" (probably a kind of seal) which piously "bless" their human victims before devouring them. besides the study of these older books, the monks are writing certain books themselves. the most important is the great chronicle, begun some years ago by the learned brother emeri. it commences with the creation of the world and adam and eve, tells about the greeks and romans and charlemagne and his heirs, and then in much greater detail gives the recent history of the duchy of quelqueparte, the happenings at the abbey, and also much about the barons of st. aliquis. emeri is now dead, but the chronicle is continued from year to year. it is really a compendium of varied learning. from it, for example, you learn all about the wars of julius cæsar, the crusades, the great lawsuit of ten years ago over some of the abbey lands, the feud between conon and foretvert, and how in a two-headed calf was born on a neighboring barony, and in a meteor struck near pontdebois. the latin in this chronicle is, on the whole, very good, sometimes almost equal to livy's, and the story is embellished by constant citations not merely of virgil and horace, but of homer and plato. one would suppose from this that the authors were familiar with greek. such, however, is by no means the case. all the quotations from greek authors and many of their latin ones are taken from commonplace books. nevertheless, the narrative seems the more elegant for this borrowed learning. the monks are proud of their chronicle and never fail to boast how much more complete, accurate, and erudite it is than similar works compiled at the rival institutions. when the monks are not actually studying, they are often copying. st. aliquis has more than two hundred volumes in its library. parchment is very expensive, but very durable. when the abbot sees his way to procure material for another volume, he is likely to send to some friendly convent to borrow a book which his monks do not yet possess. then some of the most skillful brethren are put to work making a copy, if possible more beautiful than the original. in from six months to a year the work will probably be finished, although, if a duplicate is to be made of a work already on hand, there will be less haste and the process may extend over years.[ ] copying is an excellent means of propitiating heaven. st. bernard said emphatically, "every word which you write is a blow which smites the devil," and cassiodorus, much earlier, asserted: "by the exercise of the mind upon the holy scriptures you convey to those who read a kind of moral instruction. you preach with the hand, converting the hand into an organ of speech--thus, as it were, fighting the arch-fiend with pen and ink." parchment, we have said, is a costly article. to provide a single book scores of sheep must die. a new style of writing material, however, is just coming into vogue. paper, a substance made of linen cloth, now is being produced in small quantities in france, although, as usual, it seems to have been an invention of the arab infidels. some day, perhaps, paper will become so plentiful and cheap that books can be multiplied in vast numbers, but as yet practically everything has to be on parchment, which is certainly far less destructible than paper, whatever the cost.[ ] [sidenote: elegant manuscripts and binding] in the cloister alcoves a dozen copyists are pursuing their task with infinite patience. their question is not "how fast?" but "how well?"--for they are performing "a work unto god." as a rule, they write their sheets in two columns, making their characters either in roundish minuscule or in squarer gothic. the initials are in bright colors--some with a background of gold. here and there may be painted in a brilliant miniature illustration. the work of the best copyists is beautifully legible. the scribes put their heart and soul into their productions. they expect the volumes will be memorials to their faithfulness and piety scores of years after they are departed. when the sheets are completed, the book is bound in leather much the same as in other ages, although sometimes the sides are of wood. in any case, there are likely to be metal clasps and bosses of brass upon the covers. a few of the most precious volumes are adorned with plates of silver or carved ivory. so year by year the library grows. it need not be remarked that every copy is _read_ and _reread_ with devoted thoroughness. what the learning of the feudal age, therefore, lacks in breadth is somewhat compensated for by intensity. the older and more studious monks know almost by heart _all_ the facts in their entire collection. the younger brethren revere them as carrying in their own heads practically everything significant in the way of worldly wisdom.[ ] thus we catch some glimpse of the superficial and material side of a typical monastic establishment. into its spiritual and intellectual atmosphere we cannot find time to penetrate. our present duty is to "return to the world" and to examine the oft-mentioned but as yet unvisited good town of pontdebois. footnotes: [ ] abbots and their advocates were continually having friction over their respective prerogatives. if victor and conon got along in fair harmony, they were somewhat exceptional both as prelate and as seigneur. [ ] see also p. . [ ] a great abbey like cluny would have so many lay servitors that it could dispense with manual labor by the monks, save where personal aptitude was lacking for anything else. [ ] the result was that french was able to develop as a very forceful, expressive language, unspoiled by pedantry, before many serious books were written in the vernacular. the same was somewhat true also of english, german, and other modern tongues. [ ] this would be especially true of copies of the bible, of which every abbey would have at least one example; and additional specimens would be prepared very deliberately with the intention of making the new work just as beautiful and permanent as possible. [ ] the introduction of paper was, of course, absolutely necessary, if the invention of printing were to have any real value. [ ] it is perhaps proper to say that dante ( - ), a person, of course, of remarkable intellect, was able to master the _entire fund_ of learned information and science available in his time. this was not true of the next great mediæval scholar, petrarch ( - ). by his period the supply of human knowledge had become too vast for any one brain. petrarch had to become a specialist. chapter xxi: the good town of pontdebois: aspect and organization. as the summer advances, conon, his baroness, and his familiars make their annual visit to the great fair always held at this time at pontdebois. practically nothing except wheat, cattle, and a few like staples are ordinarily bought and sold in or around st. aliquis. of course, a messenger can be sent to the town for articles that are urgently needed, but, as a rule, the baron's family saves up all its important purchases until the fair, when many desirable things not ordinarily to be had in the city are put on sale. this present season the fair seems the more important because on account of the expensive fêtes conon cannot afford to visit paris and must make his purchases nearer home. it is only a few leagues to pontdebois, but messire travels with a considerable retinue--at least twenty men at arms well equipped, besides body servants for himself and his wife, and a long string of sumpter beasts to bring back the desired commodities, for the castle must really stock itself for the year. the baron hardly fears an attack by robbers so near to his own castle and to a friendly town, but he takes no chances. the best of seigneurs disclaim any responsibility for the fate of travelers who proceed by night, and one sire who controls some miles of the way has possibly a quiet understanding with certain outlaws that they may lurk in his forests and watch the roads without too much questioning, provided they refrain from outrages upon important people and make him liberal presents at christmas and easter.[ ] in any case, a number of merchants, packmen, and other humble travelers who had gone safely as far as st. aliquis, are glad to complete the journey in the baron's formidable company. conon in turn gladly protects them; it adds to his prestige to approach pontdebois with a great following. the roads are no worse than elsewhere, yet they are abominable; trails and muddy ruts they seem most of the year, ordinarily passable only for horses and mules, although in the summer rude two-wheeled carts can bump along them. to cross the streams you must, in some places, depend on fords very dangerous in the springtime. one unfordable river, entering the claire, is indeed crossed by a rude wooden bridge. the building of bridges is fostered by the church. a great indulgence was proclaimed by the bishop some years ago when this bridge was constructed as a pious work, especially useful for pilgrims. unfortunately, no one is responsible for its upkeep. it is falling into disrepair, and already is so tottering that as men pass over it they repeat those formulas, "commending their souls to god," which the church provides for use whenever one is attempting unstable bridges. [sidenote: travelers and inns] on the journey you meet many humble travelers obliged to trudge weary miles. there is a poor peasant seeking a farm now on a distant seigneury. he has a donkey to carry some of his household gear and one of the children. his wife is painfully carrying the youngest infant. the poor man himself staggers under a great sack. travelers of more consequence ride horseback, with a large mail or leathern portmanteau tied on their beast's crupper. their burdens are heavy because one often has to spend the night in abominable quarters, and consequently must, if possible, carry flint, steel, and tinder for making a fire, some kind of bedding, and very often a tent. along the road, too, are any quantity of beggars, real or pretended cripples and other deformed persons, wandering about and living on charity; or blind men with staffs and dogs. the beggars' disguise is a favorite one for robbers. the wretches, too, who whine their, "alms, messire! alms!" and hold up a wrist minus the hand, or point to where an eye has been gouged out, probably have suffered just punishments for crimes, although some of them may have mutilated themselves merely in order to work on the sympathies of the gullible. as the party approaches pontdebois the houses become better and closer together, and just outside the gate is a group of taverns, available for those who prefer to carouse or lodge without rather than within the city walls. conon is on terms of hospitality with a rich burgher who has found the baron's favor profitable, and he leads his company promptly inside the gates, but many of the humbler travelers turn off to these taverns. adela gives an aristocratic sniff of disdain as they ride past such places. they are assuredly very dirty, and from them proceeds the smell of stale wine and poor cooking. the owners, smooth, smirking men, stand by the road as travelers come in sight and begin to praise their hostelries. "within," one of them is calling out, "are all manner of comforts, painted chambers, and soft beds packed high with white straw under soft feather mattresses. here is your hostel for love affairs. when you retire you will fall asleep on pillows of violets, after you have washed out your mouth and rinsed your hands with rose water!" his victims, however, will find themselves in a dirty public dining room, where men and women alike are drinking and dicing around the bare oaken tables. at night the guests will sleep in the few chambers, bed wedged by bed, or perhaps two in a bed, upon feathers anything but vermin-proof. in the rear of most inns, too, there is a garden where guests are urged to carouse with the unsavory females who haunt the establishments. the visitors will be lucky if they can get safely away without being made stupidly drunken and then robbed, or having the innkeeper seize their baggage or even their clothes on the pretense that they have not paid their reckoning. leaving these taverns at one side, the st. aliquis company rides straight onward. before it the spires and walls of pontdebois are rising. the circuit of gray curtain walls and turrets reaches down to the claire, on which barges are swinging, and across which stretches the solid wooden bridge which gives the good town its name. above the walls you can see the gabled roofs of the more pretentious houses, the great round donjon, the civic watchtower, and, above all else, the soaring fabric and stately mass of the cathedral with the scaffolding still around its unfinished towers. several smaller parish churches are also visible. the baron's company is obliged to halt at the gate, such is the influx and efflux of rickety carts, sumpter beasts, and persons thrusting across the drawbridge. "way, good people," conon's squires cry. "way for messire of st. aliquis!" and at last, not without a cracking of whips to make these mechanic crowds know their betters, the party forces a path down the narrow streets. [sidenote: entering a city] a visit to pontdebois is no real novelty to the castle folk, yet they always experience a sense of bustle and vastness upon entering. here are eight thousand, indeed, some assert ten thousand, people, all living together in a single community.[ ] how confused even the saints must be when they peer from heaven and try to number this swarm of young and old, rich and poor, masters and apprentices, packed in behind one set of walls! to tell the truth, the circuit of pontdebois is not very great; to render the walls as defensible as possible and to save expense, the fortifications have been made to inclose the smallest circumference that will answer. as a result, the land inside is precious. houses are wedged closely together. streets are extraordinarily narrow. people can hardly stir without colliding with others, and about the only real breathing spaces are the market place and some open ground around the cathedral. behind the bishop's palace, also, there is a small walled-in garden. otherwise, it appears almost as if not one green thing could grow in pontdebois. the contrast with the open country whence the travelers have just come is therefore startling. even the best of the streets are dark, tortuous, and filthy. there is almost no paving.[ ] the waste water of the houses is flung from the windows. horrid offal is thus cast out, as well as the blood and refuse from the numerous slaughterhouses. pigs are privileged as scavengers, even in the market place. the streets are the darker because the second stories of the houses project considerably over the first, the third over the second, and also the fourth and fifth (which often exist) over those lower. consequently, there is almost a roof formed over the lanes, cutting off rain, light and air. in the upper stories, neighbors not merely can gossip, but can actually shake hands with their friends across the street. all the thoroughfares, too, are amazingly crooked, as if everybody had once built his house where it pleased him, and afterward some kind of a bypath around it had been created! at night these twisting avenues are dark as pitch. no one can get about without a lantern, and even with one it were better, if possible, to stay at home. to prevent the easy flight of thieves, it is common to stretch many heavy chains across the streets at night. notwithstanding, footpads often lurk in the covert of black corners. pontdebois has few quiet residence sections. it is a community of almost nothing but little shops and little industries--the two being often combined under one roof. the shops generally open directly into the streets, with their stalls intruding on the public way like oriental bazaars. the streets, in fact, seem to be almost the property of the merchants. foot passengers can barely find a passage. carts cannot traverse the town during business hours, and conon's company on horseback might have found itself absolutely blocked had it not chanced to arrive almost precisely at noon, when the hum and bustle very suddenly cease and the worthy folk of pontdebois forsake their counters and benches to enjoy hearty dinners. [sidenote: a rich burgher's house] as it is, they reach the market place just as the city hangman has finished a necessary ceremony. one lambert, a master woolen weaver, had been caught selling adulterated and dishonestly woven cloth, contrary to the statutes of his guild. the hangman has solemnly burned the offending bolts of cloth before a jeering crowd of apprentices, while lambert's offense has been cried out with loud voice. the man is disgraced and ruined. he will have to become again a mere wage earner, or quit the city outright. his misfortune is the choice news of the hour. the smell of the burning cloth is still in the air when conon's party rides by the pillory and halts at the house of the rich othon bouchaut, who is ready to receive them. maître othon is one of the principal burghers. he has grown rich by importing wares from venice, constantinople, and the lands of the infidels. it is scandalous (say some nobles) how he, villein born, with hands only accustomed to hold a purse or a pen, is able to talk to a great seigneur without groveling as every good peasant ought. he and his wife even wear gold lace, pearls, and costly stuffs on fête days, as if they were nobles; and they are said actually to have broken the law forbidding non-nobles to wear furs. very deplorable, but what can be done? othon is so rich that he can stir up trouble even for the duke. nothing remains but to speak him fair and accept his hospitality. this powerful merchant's house is in the marketplace. it rises five stories high, and is built of beams filled in with laths, mortar, and stucco. on the ground floor are storerooms for costly oriental goods, and desks where the master's clerks seem forever busy with complicated accounts. on the next are the rooms for the family, and, although without the spacious magnificence of the great hall at st. aliquis, adela remarks a little enviously that her host's wife enjoys many comforts and luxuries hardly known in the castle. the upper stories are full of small chambers for othon's family, his clerks, and the younger apprentices who are learning his business. before the front door swings the ensign of the house--a gilded mortar (in token of the powdered spices which the owner sells). the houses of pontdebois have no numbers. the ensigns serve to identify them. one of othon's neighbors lives at the "crouching cat," another at the "tin pot," another at the "silver fish," and so on all through the town. the house of othon also appears to be quite new, as do many others. this, however, is a doubtful sign of good fortune. only a few years ago much of pontdebois was burned down. the narrow streets, the thatched roofs, the absence of any means of checking a blaze save a line of buckets hastily organized, make great fires a standing menace to every city.[ ] othon complains that at any moment he may be reduced almost to beggary by the carelessness of some wretched scullery maid or tavern apprentice. he will also say that somehow in the pent-up city there is greater danger of the plague than in the country castles or even in the villages with their dungheaps. a dozen years ago pontdebois lost a quarter of its population by an outbreak which spared neither rich nor poor, before which physicians and religious processions seemed alike helpless, and which demoralized the community before the saints mercifully halted the devastation. [sidenote: the communal donjon] there are only a few stone houses in pontdebois. even the best houses of the citizens are usually of wood and mortar. not yet have risen those magnificent stone city halls which later will be the glory of north france and flanders. but on one side of the market place rises the communal donjon. the good town is like a seigneur (indeed, somewhat it _is_ a seigneur placed in commission): it has its walls and therefore its strong citadel. the donjon forms a high, solid, square tower dominating the public square. at its summit there is always a watchman ready, at first danger of fire or attack, to boom the alarm bell. the tower itself is large enough to have good-sized rooms in its base. nearest the ground is the council chamber where the worshipful echevins can deliberate. above that is the archive room, where the elaborate town records are kept. directly under the council chamber, however, is the prison, where general offenders are mewed up no more comfortably than in the abysses of st. aliquis. the soul of the communal donjon, however, hovers around its bells. there in the dark tower hang shrill jacqueline, loud carolus, and, deepest and mightiest of all, holy trinity, and several others. a peal of powerful bells pertains to every free town. of course, they ring lustily and merrily on holidays; indeed, strangers to the city think they are rung too often for repose.[ ] but if they all begin leaping and thundering together, that is probably a sign for a mass meeting of the citizens in the open plaza before the donjon. the magistrates may wish to harangue the populace from the balcony, just above the council room, descanting upon some public danger or deliver a peaceful explanation of some new municipal ordinance. in any case, a commune without its donjon and bells is like a ship without its rudder, and if ever pontdebois succumbs to superior power, the first step of the conqueror will probably be to "take away the bells"--that will be the same thing as annulling the city liberties. pontdebois has been a good town with a charter of privileges for about a hundred years. as early as charlemagne's day a village existed upon the site. the location proved good for trade, but the inhabitants, despite success in commerce and industry and increasing numbers, were for a long time mere villeins dependent upon the lord bishop of the town and region, and with no more rights than the peasants of the fields had. however, in dealing with men who were steadily becoming richer, and who were picking up strange ideas by foreign intercourse, it proved much harder to keep them content with their station than it did the run of villeins. besides, the dukes of quelqueparte, although very loath to grant privileges to their own villeins, were not averse to having privileges given to the subjects of such independent and unreliable vassals as the bishops of pontdebois. consequently, when the townspeople about a.d. began raising the cry, "commune! commune!" in the episcopal presence, the bishop could not look to his suzerain for much support. indeed, it was being realized by intelligent seigneurs that granting a charter to a town often meant a great increase of wealth, so that if the lord's fiscal rights were carefully safeguarded, he was actually the gainer by an apparent cession of part of his authority. the upshot was that about a.d. , when a certain bishop needed a large purse to cover his travel to the holy land, for a round sum the townsfolk bought from him a charter--a precious document which practically raised them out of the status of villeins and protected them against those executions and tyrannies which the run of peasants had to accept resignedly, as they did bad winters. [sidenote: charter of a commune] this charter read in part much as follows: "i, henri, by the grace of god bishop of pontdebois, make known to all present and to come, that i have established the undermentioned rules for the inhabitants of my town of pontdebois. every male inhabitant of said town shall pay me every year twelve deniers and a bushel of oats as the price of his dwelling; and if he desires to hold land outside the walls four deniers per year for each acre. the houses, vines, and fields may be sold and alienated at the pleasure of the holder. the dwellers in this town shall go neither to the _ost_ (feudal levy) nor on any other expedition unless i lead the same in person. they are allowed six echevins to administer the ordinary business of the town and to assist my provost in his duties. i especially decree that no seigneur shall withdraw from this town any inhabitants for any reason, unless they are actually 'his men' or owe him arrears in taxes, etc."[ ] after securing this charter, the men of pontdebois began to hold up their heads in a manner grievous to the neighboring nobles, and even more grievous to the wealthy clergy, for prince-bishops were often the original suzerains of the towns, and their authority was the most seriously curtailed.[ ] the books are full of the wrath of the ecclesiastics over the changed situation. "'commune!' a name new and detestable!" pungently wrote abbot guibert of nogent, even when the movement was young; while bishop ives of chartres assured everybody that "compacts (with city folk) are binding on no one: they are contrary to the canon law and the decision of the holy fathers." even as recently as a synod at paris has denounced communes as the creations of "usurers and exactors" who have set up "diabolical usages, tending to overthrow the jurisdiction of the church." however righteous the anger of these holy men, it has proved vain. the communes ever wax stronger, and annually some new seigneur is compelled to sell a charter or even to grant one for nothing. the kings watch complacently a movement which weakens their unruly feudatories. sometimes the townsfolk have grown insolent and tried to defend their privileges by sheer violence. once there was a very tyrannous bishop of laon. he foolishly tried to cancel a charter granted the city, and boasted: "what can you expect these people to do by their commotions? if my negro boy john were to seize the most terrible of them by the nose, the fellow would not even growl. what they yesterday called a 'commune' i have forced them to give up--at least as long as i live!" the next day the yell, "commune! commune!" rang in the streets. a mob sacked the episcopal palace and found the bishop hiding in a cask at the bottom of the cellar. the howling populace dragged him into the street and killed him with a hatchet. then, to add to this sacrilege upon an anointed bishop, they plundered most of the nobles who chanced to be in the town. after such deeds it is no wonder that the king went to laon and re-established order with a strong hand. nevertheless, some years later, a new charter was granted the town, and the succeeding bishops have had to walk warily, despite inward groanings. [sidenote: rule by echevins and rich merchants] fortunately, pontdebois has been spared these convulsions. as a rule the local prelates have been reasonable and conciliatory. the bishop is still called "suzerain." he receives the fixed tax provided in the original agreement. he has jurisdiction over the citizens in spiritual matters, which include heresy, blasphemy, insults, and assaults upon priests and outrages to churches. likewise much of what might be called "probate litigation"--touching the validity of marriages and children, and consequently the wills and property rights affected thereby. however, in most secular particulars the citizens have pretty complete control. they levy numerous imposts, direct taxes, tolls, and market dues; they enroll a militia to defend the walls and to take the field under their own officers and banner when the general levy of the region is called out; they pass many local ordinances; and they name their own magistrates who administer "high justice." they can even wage local wars if they have a grievance against neighboring barons, being themselves a kind of collective seigneur. the one thing they _cannot_ do is to coin money; that is a privilege carefully reserved to the king and to the superior nobility. practically all these powers are exercised by the six echevins, with a higher dignitary, the mayor (_maire_), at their head.[ ] there is little real democracy, however, in pontdebois. the richer merchants, like othon, and the more prosperous masters form practically an oligarchy, excluding the poor artisans and apprentices from any share in municipal affairs save that of paying taxes and listening to edicts by the magistrates. the same officers are re-elected year after year. they use the town money much as they see fit, refusing public reckoning and blandly announcing that "they render their accounts to one another." there are, therefore, certain discontented fellows who even murmur, "we 'free burghers' are worse taxed and oppressed than are baron conon's villeins at st. aliquis." nevertheless, there is often a great desire to become even a passive citizen of pontdebois. if you can live there unmolested for "a year and a day," you escape the jurisdiction of the lord on whose estate you have been a villein. you are protected against those outrages which are possible on even the best seigneuries. most of all, you gain a chance to become something more than a clodhopping plowman. perhaps your grandchildren at least will become wealthy and powerful enough to receive a baron as their guest, even as does the rich othon. so one may wander about the twisting streets of pontdebois until nightfall, when the loud horns blow curfew--"cover fires." after that, the streets are deserted save for the occasional watchman rattling his iron-shod staff and calling through the darkness, "pray for the dead!" footnotes: [ ] another abuse would be to levy a heavy toll on all travelers passing a castle, irrespective of whether there was any legal license to demand the same. [ ] if pontdebois really had as many as eight thousand permanent inhabitants, it was no mean community in feudal times. many a city would have only two or three thousand, or even less. a place of ten thousand or more would rank as the most important center for a wide region. there were few of such size in france. [ ] even in paris at this time the only paving was on the streets leading directly to the city gates. the remainder continued to be a mere slough, a choice breeding place for those contagious diseases against which precautions were assumed to be useless and to which men were bound to submit as to "the will of god." supplications to some healing saint, like st. firman or st. antoine, usually seemed more efficacious than any real sanitary precautions. [ ] rouen had six severe fires between and , and yet was not exceptionally unfortunate. if a city were close to a river, it was liable also to very serious freshets. of course, every place was in fairly constant danger of being stormed, sacked, and burned down in war. [ ] modern travelers are to this day impressed by the amount of bellringing which goes on in such unspoiled mediæval-built flemish towns as bruges. [ ] of course, no two communal charters were ever alike, although many were run in a common mold. many towns received not a full charter, but "rights of burgessy"--_e.g._, guaranties against various common forms of oppression, although the laws were still actually administered by officers named by the seigneur. [ ] bishops often had their cathedral and episcopal seat at the largest place in their dioceses--the very places most likely to demand charters. [ ] the echevins were often known instead as "jurés" and their numbers were frequently much greater than six. the mayors might be called "provosts" or "rewards." chapter xxii: industry and trade in pontdebois. the great fair. the st. aliquis folk have come to pontdebois largely to attend the great fair soon to open, but the more ordinary articles they will purchase can be found on sale on any week day. the city is a beehive of industry. notwithstanding much talk about commerce in the feudal ages, the means of communication and transport are so bad that it is only the luxuries--not the essentials--that can be exported very far. it takes thirty days in good weather to travel from paris to marseilles. it takes sometimes a week to go from pontdebois to paris; and there is no larger industrial city much nearer than paris. the result is that almost everything ordinarily needed in a château, village, or even in a monastery, which cannot be made upon the spot, is manufactured and sold in this good town. industrial life, however, seems to exist on a very small scale. there are no real factories. an establishment employing more than four or five persons, including the proprietor, is rare. much commoner are petty workshops conducted by the owner alone or aided by only one youthful apprentice. this multiplicity of extremely small plants gives pontdebois a show of bustle and activity which its actual population does not warrant. when you do business in a town, simply name your desires and you can be directed to a little winding street containing all the shops of a given industry. there is the glass workers' street, the tanners' row, the butchers' lane, the parchment makers' street (frequented by monkish commissioners from the abbeys), the goldsmiths' lane, etc. [illustration: cloth merchants from a bas-relief in the cathedral of rheims (thirteenth century).] [sidenote: shopkeepers crying their wares] as a rule the goods are made up in the rear of the shop and are sold over a small counter directly upon the street, where the customer stands while he drives his bargain. written signs and price cards are practically unknown. the moment a possible purchaser comes in sight, all the attendants near the front of the shops begin a terrific uproar, each trying to bawl down his neighbor, praising his own wares and almost dragging in the visitor to inspect them. trade etiquette permits shopkeepers to shout out the most derogatory things about their rivals. father grégoire, wishing to buy some shoes, is almost demoralized by the clamor, although this is by no means his first visit to pontdebois. as he enters the shoemakers' lane it seems as if all the ill-favored apprentices are crowding around him. one plucks his cape. "here, good father! exactly what you want!" "hearken not to the thief," shouts another; "try on our shoes and name your own price!" a third tries to push him into yet another stall. "good sirs," cries grégoire, in dismay, "for god's sake treat me gently or i'll buy no shoes at all!" only reluctantly do they let him make his choice, then conclude a bargain unmolested by outsiders. in the fish, bread, and wine markets the scenes can be even more riotous, while the phrases used by the hucksters in crying their wares are peculiar and picturesque. as always in trade, it is well that "the buyer should beware"; fixed prices are really unknown and inferior goods are inordinately praised. nevertheless, the city and guild authorities try hard to protect purchasers from misrepresentation. the officers are always making unannounced rounds of inspection to see how the guild ordinances are being obeyed.[ ] the fate of the rascally woolen maker has been noted. heavy fines have also been imposed lately upon a rope maker who put linen in a hemp cord, and a cutler who put silver ornaments in a bone knife handle. this, however, was not to protect purchasers, but because they had gone outside the line of work permitted to members of their guild and trenched upon another set of craftsmen. indeed, a very short residence in pontdebois makes one aware that within the chartered commune the question is not, as in strictly feudal dominions, "whose 'man' is he?" but "to what guild does he belong?" everything apparently revolves around the trade and craft guilds. some of these guilds, like that of the butchers, are alleged to be much older than the granting of the charter; but it is undeniable that the organizations have multiplied and grown in power since that precious document was obtained.[ ] each special industry goes to the seigneur (in this city to the bishop) for a special grant of privileges and for a fee he will usually satisfy the petitioners, especially as they desire the privileges mainly to protect them against their fellow craftsmen, not against himself. in paris there are more than three hundred and fifty separate professions; in pontdebois they are much fewer, yet the number seems high. many guilds have only a few members apiece, but even the smallest is mortally jealous of its prerogatives. one "mystery" makes men's shoes, another women's, another children's. some time ago the last mentioned sold some alleged "children's shoes" which seemed very large! result--a bitter law suit brought by the women's shoemakers. christian charity among the guildsmen has not been restored yet. in paris they say that the tailors are pushing a case against the old-clothes dealers because the latter "repair their garments so completely as to make them practically new." there will soon be handsome fees for the kings' judges, if for nobody else.[ ] [sidenote: division and regulations of guilds] such friction arises, of course, because each guild is granted a strict monopoly of trade within certain prescribed limits. a saddle maker from a strange city who started a shop without being admitted to the proper guild would soon find his shop closed, his products burned, and his own feet in the stocks by the town donjon. the guilds are supposed to be under strict regulations, however, in return for these privileges. their conditions of labor are laid down, as are the hours and days of working. the precise quality of their products is fixed, and sometimes even the size of the articles and the selling price. night work, as a rule, is forbidden, because one cannot then see to produce perfect goods, although carpenters are allowed to make coffins after sunset. on days before festivals everyone must close by p.m., and on feast days only pastry shops (selling cakes and sweetmeats) are allowed to be open. violaters are subject to a fine, which goes partly to the guild corporation, partly to the town treasury; and these fines form a good part of the municipal revenue. the guilds are not labor unions. the controlling members are all masters--the employers of labor, although usually doing business on a very small scale. a guild is also a religious and benevolent institution. every corporation has its patron saint, with a special chapel in some church where a priest is engaged to say masses for the souls of deceased members.[ ] if a member falls into misfortune his guild is expected to succor him and especially, if he dies, to look after his widow and assist his orphans to learn their father's craft. each organization also has its own banner, very splendid, hung ordinarily beside the guild's altar, but in the civic processions proudly carried by one of the syndics, the craft's officers. to be a syndic in an influential guild is the ordinary ambition of about every young industrialist. it means the acme of power and dignity attainable, short of being elected echevin. the road to full guild membership is a fairly difficult one, yet it can be traversed by lads of good morals and legitimate birth if they have application and intelligence. a master can have from one to three apprentices and also his own son, if he has one who desires to learn the trade. the apprentices serve from three to twelve years. [illustration: a commoner (thirteenth century) from a bas-relief in the cathedral of rheims.] [sidenote: apprentices, hired workers and masters] the more difficult the craft the longer the service; thus it takes a ten-year apprenticeship to become a qualified jeweler. the lads thus "bound out" cannot ordinarily quit their master under any circumstances before the proper time. if they run away they can be haled back and roundly punished. they are usually knocked about plentifully, are none too well clothed, sleep in cold garrets, are fed on the leavings from the master's table, and can seldom call a moment their own except on holidays. their master may give them a little pocket money, but no regular wages. on the other hand, he is bound to teach them his trade and to protect them against evil influences. often enough, of course, matters end by the favorite apprentice marrying his master's daughter and practically taking over the establishment. at the end of the apprenticeship the young industrialist becomes a hired worker, perhaps in his old master's shop, perhaps somewhere else.[ ] he is engaged and paid by the week, and often changes employers many times while in this stage of his career. the guild protects him against gross exploitation, but his hours are long--from a.m. to p.m. during the summer months. finally, if he has led a moral life, proved a good workman, and accumulated a small capital, he may apply to the syndics for admission as a full master himself. a kind of examination takes place. if, for example, he has been a weaver he must produce an extremely good bolt of cloth and show skill in actually making and adjusting the parts of his loom. this ordeal passed, he pays a fee (divisible between the city and the guild) and undergoes an initiation, full of horseplay and absurd allegory. thus a candidate for the position of baker must solemnly present a "new pot full of walnuts and wafers" to the chief syndic; and upon the latter's accepting the contents, the candidate deliberately "breaks the pot against the wall"--a proclamation that he is now a full member of the guild. the last act is of course a grand feast--the whole fraternity guzzling down tankard after tankard at the expense of the new "brother." there is one quarter of the town which the st. aliquis visitors hardly dare to enter. thrust away in miserable hovels wedged against one angle of the walls live the "accursed race"--the jews. here are dark-haired, dark-eyed people with oriental physiognomies. they are exceedingly obsequious to christians, but the latter do not trust them. these bearded men with earrings, these women with bright kerchiefs of eastern stuffs, all seem to be conducting little shops where can be bought the cheapest furniture, household utensils, and particularly old clothes in pontdebois. in this quarter, too, is a small stone building which conon and his followers wonder that the echevins suffer to exist--a very ancient synagogue, for the jewish colony is as old as the town. the few christians who have periled their souls by venturing inside say the windows are very small and that the dark, grimy interior is lighted by dim lamps. here also are strange ancient books written in a character which no gentile can interpret, but by whispered report containing fearful blasphemies against the catholic faith. [sidenote: the jews and money lending] why are such folk permitted in pontdebois? maître othon has to explain that if god has consigned these jews to eternal damnation he has permitted many of them while in this world to possess inordinate riches. some of the most abject-looking of these persons, who are compelled by law to wear a saffron circle on their breasts, can actually find moneys sufficient to pay the costs of a duke's campaign. every great seigneur has "his jew," and the king has "the royal jew" who will loan him money when no christian will do so in order to wage his wars or to push more peaceful undertakings. the jews are indeed hard to do without because the church strictly forbids the loaning of money on usury, yet somehow it seems very difficult to borrow large sums simply upon the prospect of the bare repayment of the same. the jews, with no fear for their souls, do not hesitate to lend on interest, sometimes graspingly demanding forty, fifty and even sixty per cent.[ ] this is outrageous, but ofttimes money must be had, and what if no christian will lend? there are certain worthy men, especially lombards of north italy, who say that it were well if the church allowed lending at reasonable interest, and they are beginning to make loans accordingly. this suggestion, however, savors of heresy. in the meantime the jews continue despised, maltreated, and mobbed every good friday, but nevertheless almost indispensable. [illustration: money-changers (chartres)] the great object which brings so many visitors to pontdebois is the annual fair held every august in the field by the river, just south of the town. then can be purchased many articles so unusual that they are not regularly on sale in the city shops, or even at the more general market which is held in the square before the donjon upon each thursday. the pontdebois fair cannot, indeed, compete in extensiveness with the rouen or dijon fairs, the famous lendit fair (near st. denis and paris), nor, above all, with the great champagne fairs at troyes and elsewhere, for these are the best places for buying and selling in all france. nevertheless one must not despise a fair which attracts nearly all the good folk of quelqueparte who are intent on gains or purchases. in some respects the fair has many features like the tourney at st. aliquis. long files of travelers on beasts or on foot are approaching, innumerable tents are flaunting bright pennons, and the same jongleurs who swarmed to make music or to exhibit tricks at conon's festival are coming hither also. but the travelers are not, as a rule, knights in bright armor, but soberly clad merchants. their attendants lead, not high-stepping destrers, but heavily laden sumpter mules; the tents are not given over to gallant feasting and gentle intrigues, but to vigorous chaffering for that thing which all knights affect to despise--good money. therefore, although the bustle seems the same, the results are very different. there is a special complication at these fairs. in what kind of money shall we pay? the royal coinage is supposed to circulate everywhere and to represent the standard, but the king's power cannot suppress a whole swarm of local coinages. there are deniers of anjou, maine, rouen, touraine, toulouse, poitou, bordeaux, and many other districts besides the good royal coins from paris; also a plentiful circulation of constantinople bezants, venetian zechins, german groats, and english silver shillings, in addition to many outlandish infidel coins of very debatable value. to add to the trouble, there are varying standards for weights and measures. you have to make sure as to which one is used in every purchase.[ ] [illustration: a fair in champagne in the thirteenth century in the center of the picture, a commoner and his wife going to make more purchases; at the right, in front of a shop, cloth merchants and their customers; a shop boy on his knees unpacks the cloth, another carries the bales; at the left, a beggar; another establishment of a draper; a group of people having their money weighed by the money changer; farther back, a lord and his servants going through the crowd; at the left a parade of mountebanks; at the right, other shops; and in the background the walls, houses, church, etc.] [sidenote: heavy tolls on commerce] the "royal foot" is a pretty general measure, but sometimes it is split into ten, sometimes into twelve, inches. still worse is the pound weight. a paris pound divides into sixteen ounces, but that of lyons into fourteen, that of marseilles into only thirteen. clearly one needs time, patience, and a level head to trade happily at this fair! when you consider the number of tolls levied everywhere upon commerce--a fee on about every load that crosses a bridge, traverses a stretch of river or highway, passes a castle, etc.--the wonder grows that it seems worth while to transport goods at all. the fees are small, but how they multiply even on a short journey! along the loire between roanne and nantes are about seventy-four places where something must be paid. things are as bad by land. clergy and knights are usually exempt, but merchants have to travel almost with one hand in their pockets to satisfy the collectors of the local seigneurs. the result is that almost nothing is brought from a distance which is not fairly portable and for which there is a demand not readily met by the local workshops. nevertheless, a good fair is a profitable asset to an intelligent seigneur. the present fair was instituted seventy years ago by an unusually enterprising lord bishop. he induced the barons of the region to agree to treat visitors to the fair reasonably and to give them protection against robbers. he also established strict regulations to secure for every trader fair play when disposing of his wares, commissioned sergeants to patrol the grounds, and set up a competent provost's court right among the tents, so that persons falling into a dispute could get a quick decision without expensive litigation.[ ] in return he laid a small tax on every article sold. the arrangement worked well. succeeding bishops have been wise enough to realize that contented merchants are more profitable than those that have been plundered. "hare! hare!" cry the prelate's sergeants on the first day--announcing the opening--and then for about two weeks the trafficking, bargain driving, amusements, and thimble rigging will continue. [sidenote: numerous commodities at fairs] the time of a fair is carefully calculated. many merchants spend all the warmer months journeying with their wares from one fair to another. many of the traders at pontdebois have spent half of june at lendit, where "everything is for sale, from carts and horses to fine tapestries and silver cups." the wares at this present fair are almost equally extensive, although the selection may be a little less choice. besides all kinds of french products, there are booths displaying wonderful silks from syria, or possibly only from venice; there are blazing saracen carpets woven in persia or even remoter lands, while local dyers and fullers can stock up with eastern dyestuffs--lovely red from damascus, indigo from jerusalem, and many other colors. you can get beautiful glass vessels made in syria or imitated from oriental models in venice. the monks will buy a quantity of the new paper while they purchase their year's supply of parchment; and adela will authorize the st. aliquis cook to obtain many deniers' worth of precious spices--pepper, cinnamon, clove, and the rest essential for seasoning all kinds of dishes, even if their cost is very dear. the spices are sold by a swarthy, hawk-visaged oriental who speaks french in quaint gutturals, is uncouthly dressed, yet is hardly a jew. it is whispered he is a downright miscreant--_i.e._, an outrageous infidel, possibly not even a mohammedan. perhaps he is native to those lands close to the rising place of the sun whence come the spices. ought one to deal with such people? nevertheless, the spices are desirable and he sells them cheaper than anybody else. there are many other unfamiliar characters at the fair, including a negro mountebank, quite a few germans from the rhenish trading cities, and a scattering of so-called italians, mostly money changers and venders of luxuries, who, however, seem to be really jews that are concealing their unpopular religion for the sake of gain. after the fair commences, many articles are on sale daily; but others are exhibited only for a short time. thus, following the custom at troyes, for the first day or two cloths are displayed in special variety; after that leather goods and furs; then various bulk commodities, such as salt, medicinal drugs, herbs, raw wool, flax, etc.; next comes the excitement of a horse and cattle market, when conon will be induced to buy for his oldest son a palfrey and for his farms a blooded bull;[ ] and after that various general articles will hold the right of way. [illustration: the sale of peltries (bourges)] the pontdebois masters are required to close their shops and do all their business at the fair grounds in order that there may be no unjust competition with the visiting traders. indeed, all business outside the fair grounds is strictly forbidden in order to prevent fraudulent transactions which the bishop's officers cannot suppress. thus, besides the costly imported wares, you can get anything you ordinarily want from the curriers, shoemakers, coppersmiths, hardware, linen, and garment venders, and the dealers in fish, grain, and even bread. all this means a chaffering, chattering, and ofttimes a quarreling, which makes one ask, "have the days of the tower of babel returned?" the sergeants are always flying about on foot or horseback among the winding avenues of tents and booths, and frequently drag off some vagabond for the pillory. they even seize a cut-purse red-handed and soon give the idlers the brutal pleasure of watching a hanging. there are a couple of tents where notaries are ready with wax and parchments to draw up and seal contracts and bargains. flemish merchants are negotiating with their bordeaux compeers to send the latter next year a consignment of solid linseys; while a mayence wine dealer is trying to prove to a seigneur how much his cellars would be improved by a few tuns of rheingold, shipped in to mellow after the next vintage. [sidenote: professional entertainers at fairs] along with all this honest traffic proceed the amusements worthy and unworthy. there are several exhibitors of trick dogs and performing bears. in a cage there is a creature called a "lion," though it is certainly a sick, spiritless, and mangy one; there are also male and female rope dancers and acrobats, professional story tellers, professors of white magic, and, of course, jongleurs of varying quality sawing their viols, or reciting romances and merry _fabliaux_--clever tales, though often indescribably coarse. there are, in addition (let the sinful truth be told) perfect swarms of brazen women of an evil kind; and there is enough heady wine being consumed to fill a brook into the claire. the sergeants continually have to separate drunkards who get to fighting, and to roll their "full brothers"--more completely overcome--into safe places where they can sleep off their liquor unkicked by horses and uncrushed by constantly passing carts. this bustle continues two weeks. by that time everybody who has come primarily to buy has spent all his money. if he has come to sell, presumably he is satisfied. the drunkards are at last sad and sober. "hare! hare!" cry the sergeants on the evening of the last day. the fair is over. the next morning the foreign merchants pack their wares, strike their tents, and wander off to another market fifty miles distant, while the pontdebois traders and industrialists resume their normal activity. they have stocked up with necessary raw materials for the year, they have absorbed many new ideas as to how they can make better wares or trade to more advantage; yet probably most of them are grumbling against "those germans and flemings and jews whom the bishop turns loose on us. blessed saints! how much money they have taken out of the neighborhood!" but the bishop, when his provost reports the tax receipts, is extraordinarily well satisfied. footnotes: [ ] these regulations for a long period were of marked value for insuring a high grade of workmanship according to traditional methods, but later they became a most serious impediment to any improvements in industrial processes. originality, new designs, and labor-saving devices were practically prohibited, and some industries were destined to remain almost stagnant down to the french revolution. [ ] among the oldest traceable guilds in paris were the master chandlers and oilmen, who received royal privileges in . the butchers, tanners, shoemakers, drapers, furriers, and purse makers, were other old parisian guilds. [ ] the fullers were always suing the weavers. could the latter, if they wished, dye the cloth which they themselves had woven? bakers were always at law with keepers of small cookshops who baked their own bread, etc. [ ] certain saints would naturally be the patrons of certain particular crafts--_e.g._, st. joseph of the carpenters, st. peter of the fishmongers, etc. [ ] a master could not employ more than one or two paid workers, lest he build up too big a business and ruin his competitors. the guild system seems deliberately contrived to perpetuate the existence of a great number of _very small_ industries. [ ] the extreme difficulty of collecting loans made to powerful seigneurs went far to explain these astonishing rates of interest. the chances of an unfriended jew being unable to collect any part of his loan were extremely great. as a rule his hopes lay in becoming the indispensable man of business and financier of a king or other great lord who would support him in recovering principal and interest from lesser debtors, in return for great favors to himself. thus richard i of england is alleged to have made the jews settled in his realm furnish nearly _one third_ of his entire revenues, as recompense for allowing them to use his courts to collect from their private debtors. [ ] mediæval coinages varied to such an extreme extent that it is almost impossible to make correct general statements about their modern values. in the time of philip augustus, probably the north french money table was something like this: pound (livre)-- marks-- (earlier ) sous-- deniers-- obols. a sou, merely a money of account, was equal to about modern francs ($ . gold), and the denier, a regular coin, to about one franc ( . cents, gold). the copper obols were thus worth about one cent. but money in the feudal age had a purchasing power equal to at least ten times what it is to-day, and attempts at close estimating are decidedly futile. [ ] the courts of champagne took particular pains to assure merchants of honest treatment and protection, and their fairs were unusually successful. champagne, of course, by its central location between the seine and the rhine, the midi and flemish lands, was exceedingly well placed to attract merchants. [ ] frequently, however, the cattle markets might be held at special seasons entirely apart from the general fairs. chapter xxiii: the lord bishop. the canons. the parish clergy. after conon and his baroness have soiled their gentle blood by discreet trafficking at the pontdebois fair, the seigneur must needs pay a ceremonious call upon the lord bishop. he might indeed have accepted lodgings at the episcopal palace, but it is well not to be put under too many obligations even to so conciliatory a prelate as bishop nivelon. between the lay and ecclesiastical lords there are compliments, but little affection. both unite in despising the villein and distrusting the monks, but there the harmony often ends. the lord bishop occupies almost the apex of the ecclesiastical power, barring only the pope and his cardinals; and all the lay world ought to honor the clergy. a familiar story illustrates the recognition due even to the humbler churchmen. once st. martin was asked to sup with the emperor. he was offered the cup before it was passed to the sovereign. this was a great honor. he was supposed merely to touch the vessel to his lips, then hand it on to his majesty. instead, to the surprise yet admiration of all, he gave it to a poor priest standing behind him, thereby teaching the plain lesson that a servant of god, even of the lowest rank, deserves honor above the highest secular potentate. the clergy is divided into two great sections--the religious (the monks) and the secular clergy who are "in the world" and have the "cure of souls." the parish priests belong, of course, to this second class. they celebrate mass and administer the sacraments and consolations of religion. they are possibly reckoned by the laity a little less holy than the monks, but their power is incalculable. at their head in each diocese (ecclesiastical province) is the bishop. since the wealth of the church embraces at least one fifth of all the real estate of france[ ] and the control of this vast property is largely vested in the bishops, it is easy to see what holding such an office implies. there is no seigneur in quelqueparte so rich as bishop nivelon, barring only the duke himself--and the duke would justly hesitate, quite apart from feelings of piety, to force a quarrel with so great a spiritual lord. [illustration: episcopal throne of the thirteenth century restored by viollet-le-duc, from an ivory in the louvre.] [sidenote: activities and privileges of clergy] it will be hard for other ages to realize the part that is played by the church in the feudal centuries. the clergy are far more than spiritual guides. they are directors of education and maintain about all there is of intellectual life, science, and learning. they help the weak secular authorities to preserve law and order. they supply practically all the teachers, lawyers, and professional nonfeudal judges in christendom, and very many of the physicians. as already stated, that multitude of legal cases known as "probate," involving the disposal of wide estates, often go directly to the church courts. if an ordinary man appears interested in literary matters, he is frequently set down as a "clerk," even if he does not openly claim to have received holy orders. it is indeed very desirable legally for a common person (not a privileged noble) to be barely literate. if he can do this and is arrested on any charge, he can often "plead his clergy." the test is not to produce a certificate showing that he is a priest or monk, but to be able to read a few lines from the bible or other sacred book. if he can read these fateful "neck verses," he may sometimes escape a speedy interview with the hangman. he is then ordinarily handed over to the bishop or the bishop's official (judicial officer) and tried according to the merciful and scientific canon law, which, whatever the offense, will seldom or never order the death penalty, save for heresy.[ ] the worst to be feared is a long imprisonment in the uncomfortable dungeon under the bishop's palace. with conditions like this, what wonder if very worldly elements keep intruding into the secular clergy. many a baron's son balances in his mind--which is better, the seigneur's "cap of presence" or the bishop's miter? the bishop, indeed, cannot marry; but the church is not always very stern in dealing with other forms of social enjoyment. sometimes a powerful reforming pope will make the prelates affect a monkish austerity--but the next pope may prove too busy to be insistent concerning "sins of the flesh." a great fraction of all the bishops are the sons of noble houses. merely becoming tonsured has not made them into saints. they are the children of fighting sires, and they bring into the church much of the turbulence of their fathers and brothers in the castles. [illustration: a bishop of the twelfth century from an enameled plaque representing ulger, bishop of angers ( - ). he wears the albe, the dalmatica, the chasuble, the amice, and the miter. he blesses with the right hand, an attitude in which bishops are often represented.] [sidenote: election of bishops] certainly, men of humble birth can become prelates. it is one of the glories of the church that, thanks to her, the children of poor villeins can receive the homage of the great in this world. pope sylvester ii was the son of a mere shepherd of aurillac. suger, the mighty abbot of st. denis and vice gerent for louis vi, was the son of an actual serf. pope hadrian iv, the only englishman who has ever mounted the throne of st. peter, seems to have had an origin hardly more exalted. all this shows what fortune can sometimes await bright and lucky boys who enter betimes the convent schools instead of following the plow.[ ] but heaven seldom reverses the natural order. as a rule, when a noble enters the church, family influence and the social prestige of his caste will get behind him. he is far more likely to be elected bishop and to enjoy the seats of glory than are his fellow clerics, learned and devout, who have no such backing. nivelon of pontdebois is an example of the average bishop of the superior kind. he was the second son of a sire of moderate means. family influence secured him, while fairly young, the appointment as canon at the cathedral. the old bishop conveniently happened to die at a time when both the duke and his suzerain, the king, thought well of the young canon and were anxious to conciliate his relatives. nivelon, too, had displayed sufficient grasp on business affairs, along with real piety, to make men say that he would prove a worthy "prince spiritual." the canons (with whom the choice nominally lay) made haste to elect him after a broad hint from both the duke and the king. confirmation was obtained from rome after negotiations and possibly some money transfers.[ ] since then nivelon has ruled his diocese well. he has been neither a great theologian nor a man of letters, as are certain contemporaneous bishops, nor a self-seeking politician and a mitered warrior like others. there have been no scandalous luxuries at his palace, and he has never neglected his duties--which none can deny are numerous. there is plenty of excuse for nivelon if he allows religious tasks to be swamped by secular ones. he apparently differs largely from a seigneur in that his interests and obligations are more complex. on his direct domains are parish churches, abbeys, farms, peasant villages, and forests which he must rule by his officials and provosts just as conon rules st. aliquis. he has many noble fiefs which owe him homage and regular feudal duties in peace and war. his knightly vassals wait on him, as do regular lieges, and are bound on state occasions to carry him through his cathedral city seated on his episcopal throne. he does not himself do ordinary homage to the king, but he must take to him a solemn oath of fealty, and assist with armed levies on proper summons. there are many clergy around his palace, but also a regular baronial household--seneschal, steward, chamberlain, marshal, and equerry, though not, as with the laxer prelates, a master of the hawks. so much for monseigneur nivelon's temporal side; but, since he is a self-respecting prelate, his ecclesiastical office is no sinecure. he has to ordain and control all the parish priests (curés), and spends much of his time inspecting the rural churches and listening to complaints against offending priests, suspending and punishing the guilty. indeed, his days are consumed by a curious mixture of duties. just before conon ceremoniously calls upon him he has been listening first to a complaint from a castellan about the need of new trenchbuts for the defense of a small castle pertaining to the bishopric, and then to the report of his "official" concerning a disorderly priest accused of blaspheming the trinity while in his cups in a tavern. [sidenote: ecclesiastical duties of bishops] once a year nivelon has to hold a synod in the choir of his cathedral. all the nonmonastic clergy of the diocese are supposed to be present, and he has to preach before them, stating home truths about christian conduct and administering public reprimands and discipline. often his routine is interrupted by the commands of the king that he, as a well-versed man of the world, shall come to paris to give counsel, or even go to england or flanders as the royal ambassador. if the king does not demand his time, the pope is likely to be using him to investigate some disorderly abbey,[ ] or as arbiter between two wrangling fellow ecclesiastics. it would be lucky if a summons did not presently come, ordering the bishop to take the very tedious and expensive journey to rome to assist at some council (such as the lateran council of ) or be party to some long-drawn litigation. [illustration: a bishop of the thirteenth century from the tomb of evrard de frouilloy, bishop of amiens, died in and was buried in the cathedral of that city. he wears beneath the albe, the chasuble.] a conscientious bishop can, indeed, be no idler. if he has any spare time he can always spend it sitting as judge in cases which if he is compelled to be absent he deputes to his official. the canon law is far more scientific than local customs. nivelon, or his deputy, has also a clear understanding of issues which will leave even so well-meaning a seigneur as conon hopelessly befuddled. the church courts refuse to settle cases by duels. as a rule, too, they discourage ordeals, despite the alleged intervention of god therein. trials in the bishop's court betake of inquests based on firm evidence taken before experienced judges. the result is that many honest suitors try to get their cases before the church tribunals--and, as stated, the jurisdiction of the church is very wide. a bishop, therefore, if he wishes, can put in almost his whole time playing the solomon; or, if he prefer, he can almost always find the estates of the diocese enmeshed in financial problems which it will tax his best energies to disentangle. all these things nivelon is supposed to do or must get done. what wonder (considering mortal frailty) that many men who seek the episcopate for temporal advantage often bring their great office into contempt? it is true that sometimes very worldly young clerics, when once elected, are sobered by their responsibilities and become admirable prelates. there is a story of a college of canons which decided to elect to the vacant bishopric a fellow member "who was excellent in mother wit," but who, when they sought him to tell of his honor, was actually dicing in a tavern. forth they dragged him, "weeping and struggling," to the cathedral, and thrust him into the episcopal chair. once enthroned, however, he proved sober and capable, thus proving how, despite his original sins, "the free gift of virtue which had come upon him (by consecration) shaped the possibilities of an excellent nature." [sidenote: evil and luxurious prelates] this is all very well, but the sacred honor does not always work such reformation. the monks never conceal the faults of the rival branch of the clergy. a monkish preacher has lately declaimed: "the bishops surpass as wolves and foxes. they bribe and flatter in order to extort. instead of being protectors of the church, they are its ravishers." or again, "jesus wore hair cloth; they silken vestments. they care not for souls, but for falcons; not for the poor, but for hunting dogs. the churches from being holy places have become market places and haunts for brigands." most of this is mere rhetoric, and such sweeping generalizations are unjust. if the majority of bishops are not ascetics, neither are they rapacious libertines. nevertheless, even as one ill-ruled abbey brings contempt on many austere establishments, so a few faithless bishops bring scandal on the whole episcopate. some years ago pope innocent iii had to denounce a south french bishop as "serving no other god but money, and having a purse in place of a heart." this wretch was charged with selling church offices, or leaving them vacant in order to seize their incomes, while the monks and canons under him (says the pope) "were laying aside the habit, taking wives, living by usury, and becoming lawyers, jongleurs, or doctors."[ ] acts like these have forced the council of paris in to forbid bishops to wear laymen's garments or luxurious furs; to use decorated saddles or golden horse bits, to play games of chance, to go hunting, to swear or let their servants swear, to hear matins while still in bed, or excommunicate innocent people out of mere petulance. bishops, too, are not supposed to bear arms, but we have seen how they sometimes compromise on "bloodless" heavy maces. nivelon occasionally lets a secular advocate or vidame lead his feudal levy, but at times he will ride in person. a bishop, of course, was king philip's chief of staff at bouvines,[ ] although in excuse it should be said he had been the member of a military monastic order; but bishop odo of bayeux fought at hastings ( ) before any such authorized champions of the church existed. one need not multiply examples. that bishops shall genuinely refrain from warfare is really a "pious wish" not easily in this sinful world to be granted. a bishop can, however, justify this assertion of the church militant. he must fight to maintain the rights of the bishopric against the encroaching nobility. around the royal domain conditions are reasonably secure, but here in quelqueparte, as elsewhere in the average feudal principalities, it is useless to ask the suzerain to do very much to defend his local bishop, the two are so likely to be very unfriendly themselves. anathemas cannot check the more reckless seigneurs. in the bishop of verdun was killed in a riot by a lance thrust, and in this very year the bishop of puy (in the south of france) has been slain by noblemen whom he had excommunicated. the murderers have doubtless lost their souls, but this fact does not recall the dead! jongleurs (who echo baronial prejudices) are always making fun of bishops, in their epics alleging that they lead scandalous lives and are extraordinarily avaricious, even when summoned to contribute for a war against the infidels. the truth is, the bishops, being often recruited from the nobility, frequently keep all their old fighting spirit. the bishop opposes a neighboring viscount, just as the viscount will oppose his other neighbor, a baron. frequently enough the war between a bishop and a lay seigneur differs in no respect from a normal feud between two seigneurs who have never been touched by tonsure and chrism. [sidenote: friction with abbots and barons] there are other frictions less bloody, but even more distressing to the church. if there is an exempt abbey in the diocese--independent of the bishop and taking orders from only the pope--the abbot and the bishop are often anything but "brethren." each is continually complaining about the other to the vatican. however, even if the local abbey is not directly under the pope, its head is likely to defy the bishop as much as possible. abbots are always trying to put themselves on equality with bishops and intriguing at rome for the right to wear episcopal sandals, a miter, etc. so the strength of the church is wasted, to the great joy of the devil. it is counted a sign that the bishop of pontdebois and the abbot of st. aliquis are both superior prelates, that their relations are reasonably harmonious. however, it is with the nobles that nivelon has his main troubles. one of the reasons why conon wishes to see the bishop is to complain of how certain st. aliquis peasants are being induced to settle on the church lands. villeins somehow feel that they are better treated by a bishop or abbot than by the most benevolent of seigneurs. "there is good living under the cross," runs the proverb. also, the baron wishes to urge the bishop not to excommunicate a fellow noble who is at issue with the prelate over some hunting rights. it is all very well for the bishop to devote to the evil one and the eternal fire a really sacrilegious criminal. the fact remains that many nobles allege that they are excommunicated, and unless reinstated lose their very hopes of heaven, merely because they have differed from great churchmen as to extremely secular property questions. the fearful ceremony of excommunication is liable to fall into contempt except when used in the most undoubted cases. a resolute baron, sure of his cause, can defy the anathema and, if his followers stand by him, may hold out until he forces a compromise. if the struggle is bitter, however, the bishop has another weapon. he can put the offending seigneur's lands and castles under the interdict. doubtless it is a harsh thing to deny all religious services and sacraments, save the last unction to the dying, to thousands of innocent persons merely because their lord persists in some worldly policy. yet this is done frequently, and is, of course, of great efficacy in getting pious people, and especially the womenfolk, to put pressure upon their seigneur to come to terms with the church. sometimes an "intermittent" interdict is established. thus, for a long time the count and the bishop of auxerre were at enmity. the count, a hardened scoffer, was no wise troubled by excommunication. then the bishop ordained that as soon as the count entered the city of auxerre all the offices of religion, except baptism and last unction, should be suspended. the moment he and his men departed the church bells rang and religious life resumed. the instant he returned there was more bell ringing--whereat the churches were closed. the count did not dare to stay very long in the city, because of popular murmurs; yet he and the bishop kept up this unedifying war for fifteen years until the pope induced the king to induce the count to submit to the church by a humiliating penance. excommunication and interdict are thus weapons which a lord spiritual can use against a lord temporal, to supplement crossbows and lances. unfortunately they have fewer terrors against foes which all bishops, including nivelon, have within their own household--the chapters of canons at the cathedrals. [sidenote: a chapter of canons] to be a canon is almost equal to enjoying the perquisites of some less valuable bishopric without the grievous cares of the episcopal office. the chapter of canons constitutes the privileged body of ecclesiastics who maintain the worship at the cathedral. as you go through pontdebois you see the great gray mass of the new episcopal church rising ahead of you. presently a solid wall is reached, protected by a gate and towers. this is the cathedral "close," a separate compound next to the majestic church and communicating with it by a special entrance. within this close one passes under strictly ecclesiastical jurisdiction. here is a pretentious residence, the bishop's palace, and a pleasant garden, and here is also a group of smaller houses--the habitations of the canons. these last form the chapter of canons who enjoy as a corporate body a quantity of lands, seigneurial rights, officers, and goodly income quite separate from the bishops. supposedly they are controlled by a rule, but it is a rule far less severe than that of most monks. the chapter here, as elsewhere, is largely recruited from the local noble houses. church law nominally forbids it, but the fact remains that many, if not most, canons are practically nominated, whenever there is a vacancy in the chapter, by this or that powerful seigneur. to get a relative a prebend (income from endowment) as canon is often equivalent to providing for life for a kinsman to whom you might otherwise have to cede a castle. it is well understood that since years ago a baron of st. aliquis endowed with large gifts a certain prebend, his successors have the naming of its occupants, as often as it falls vacant. after conon has visited the bishop, he will pay a friendly call on "his canon," not without a certain desire to verify the reports that this elderly cleric is in poor health and not long for the present world. if such rumors are correct, the baron must consider whether a certain remote cousin feels summoned to endure the hardships of a religious life, and what substantial favors this ambitious cousin and his father could give conon for the privilege. a canon who performs _all_ his duties is hardly idle. he is supposed to take part in the incessant and often extraordinarily elaborate services at every cathedral. he should possess a good physical presence, and intone the offices with elegance and precision. every week day he has to chant through five services, and on sunday through nine. on certain great feasts and holidays there are still more. anthems, responses, psalms, prayers, hymns, also public processions should keep him turning leaves of the ponderous ordinaries and manuals until he knows every chant therein by heart. [sidenote: worldliness of canons] it is possible, however, to find substitutes in all the less important services. there are plenty of humbly born poor priests hovering around every cathedral, glad of a pittance to act as the lordly canon's deputies. a worldly minded canon therefore does not feel this duty of chanting to be very arduous. of course, if he is absent too often, or from very important ceremonies, there is comment, scandal, and a reprimand from the bishop; but a wise bishop does not interfere with his canons except on grave provocation. they form an independent corporation with well-intrenched privileges. their head, the dean, is entirely conscious that he is the second cleric in the diocese and that he need not look to the bishop for dignity and glory. the bishop himself has been to a certain extent chosen by these very canons. it will depend considerably upon their attitude toward him whether his dying moments are not embittered by the knowledge that his dearest enemy is not to be elected his successor. finally, a chapter of canons can make a bishop's life a gehenna by filing complaints against him with the archbishop (always glad to interfere), or directly at rome. when men say that nivelon has got along tolerably with his chapter as well as with his neighboring abbot and seigneurs, they prove again that he is an unusually tactful prelate. it is a fine thing, therefore, to be one of the dozen-odd canons, young or old, who inhabit the sacred close at pontdebois. they can be identified by their special costume, the loose surplice of linen with wide sleeves covering the cassock, and by the "amice," a headdress of thick black stuff with a flat top and terminating on each corner in a kind of horn. baron conon points out to his sons these well-fed men of florid complexion, contented and portly, moving with slow dignity about the cathedral close. "how would you enjoy being a canon?" he asks of small anseau, his youngest boy. "there are no better dinners than those in the chapter refectory; and remember that your brother will have to get the castle." anseau shakes his head and scowls: "i might be a monk, yes," he rejoined; "monks save their souls and go to heaven--but a canon--ugh! they must weary god by their idleness. françois may have st. aliquis; but let him give me a good destrer and good armor. i will seek my fortune and win new lands." "the saints bless your words," cries his father, "there spoke a true st. aliquis! and remember this: when cavalier or jongleur rails hardest against worthless churchmen, it is not bishop, priest, or monk whom half the time they have in their pates, but slothful canons. yet i must see the revered father flavien, and learn if his cough _is_ really as bad as they say!" nivelon secures peace by letting his canons largely alone--to their great content. fortunately, the good laymen of quelqueparte do not depend entirely upon their spiritual administrations. the "cure of souls" rests with the parish priests. these are scattered all through the diocese. their management takes up a large part of the bishop's crowded time. [illustration: a deacon (thirteenth century) he wears an albe, the dalmatica, the amice, the stole, and the maniple. from a statue in the cathedral of chartres.] [sidenote: appointment of parish priests] every church requires at least one priest in residence to say mass and afford religious comfort to the laity. if competent bishops could always have appointed this clergy, much sorrow would have been eliminated. unfortunately, the bishop can only name a fraction. practically every noncathedral church has its patron, the heir or beneficiary of the wealthy personage who once endowed the local establishment. this patron may be the bishop himself, but often the honor may be enjoyed by an abbey, or a chapter of canons, or, in a majority of cases, by some very secular seigneur. conon will say. "i hold the patronage of eight churches," just as he will say, "i hold st. aliquis castle." the patron is entitled to a share of the tithe (tax for religious purposes) and other income of the parish, before turning the remainder over to the officiating priest. he can, in addition, "present to the living"--that is, name the new curé for the parish upon every vacancy. the bishop is supposed, indeed, to confirm the candidate, and should not do so without investigation as to the other's fitness, but he will hesitate to offend the patron by refusal to proceed with the ceremony unless the impediment is gross and patent. the candidate is asked to decline a latin noun, to conjugate a simple verb, to chant a few familiar psalms with fair voice--that is probably about all the test for learning. to make matters worse, if the candidate fears his own bishop, he can go to another diocese and probably get a licence from a less exacting prelate. a bishop is obliged to honor the certificate issued by his equal. he can seldom then refuse after that to invest the priest with the parish. the last stage of scandal comes when the patron actually takes money for presenting a candidate. this is, of course, a terrible crime against the church: it is simony--after the fashion of the accursed simon magnus, who was guilty of trying to purchase "the gift of god with money." nivelon has just had to induct into a parish an ill-taught, worldly fellow, the son of a rich peasant, who somehow persuaded the viscount of foretvert that he was fit to have the spiritual conduct of five hundred christians. the bishop has heard ugly rumors about "two hundred deniers," yet for lack of real proof is helpless. it is feared these scandals are frequent, but many times, if candidate and seigneur are willing to imperil their souls, what can be done? as a rule, however, conscientious patrons name well-reputed lads from their barony, the sons of thrifty peasants or of petty nobles, who have been to the school attached to a convent or cathedral, and who have developed an aptitude for saying masses rather than for plowing or fighting. the favor is bestowed rather as a reward for faithful service by the youth's family or to insure the same in the future, than for any direct money consideration. to be a parish priest is not a very high honor. after the patron has taken his share of the tithe, and the bishop another share, the curé is likely to be left with barely enough income to put him among the better class of peasants. yet, after all, he is now caught up into the great body politic of the church. the latter will not let him starve. it will give him a decent old age. it will protect him against those gross cruelties which seigneurs may inflict on any peasant. it will make him the most important individual in the average village--often the only person therein understanding the mysteries of parchments. if he is a worthy man, his influence as counselor, friend, and arbiter will be almost boundless. he will receive a personal respect almost equal to that due to a cavalier. finally, there is always the chance that he may win some magnate's favor, and by good luck or merit rise to greater things. father grégoire, conon's chaplain, although nominally only a poor priest, is probably more influential in st. aliquis than sire eustace, the seneschal--conon sometimes complains good naturedly that he is more powerful than conon himself. so then, apart from any desire for strictly religious leadership, it is no bad thing for a lad of humble origin to be appointed parish priest. [sidenote: evil and faithful priests] if, however, to receive a parish means not a holy trust, but a sordid opportunity, what a chance for making the fiends rejoice! every jongleur, when he runs out of more legitimate stories, chatters about godless priests. charges against the parish clergy are the small coin of filthy gossip--how they violate their vows of celibacy in a shameless manner; how they frequent taverns, take part in low brawls, drink "up to their throats," and lie torpid in the fields; how they fight with their parishioners; how they sell strong drink like tapsters; how they play dice, gamble and often cheat their opponents, etc. another set of charges is that if their means admit, they wear armor like nobles, or dress like foppish laymen, and ride out with hawks or dogs. more familiar still are the accusations of extreme covetousness; of the outrageous exaction of fees for administering the sacraments, even to the dying; of performing shameless marriages for money; of refusing burial services until they have been bribed; and, in short, of converting themselves into financial harpies. all this is undeniable. yet it must be remembered that the number of parish clergy is very great, and the proportion of evildoers is (considering their manner of appointment) no more than might be expected. many of the parish priests are true ministers of god who counsel the simple, persuade the erring, comfort the sorrowing, and leave the world better than they found it. a few, too, spend their leisure in genuine pursuit of learning, like that father lambert of ardes (in flanders) who is deeply read in old latin authors and christian fathers and who has composed an excellent local chronicle--worthy to rank with the best produced in the monasteries. taken, therefore, at large, despite much dross, the men of the church do not cast away their great opportunity. if alms and charity relieve the wretched, if letters and science have a genuine power, if the world retains other ideals than those of the tourney, the feud, and the foray, if villeins are taught that they, too, are men with immortal souls no less than are the barons, the glory belongs surely not to the castle, but to the monastery and to the parish. and when a good churchman dies, especially, of course, if he has been an effective and benignant bishop, all the region knows its loss. when the late bishop of auxerre departed, it was written, "it would be impossible to tell how great was the mourning throughout the entire city, and with what groaning and lamentations sorrow was shown by all who followed his funeral." while of the great and good bishop maurice of paris, builder of notre dame, it was recorded, when he passed in , that "he was a vessel of affluence, a fertile olive tree in the house of the lord. he shone by his knowledge, his preaching, his many alms, and his good deeds." like every other institution, the church of the feudal age is entitled to be judged by its best and not by its worst. footnotes: [ ] _one third_ of the real estate of germany was alleged to have belonged to the church. of course, much of this belonged to monasteries, to the endowments of canons (cathedral clergy), or of the parish priests, etc., but the bishops assuredly enjoyed or at least controlled the lion's share. [ ] in the case of heretics, the church did not execute the offenders by its own officers. it merely "relaxed" them to secular officials, who at once put the old civil laws against misbelievers in force. of course, the church could not secure the immunity of traitors and great criminals, yet even those were usually treated more tenderly if they could claim ecclesiastical jurisdiction. [ ] one could go on multiplying such cases. for example, maurice of sully, who was bishop of paris under philip augustus, was the son of a poor peasant. he managed his diocese admirably and bequeathed not merely considerable wealth to his relatives, but large properties to two abbeys and also funds for poor relief. [ ] the question of the technical relations at this time of both papacy and royalty to the appointment and investiture of french bishops is one that must be left for more detailed and learned volumes. [ ] some abbeys would be directly under the bishop and liable to visitation and discipline by him at any time. others would be supposed to be directly under the authority of the pope (see p. ) but the vatican would often send orders to a competent bishop to investigate and act on charges against them. [ ] manasses (a great cleric, chancellor of the chapter of amiens) caused himself to be represented on his seal not holding a pious book, as was usual, but in hunting costume on horseback, a bird on his wrist and a dog following. he was evidently a worldly noble "who had the tastes of his class and led a noble's life." [ ] see p. . chapter xxiv: the cathedral and its builders. baron conon and adela had still another duty ere they returned to st. aliquis. they were fain to go with their sons, and each burn a tall candle before the altar of our lady in the cathedral. all dwellers near pontdebois are intensely proud of their great church. it has been building now these forty years. at last it is fairly complete, although the left tower has still to be carried up to the belfry, and very many niches lack the sculptured saints presently to occupy them. a worthy cathedral, like a worthy character, is growing continually. probably the feudal age will end before notre dame de pontdebois is completed as its pious designers have intended.[ ] the cathedral is the center for a large group of buildings whereof most are in the noble pointed (gothic) style of architecture. as just explained, in the sacred close there is the bishop's palace and the houses of the canons; there are also a cloister for promenading, a school (much like that at the monastery), a room for a library, and a synodal hall for meetings of the canons and where the bishop can conduct litigation. there is, in addition, a hospital for sick clerics. the whole forms a little world sequestered from the uproar and sordid bustle of the marts and workshops of pontdebois. as you enter the cathedral compound, exterior cares are suddenly left behind you--a great sense of peace is realized. one hears the wind softly whistling through the soaring tracery of the massive right tower. there is a whirring flutter of doves from their homes under the flying buttresses. through a section opened in the floral tracery of a great window comes the rumbling of an organ and the deep gregorian chant of some hymn from the psalter. utter contrast it all is either to the hammering and chaffering of the city, or the equally worldly clatter of the castle court! the vast tower pointing upward speaks even to the thoughtless, "fortress and city, trade and tourney endure only for the instant--the things of the spirit abide forever." the cathedral, by its vast and soaring bulk, completely dwarfs the comparatively small and mean houses of the town. they are of thatch and wood. it is of stone. they lack even a tawdry magnificence. the cathedral could gaze with contempt on royal palaces. this fact teaches even more clearly than words the enormous place occupied by the church in the feudal age. it is not by its literature and learning (though these are not to be despised), but _by its sacred architecture and sculpture_ that the spirit of this era displays its power and originality. in contemplating so magnificent a fabric, it is best to remember that it is the work of men of ardent faith, profoundly convinced that in the church building there dwells continually upon the high altar god himself, invisible but ever present. squalid dwellings may suffice for man, but not for the creator. and since god actually takes his abode in such an edifice, every art must contribute to its splendor. architects, sculptors, painters, jewelers, all perform their best, each rendering his homage to the eternal. the cathedral, therefore, sums up all that is noblest in the art of the time when it is erected. [illustration: notre dame and the bishop's palace at the beginning of the thirteenth century from the restoration of m. hoffbauer. at the left the petit-pont and the buildings of the archbishop's palace, destroyed in ; the cathedral, of which the choir and the south transept were finished only at this date; behind the cathedral, on the ground occupied to-day by a public garden, was the church of saint-denis du pas, built previous to the cathedral and destroyed in .] since the nave of such a church often can be used for secular mass meetings without fear of impiety, and since a whole countryside will claim the right to throng the edifice on great festival days, a cathedral has to be far larger than an ancient pagan temple.[ ] it must possess an interior meet for elaborate processions, stopping often at each of twenty-odd altars lining its walls. to erect a building like this is an undertaking in which a whole countryside can be asked to join. about forty years ago the old cathedral, built in the ancient romanesque (round-arched) style with a wooden roof, was falling into disrepair, and the new pointed, stone-vaulted architecture was developing through all france. people from regions round made remarks about the "impiety" of the clergy and folk near pontdebois in "dishonoring heaven." various prelates taunted the ruling bishop thibaut with his mean cathedral. this thibaut, however, had been an energetic as well as a devout man. by prudent administration of the diocese he had saved considerable money. he next persuaded his canons to curtail their luxuries and to contribute generously. means, too, were taken to lure money from the faithful. the holy relics were exhibited. indulgence from purgatory was promised to donors. conscience-stricken barons were urged to atone for their crimes by liberal gifts to the new enterprise. civic pride and excited piety won the deniers from the pontdebois trade and industrial masters. a rich countess left a notable legacy on condition that the canons should always pray for her soul on the anniversary of her death. so between coaxing and religious feeling a goodly fund was collected--and, as was wisely said, "the new cathedral has saved many souls"--meaning that many sinful people were happily moved to redeeming acts of generosity. there were even gifts, it is said, from brigands and evil women, likewise a good many less debatable presents in kind, as when a baron gave both the necessary oak and the pay of the carvers for making the magnificent choir stalls, besides presenting the great stained-glass rose window. whatever the source, no donation was denied, the bishop counting it fortunate if even the booty of thieves could be turned to the glory of god. [sidenote: building the cathedral] bishop thibaut found a skillful architect, a norman, half cleric, half layman, who had assisted on one of the great churches at rouen. the plans this man drew up were very elaborate, but he did not live to see them more than half executed. even if workmen and money failed not, it was dangerous to rush the erection of the great piers, buttresses, and vaulted ceilings. at auxerre, where they tried to hasten the work, much of the choir suddenly collapsed "like a crash of thunder," though heaven mercifully prevented the loss of life. at noyon they began to build in . their cathedral was nearly finished by . notre dame de paris was begun in , and the choir was fairly completed by ; but the great towers and façade certainly cannot be finished before . rheims was begun in , but undoubtedly even the work on the choir cannot be ended under thirty years from that date. if pontdebois is reasonably complete after forty years of effort it is therefore being built more expeditiously than the average cathedral. indeed, many wiseacres shake their heads. "too much haste," they mutter; "when one builds for god and in order to last till his judgment day, it is very sinful to hurry." first the choir was finished with all energy possible, for here the canons must constantly chant their offices. the nave, which was more for popular gatherings, waited till later. there was great rejoicing when at last the main portal was so far completed that a very fine and tenderly carved statue of christ could be set above the same. "_our beautiful god!_" the people lovingly call the image; and from that time, year by year, the work went forward, every member or ornament that was added seeming to suggest something additional, as if the achieving of perfection were to be a work for eternity. [sidenote: cathedral a natural growth] to erect the main structure of his cathedral, thibaut had called in a traveling fraternity of workmen, the lodging-house keepers of the good god, who obeyed the master of the work--_i.e._, an architect. they would stay for years in one place, recruiting new members as old ones died, then moving elsewhere when no longer needed. this fraternity erected the main structure of the building; then thibaut passed away, money failed, and enthusiasm somewhat lapsed. however, twenty years later, a new fraternity were put to work on the façade and towers. this was more delicate work, involving a great deal of skillful carving. they were obliged to stop again before completion had been attained. probably a score of years hence, still another such fraternity will raise the second tower. meantime, every year, a few skillful craftsmen, sustained by donations, add a statue here and a gargoyle yonder, put richly painted glass into another window, or complete the intricate carving around the railing to the pulpit stairs. now and then there is a special exhibition of relics to attract worshipers and their alms.[ ] one of the results is that the style of the different parts of the cathedral differs subtly according to the respective periods of their construction. there is not a contradiction, but only a pleasing variety. one feels that _the cathedral is something living_. it has come into being, not by arbitrary creation, but by a natural growth; like a mighty, comfort-spreading tree. [illustration: thirteenth-century window in the cathedral of chartres, representing saint christopher carrying christ] as we wander about this glorious fabric, with its hundreds of statues,[ ] its blazing windows, its vaulted roof which hangs its massive weight of stone so safely above our heads, all attempts at detailed description become futile. let them be left for other books and other moods. later generations doubtless will record at great length that about the middle of the twelfth century a great activity in church building, as a surpassing work of christian piety, began to manifest itself especially in northern france. this activity was not to spend itself for more than a hundred years.[ ] it absorbed much of the best thought and energy of the time. in addition, it developed a genuinely new type of architecture, a real innovation upon those models traceable back to the pagan greek. we come to the reign of the pointed arch which adapts itself to endless curves and varieties. we have, too, the grouped columns which uphold the groins of the lofty vaulting, their members radiating outward like the boughs of a stately forest. these columns and piers can be made amazingly light, thanks to the daring use of flying buttresses, an invention not merely of great utility, but of great beauty. thanks also to these grouped pillars, groins, and buttresses, the walls between the bays (intervals between the columns) are in no wise needed to uphold the roof of stone; and as a result these bays can be filled up with thin curtain walls crowned above with enormous windows which are filled with a delicate tracery and a stained glass that throws down upon the pavement of the church all the rainbow tints of heaven. each bay is likely to contain a separate chapel or at least an altar to some particular saint. over the portal, where the main entrance gives access to the long nave, radiates the mighty rose window, the final triumph of the glass and tracery. and so through all the vast structure--huge in proportions, yet, as it were, a harmonious mass of fair carving and jewel work, until (even as says holy writ) "the whole body fitly joined together, and compacted by that which every joint supplyeth, according to the effectual working in every part, maketh increase of the body unto the edifying of itself in love." [sidenote: magnificent dimensions of cathedrals] so the apostle of the making of a christian man, so, too, of the making of the august church. and after saying this, what profit to add that this cathedral has a length of about four hundred feet, that the ceiling of the nave rises at least one hundred feet above the pavement, that the rose window is nearly forty feet in diameter, that the higher tower is much more than two hundred?[ ] numbers are for sordid traffic, they are not for a work wrought out of a passionate love of man toward god. we cannot stay to linger over the symbolism which they tell us is in every part of the church; how the "communion of saints" is proclaimed by the chapels clustering around the choir and nave; how the delicate spire which rises at the center of the transepts teaches that "vanquishing earthly desire we should also ascend in heart and mind"; how the triple breadth of the nave and two aisles, likewise the triple stretch of the choir, transepts and nave, proclaim the holy trinity; and how the serried armies of piers and columns announce the prophets and apostles who uphold the fabric of the church; while font, altar, crucifix, and crosses innumerable attest the earthly pilgrimage and redeeming passion of jesus christ. but the cathedral is more than a great collection of allegories. everywhere in stained glass, and still more in the multitudinous images, is told the bible story. the characters are not clothed in hebraic fashion. "baron abraham" and "sire david" appear in ring mail like doughty cavaliers. the history of the good warrior judas maccabæus perhaps is told in greater detail than that of prophets like isaiah and jeremiah. but very few important stories are omitted, and, above all, the great pageant of the life of jesus is worked out in loving detail. the child, who is brought time and again to visit the cathedral, knows almost every essential bible narrative, albeit he may never learn to read even french, much less to con the latin of the vulgate. likewise, in the cathedral rest the tombs of brave seigneurs and worthy bishops, each covered either with an effigy showing his armor and his beloved hunting dogs couched at his feet, or in his pontificals; and the tombs also of noble women, sculptured as richly clad, who have made life beautiful by their worthy living, and who now rest securely until god's great judgment. so the cathedral is both a temple for the hopes of the present, and an inspiration from the remote and nearer past.[ ] [sidenote: stained glass and sculptures] after he had prayed beside his father and mother, little anseau stole away from the altar and wandered timidly about the church. in a corner of a transept he found a stone craftsman completing a small image of st. elizabeth to adorn some niche. the sculptor was polishing the back of the statue no less carefully than the front. "why such trouble?" asked the boy curiously. "no one can see the back." "ah, my fair damoiseau," replied the other, smiling, "no man, of course; _but god can see_. this is for the cathedral; and is god 'no one'?" the next day, having spent all their money and become wearied of the mechanic bustle of pontdebois, baron conon and his company rode back to st. aliquis. after they had traveled for miles, the great mass of the cathedral was still visible behind them. the feudal age has produced very much that is evil--it has also produced the gothic church and its builders. by which ought the epoch be judged? seven hundred years afterward the donjon of st. aliquis is an ivy-covered ruin. vanished is the monastery; vanished, too, the peasants' huts. in the smoky industrial city on the site of pontdebois not one ancient stone seems left upon another. but, hold! soaring high above ugly roof and factory chimney, with its airy pinnacles denouncing a life of materialism and doubt, visited by admiring pilgrims from beyond the sea of darkness, the great fabric of the gray cathedral remains. footnotes: [ ] few or no cathedrals were _really_ completed at any time, in the sense that all the details of their design were brought to perfection. [ ] for example, notre dame de paris covered four times the floor area of the parthenon at athens (a decidedly large greek temple) with its nave thrice as high as the older building. of course, a greek temple was primarily for housing a holy image; the great sacrifices and the throng of worshippers would be outside the edifice in the open, unlike a christian church. [ ] one device was to take an extra-precious relic and intrust it to monks, who would place it in a cart and drive through a wide region haranguing the faithful and holding out a purse for them to fill. at rouen one of the cathedral towers was known as the "butter tower," because it was largely built with money given for permission to eat butter in lent. [ ] at rheims, prior to the german bombardment of , there were more than two thousand statues. [ ] during this period there were built in france some eighty cathedrals and more than five hundred large and superior churches in this gothic style. [ ] such figures would indicate that pontdebois cathedral was somewhat smaller than notre dame de paris. it could rank up well among the great churches of france, yet not at all in the first class. [ ] st. john of damascus, writing in the orient in the eighth century, gave what amounted to the standard justification of holy images and pictures in churches and for the veneration of the same: "i am too poor to possess books, i have no leisure for reading. i enter the church choked with the cares of the world; the glowing colors attract my sight like a flowery meadow; and the glory of god steals imperceptibly into my soul. i gaze on the fortitude of the martyr and the crown with which he is rewarded, and the fire of holy emulation is kindled within me. i fall down and worship god _through_ the martyr; and i receive salvation." index a abbey, see monastery. abbot, election and powers of, , . sometimes profligate, . adubbement, see knighthood. advocates, of monasteries, . alexander, romances of, . alms, collected at feasts, ; see charity. apprentices, . arbalists, . architecture, military, improved by crusader, . aristotle, authority of, . armor, ff. assembleur, a literary, . b backgammon, . bailey of castle, . buildings and scene inside, . baillis, seigneurial officers, nt. _banalités_, . banner, of baronial castle, . baptism, customs at, . barbican, . baronial family, of superior type, . baron, usual rights of, . cruel and outrageous, , , . typical feuds and neighbors, . superior type of, . baronial feuds, ff. barony, composition and government of, , . bath, before adubbement, . battle cries, . battle, bouvines, typical of feudal warfare, ff. mobilization for, . preliminaries of, . array of the armies, . engagement of the infantry, , . the battle cries, nt. charge of french cavalry, , . flight of otto iv, . rout of germans and flemings, . tactics and strategy employed, , . beards, shaved by noblemen, . beds, great feather, . bedrooms, furniture of, ff. beer, . beffroi, in sieges, . bells, of communal donjon, . bertran de born, war songs by, . betrothals, . beverages, , . bill of fare, at feasts, . on fast days, . billiards, game of, . birth, customs at, . bishop, ff. honors of, . wealth and power of, . desirability of office, . how elected, . vast secular duties, . employed by king or pope, . wrote ecclesiastical duties, . worldly types of, , . forbidden secular luxuries, . participates in warfare, . friction with abbots and barons, . abuse right to excommunicate, , . interdict by, . relations with canons, ff. relations with parish priests, ff. bishops, visit disorderly monasteries, . books, elegant copies of, . brandy, . bread, varieties of, . bride, costume of, . bridegroom, costume of, . bridges, state of, . bridge tolls, baronial, . buffet of knighthood, , . c camps, in feudal warfare, . canons, elect bishops, , . nature of office, . duties of, . worldly and gross, . carpets of rushes, and "saracen," . cartel of defiance, . carver, at feast, . castle, position of between rivers, . built to resist vikings, . famous specimens of, . siege of, ff. castle, of st. aliquis, original plan of, . primitive tower of, ; disadvantages of early type, . rebuilt on improved model, . palisade before, . barbican outer barrier, . lists before bailey, . bailey, gates and porters, . walls and parapet, . great difficulty of attacking, . scene in the bailey, . buildings in the bailey, , . cookhouse in bailey, . inner ward of, . inner gate, . main court yard of, . donjon of, . halls of, ff. prison under donjon, . summit of great tower, . watchman on tower, . palais, main residential building, , . furniture in hall and chambers, ff. castle building, era of, . castle folk, one huge family, . intimate relations between, , . organization of, . "cat," siege engine, . cats, . cathedral, numerous uses of, . express the best spirit of the age, . erection a regional undertaking, . initial stages of building, . fraternity of builders, . building a natural growth, . use of arches, columns and buttresses, . stately dimensions required, . magnificent stained glass, . every part a work of piety, . chambers, of baronial castle, . chansons de geste, ff., . charity, ff. motives for, . alms very customary, . given by monasteries, . charter, communal, , . checkers, game of, . cheese, varieties of, . chess, in great acceptance, . history of game, . chessmen, . children, rearing of, ff. early education of, . christmas celebrations and plays, . church, endeavors to regulate marriages, , . resists divorces, . vast wealth of, nt. see bishop, abbey, monastery, canons, priests, etc. city, entrance to, . crowded streets, . lack of air and sanitation, . population of, nt. great burghers of, . burgher mansion, . danger from fires, . the civic donjons, . communal charger, . see commune. cleanliness, personal, among upper classes, . lack of, in woolen clothing, . clergy, legal privileges of, , . see bishop, canons, priests, monks. clerk, see clergy, church, etc. cloisters, of abbey, . clothing, of peasants, . coinage, confusion in, . commerce, see shops, industries, fairs. commune, charter of, , . privileges of inhabitants, . clergy rail at commune, . communal insurrections, . jurisdiction of bishop, . rule by echevins and rich merchants, , . corvées, . courtesy, training in, . cowls, . clothing, male and female, ff. materials used, . garments of noblemen, . headdress for men, . garments of noblewomen, . use of silks and furs, . rapid changes in fashions, . dress of lower classes, . headdress of women, . conspicuous costumes to indicate evil characters, . cookery and foods, ff. implements in cookhouse, . meat frequently boiled, . game especially desired, , . butcher's meat, . poultry, . fish, . soups, . meat pies, . cookhouse, in a castle, . cosmetics, use of by women, . cross bows, . crusades, on wane in xiii century, . improve military architecture, . d dais, in castle hall, . damoiseau, . dances, varieties of, . dancing, passion for, , . dean, of canons, . devil, belief in, . assists wizards and witches, . dice, games with, . sinfulness of, , . dinners, menu at castle in ordinary days, . divining, . divorces, resisted by church, . dogs, very desirable for hunting, . donjon, of castle, ff. of a commune, . dinner customs, ff. see feast. drawbridges, of castle, , . dress, see clothing. e echevins, in commune, . economic self-sufficiency, of a well-ruled barony, . education, of young nobleman, ff. ideals inculcated, . training in letters, . reading of romances, . training in riding, fencing and hawking, . maxims inculcated, , . placed out as squire, . training as squire, - . taught jousting, . learns "courtesy," . good side of training, . premium on prodigality, , . demanding knighthood, . effeminate knights, . emancipation, of villeins, . ensigns, before city houses, . epics, north french, , . excommunication, of a lawless baron, . a public declaration of, . abuse of, by bishops, , . executions, varieties of, ff, . beheading honorable penalty, . hanging, usual method, , . ceremonies at gallows, , . f fairs, ff. attended by great multitudes, . very profitable to founders, . numerous commodities on sale, . regulation of traffic, . amusements at, . falconry, see hawking. family life in a castle, . famines, among peasantry, . fealty, oath of, . feast, formal, arrangement of guests, . beginning of dinner, . serving the meats, . typical bill of fare, . on a fast day, . closing ceremonies, . vast plenty and carousing, , . feudal civilization, reaches climax in xiii century, . feudalism, ff. nature of, . absence of true gradations in, . duties of fief holders, . military service usually essential, . arrogance of many barons, , . outrageous baronial tyrants, . better types of barons, . how fiefs are expanded, . accession to a barony, , . doing homage, . oath of fealty, . vassalage honorable, . feuds, baronial, ff. frequency of, . waged within families, . limitations upon baronial, . pitched battles infrequent, . absence of strategy, . great valor of warriors, . origins of a typical feud, . delivering the "cartel," . assembling the vassals, . a baronial "array," . ravaging of noncombatants, . a petty battle, . use of mercenaries, . siege of a castle, ff. fiefs, varieties of, . duties of fief holders, . fish, demand for, . use of, . flowers, garden, , . foods, see cookery. foresters, seigneurial, . france, in full mediæval bloom in xiii century, . french, rise of as literary language, . frescoes, in castle, . friendship, tokens of, . fruit trees, , . funeral customs, ff. caskets and interments, . furniture, of castle halls, , . of bedrooms, ff. furs, wearing of, . g gambling, with dice, , . game, wild, cannot be killed by peasants, . greatly desired at feasts, . varieties of game birds, . game laws, oppressive, . games and amusements, ff. garden of a castle, ff. frequent place for gatherings, . herbs and vegetables in, . constant demand for flowers, . generosity, virtues of nobles, . gifts, constantly exchanged among nobles, . girls, noble, education of young, ff. are devoted to hawks and dancing, . glass, used for windows in castle, . guilds, ff. great subdivisions of, . friction between, , . regulations of, . management of, by syndics, . apprentices, . hired workers, . masters in guilds, . h handwashing before meals, . hangmen, ff. burns dishonest cloth, . hair, customs of wearing, . false hair used by women, . halls of castle, ff. very murky in donjon, . more elegant in palais, . hauberks, . hawking, vast delight in, . hawks always exhibited, . varieties of hawks and falcons, . complicated art of "falconry," . training of hawks, . good falconers precious, . professional jargon of, . prayers over hawks, . excellent sport with, . heralds, at tourneys, ff. hermits, . "herodias's daughter," dance of, , . homage, ceremony of, . hospitality, baronial, ff. ceremony of receiving guests, . heiresses, given in marriage by suzerain, . helmets, . horses, indispensable in war, . varieties of, . trappings of, . presentation to new knights, . hot cockles, game of, . houses, of peasants, . huts of the very poor, . dwelling of rich burghers, . seldom of stone, . hunting, serious business, . many wild animals, . equipment of hunters, . dogs essential for, . chasing down a great boar, ff. return from the hunt, , . hunting across peasants' lands, . i "immunity," possessed by barons, nt. imposts, on peasants, . infantry, in battle, , , . inns, , . industries, in towns, ff. trades in special streets, . shopkeepers, . regulation by officials, . see guilds. interest, on money, taken by jews, . interdict, . isabella, queen, forced by her barons to change husbands, . j jews, in cities, , . jongleurs, ff. varieties of, . trick performers, . depraved montebanks, . jongleurs in great demand, . troupes of, , . a superior type of jongleur, . gives a recitation, ff. jousting, training in, . see tourneys. justice, administration of, ff. no equality before the law, , . judicial powers of a baron, . "low justice" pertains to petty nobles, . laws enforced by the provosts, , . formal assizes, . ordeal by battle, . checks upon such ordeals, . summary treatment of villeins, . types of peasant litigation, . fate of condemned bandits, ff. k king, seeks as many vassals as possible, . knighthood, who can demand, . by whom bestowed, . nature of an adubbement, , . vigil at arms, , . dressing the candidates, . ceremony of adubbement, . presentation of horses, . exercises of new knights, . knights, effeminate types of, . l lances, . last day, fear of, . lighting of halls and bedrooms, . lists, before castle, . lovers, presents between, . m manners, for young ladies, ff. marriage ceremony, , . marriage, ff. usual reasons for marriages, . ages for, . heiresses compelled to marry, . very sudden marriages, . attempts of church to regulate, - . young girls wedded to aged barons, . negotiation of a marriage treaty, , . desirable qualities in a bridegroom, . betrothal ceremonies, . intercourse of betrothed couple, , . preparation for wedding, . wedding proceedings, ff. customs of peasants, . marshall, of a castle, . "mass of the ass," . masters, in guilds, . mealtimes and dinner customs, , . meats, abundance and varieties of at feasts, . medical art, ff. conducted by executioners and barkers, , . use of bleedings, . professional physicians, ff. their jargon, . healing relics and processions, . mêlée, climax to tourneys, . mercenaries, use of, . merchants, see shops, fairs, etc. mining, in sieges, . minstrels, see jongleurs. miracles, belief in, . moats of castle, , . mobilization, for battle, , . monastery, ff. benedictine foundations, . land and buildings, , . abbey church, . cloisters, . dormitory, . refectory, . adornments of buildings, . costume of monks, , . discipline and organization, . duties and occupations of monks, , . persons becoming monks, . a disorderly monastery, . specimen abuses, . struggle against idleness in, . bequests to, . secular "advocates" of, . agriculture and industries in, . almsgiving by, . manual labor by monks, . copying of books, . study of pagan authors, . curriculum of study, . authority of aristotle, . scientific works, . study of botany and geology, . writing chronicles, . piety of book copying, . beautiful manuscripts, . monasticism, see monastery and monks. money, hardly necessary on an average barony, . varieties of coinage, . monks, many sick or infirm, nt. costume of, . discipline of, ff. persons becoming monks, . see monastery. montebanks, . _montjoie st. denis_, nt. morality, of castle life, - . music, delight in, . mystery plays, , . n needlework, by castle women, . night, closing castle for, . nightdresses, not used in feudal ages, . nobles, employed around a castle, . o omens, belief in, , . ordeal, by battle, . by fire, , . oriflamme, royal standard, . otto iv, see battle, bouvines. p palisade, before a castle, . passions, hot and childish in feudal ages, , . patrons, of parish churches, , . peasants, forbidden to kill game, . inferior weapons of, . life of, ff. always considered inferior, . population dense, . in danger from famines, . frequently emancipated from serfdom, . status of free "villeins," . constantly exploited, . lands much divided, . primitive agricultural methods, . calamity of short crops, , . a peasant family, . its house and furniture, . clothing of peasants, . very poor peasants, . villein marriage customs, . long hours of toil, . lack of education, , . filthy habits, . sullen and impious characters, . gross oppression by knights, . severe game laws, . futile peasant revolts, . popular village sports, . pellison, , . penance, public, . philip augustus, see battle, bouvines. physicians, see medical art. pilgrimage, as penance, . shrines frequented, . sacredness of rome, . pillory, . pleasures, usual, of a baron, . pork, demand for, . porters of castle, . poultry, . priests, parish, ff. how appointed, , . scandalous appointments, , . status of, in villages, . charges against, . many faithful and learned, , . prior, of abbey, . prison, sometimes under donjon, . treatment of inmates, , . fearful dungeons in, . privacy, absence of in baronial castle, . provosts, , . enforce law on barony, ff, . q _quadrivium_, . _quintain_, . r ragman's roll, . ransoms, sought in tourneys, . recluses, . reign of folly, . relics, holy, used for healing, , . saints, ff. collections of, . great value of, . often spurious, . "translations" of, . religion, popular, ff. attitude of knights, . fear of last day, . excommunications, . public penance, . festive side of religion, . "reign of folly," . mass of the ass, . worship of the virgin, . christmas celebrations, . mystery plays, . hermits and recluses, . pilgrims, ff. belief in spirits, ff. rings, customs with, , . rising, early hour for, . roads, evil state of, . roland, chanson de, . ordeal by battle in, . romances, north french, , . read by young nobles, . roman law, returning to vogue, . rome, resort for pilgrims, . routine of the day, for a baron, . rushes for carpets in castle halls, . s sanitation, lacking in castle cookhouses, . not sufficiently guarded even by nobility, . scientific studies, in monasteries, ff. seigneurial officers, . self-sufficiency of a well-ruled barony, . seneschal, of a castle, . serfdom, . service, personal, honorable for nobles, . servants, abundant in castles, . organization and duties of, . service, at table, . shields, . shopkeepers, , . shoes, . shrines, sought by pilgrims, . sickness, frequent in middle ages, . leprosy and other plagues, . great losses in childbirth, . healing saints, , . mediæval medicine, ff. siege of a castle, ff. varieties of siege engines, , . the beffroi, . mantelets, . undermining a wall, . silks, for apparel, . _sortes apostolorum_, . soups, . spirits, supernatural, belief in, . squires, taught to serve at table, . training and duties of, - . subinfeudation, . superstitions, of peasants, . see witchcraft, devil, etc. surcoat, introduction of, . suzerains, see feudualism. swords, . syndics, of guilds, . syria, famous castles in, . t tables, at dinner, . tapestries, in castles, , . taverns, . tennis, game of, . thirteenth century: height of the middle ages, . tilting, see tourneys. times for meals, . tolls, on commerce, . tortures, ff. vainly discouraged by pope nicholas i, . methods of, ff. tolls, at a baron's bridge, . towers of castle, . trade, in towns, ff. see fairs. travelers, usually welcomed at castles, . travel, - . trenchers, at feast, . tristan and ysolt, story of, . _trivium_, . trojan war, romances of, . troubadour songs, , . tourneys, ff. "crying" the tourney, . people attracted to them, . early tourneys were battles, , . denounced by church, . arrangements for, , . lists and lodges, . opening ceremonies, . procession of jousters, . armor and bizarre costumes worn, . jousting by pairs, . art of lance-breaking, . a bloody duel, . defending a barrier, , . dueling for ransoms, . the mêlée, , . vast expense of tourneys, . trouvéres, ff. tyranny, of outrageous barons, , . v vassals, can have two or more seigneurs, . desire to hold from the king, . summons of, to war, . see feudalism, homage, etc. vegetables, , . vigil before knighthood, . vikings, castles built to resist them, . villeins, subject to summary justice, . see peasants. virgin, the, popular worship of, . w walls of castle, . wars, nobles delight in, . almost incessant, . varieties of, . see feuds. watchman, on castle tower, . weapons, give superiority to nobles, . arms preferred by them, , . missile weapons non-noble, . armor, ff. hauberks and helmets, . shields, . swords, . lances, . wedding proceedings, ff. bridal procession, . ceremony at church, , . presents at wedding, . great feast at wedding, . windows, glass in castle, . stained glass in churches, . wine, . witchcraft, ff. casting a spell, . lawful forms of divining, . witches, - . wizards, - . women, noble, praised for beauty by minstrels, . types of female beauty, . taught good manners, , . married off against their will, . can be harshly treated, , . sometimes grossly neglected, . often extremely coarse, . alleged shortcomings of, . accomplishments of, . manage children and household, ff. woolens, generally used for garments, . _books of art and artcraft_ history of art by elie faure volume i--_ancient art_ _translated from the french by walter pach_ no history of art fills the place of this one. it shows art to be the expression of the race, not an individual expression of the artist. it tells _why_ and _how_ man constructs works of art. _nearly unusual and beautiful illustrations selected by the author._ development of embroidery in america by candace wheeler a history of embroidery from the quill and beadwork of the american indians to the artistic achievement of the present. a book to delight the collector and to serve as a guide for the art student, designer, and practical worker. _ pages of illustrations--some in full color._ how france built her cathedrals by elizabeth boyle o'reilly the boston _herald_ writes: "it is a monumental work, of living interest alike to the erudite devotee of the arts and to the person who simply enjoys, in books or his travels, the wonderful and beautiful things that have come from the hand of man ... the story of the french cathedrals against a human background--of the great men and women of the time." _with illustrations in tint._ practical illustration by john d. whiting for artists who wish to sell their work, for publishers and advertisers who buy it, and for those responsible for mechanical reproduction. it will give the artist a full knowledge of trade requirements. it will teach the art buyer what to look for and provide against in originals. it will help the photo-engraver and photographer to eliminate defects in mechanical reproduction. _the author illustrates his points in page plates, many in full color._ harper & brothers franklin square new york _humor and drama_ by distinguished authors the man from home by booth tarkington and harry leon wilson the scene takes place in italy, and the american humor shows up brilliantly against the foreign background. _illustrated._ monna vanna by maurice maeterlinck one of the belgian poet's most powerful dramas. the scenes are laid at pisa, italy, at the end of the fifteenth century. _portrait._ l'aiglon by edmond rostand this, the only english edition published of the story of the great napoleon's unfortunate son, was translated by louis n. parker. it is illustrated with pictures of miss maude adams in the character of the duke of reichstadt. _illustrated._ parting friends by william dean howells a farcical scene on an outgoing steamer, when two sweethearts can find neither time nor place for tender farewells. readers who like brilliant conversation, unrestrained fun, and amusing character portrayal will find in these farces a rich treat. _illustrated._ the mouse-trap by william dean howells this volume contains in compact form four of howells's most popular farces, which have been both read and acted with complete enjoyment and success. the farces in this volume are: the garroters, five-o'clock tea, the mouse-trap, a likely story. _illustrated._ harper & brothers franklin square new york * * * * * transcriber's notes minor punctuation errors repaired. italic text is denoted by _underscores_ the image "listening to a trouvère in a château of the thirteenth century" is shown in the list of illustrations as "facing p. " it is actually placed between p and p in the original. the position in the original has been retained, but its placement may be a printer's error. p "along with hugh goshawks" replaced with "along with huge goshawks" p "she will peversely do these very things" replace with "she will perversely do these very things" p "simplifications here and elaborations elsewere" replaced with "simplifications here and elaborations elsewhere" "oramented with gold embroideries" replaced with "ornamented with gold embroideries" p "veils common in the succeeding age" replaced with "veils common in the suceeding age" p "the crown of jersualem became vacant" replaced with "the crown of jerusalem became vacant" p "praising his finacée's beauty." replaced with "praising his fiancée's beauty." p "another entertainer than maitre edmond" replaced with "another entertainer than maître edmond" p "as our forefathers sent the old carrolingians." replaced with "as our forefathers sent the old carolingians." p "for his suzerian the duke" replaced with "for his suzerain the duke" p "as father grégorie says, pithily" replaced with "as father grégoire says, pithily" footnote : "feel that they had sinnned beyond pardon." replaced with "feel that they had sinned beyond pardon." p "montionless for an instant" replaced with "motionless for an instant" p "he is knighted and can speak for hmself" replaced with "he is knighted and can speak for himself" p "sendel and samite," replaced with "sendal and samite," p "they do down one side" replaced with "they go down one side" "this process will keep up though the games." replaced with "this process will keep up through the games." p "said jerome, smilingly" replaced with "said jerôme, smilingly" p "father etienne is the only person" replaced with "father Étienne is the only person" p "bishops fight against instrusions" replaced with "bishops fight against intrusions" p "too feeble to to get to the church." replaced with "too feeble to get to the church." p "while the pointdebois traders" replaced with "while the pontdebois traders" p "differs largely from a seigneur n that" replaced with "differs largely from a seigneur in that" p "the church by a humiliating penace" replaced with "the church by a humiliating penance" p "by the church in the fuedal age" replaced with "by the church in the feudal age" footnote "and the throng of worshipers" replaced with "and the throng of worshippers" p "advocates, of monastries" replaced with "advocates, of monasteries" p "suzerains, see feudualism" replaced with "suzerains, see feudalism"